In a land like ours, which is small and everything done by anyone is known to everyone in quicker time than it takes to say “Which hat shall I wear?”, I find it quite strange and dotty the way certain people in the public spotlight act and react and talk.
What’s he on about I hear the editor and the readers shout in exasperation? Most of our politicians are lawyers or at least that is my impression. The leader of the Labour Party isn’t but he is very nicely aided and abetted by two erstwhile deputy leaders who are. So in their spare time all these lawyers obviously have to ply their trade to earn their keep, otherwise their plush livelihood could be threatened. That would be the last thing I would ever wish to see inflicted on our good lawyers with a political bent.
I’m also never sure if these lawyers remember that what they say in court to defend nefarious or petty criminals can and does reflect what they, the lawyers, think and feel about life in general. I can assure you I have an argument brewing here in my mind that will soon be let out of my long-winded bag.
A prominent lawyer who is also very involved in politics had a strange case to defend. This lawyer is the opposition party’s spokesman for justice and, therefore, technically, could be in the running for the justice portfolio if the PL is voted into power in the next election. The strange case involved a Turk, in his 30s, who was in love with a 16-year-old girl who subsequently dumped him. Said Turk turned from lover to obsessive stalker and sent the young girl threatening text messages. The girl’s mother was rightly bothered and took action by reporting all to the police who, subsequently, took the appropriate action and arraigned the Turk. The mother and daughter were both ready to forgive the Turk for having had sex with an immature, underage girl. The mother was quoted as saying that as long as the Turk mended his ways and stopped threatening and harassing her daughter all would be fine and forgotten.
I have nothing but praise for all concerned as our forgiving nature shines in the mother’s and daughter’s stance. No talk of racism coloured the mother’s reasoning: she never said how terrible Turks and Muslims were. Thank God for these mercies in our land, which seems to beget bigoted racists at an alarming rate.
Where does our potential future Minister of Justice come in? He, as I said above, was the defence lawyer for the Turk. Nothing wrong there, I hear all lawyers cry out in unison. Someone has to defend the man and, of course, I agree.
Donning his hat of defending lawyer the possible future Minister of Justice said things I would find hilarious if they weren’t utterly disturbing. This lawyer said he has fought for the age of consent to be lowered from 18 to 16. Again nothing wrong there at all; he is certainly allowed any and all views. And in an age where 16-year-olds seem undeniably advanced and mature I think he surely has a point. The learned gentleman, however, did not stop there.
“The police,” he is quoted as saying, “would have hundreds of arraignments a month on their hands if they had to charge all teenagers caught having sex in public places.”
So just because it’s rampant it shouldn’t be stopped? Is this how he will act when he dons his ministerial hat?
If there is just one crime happening in town would the police be expected to go out and stop it but can lie back and enjoy the scene if there are a number of crimes? Is this the way he will run the ministry or expect the police to act?
The idea the police must not waste their time on petty stuff is fine and acceptable. The minister-to-be could also scream that, for all he cares, all women and girls, up to whatever age he wishes the age of consent to be, can have wanton sex. But his way of saying the police should not act to stop any crime because it happens often misses the whole point of crime detection and avoidance.
I know it is a terrible comparison but right now the Mexican authorities have so many murders happening in their country the police are rightly losing hope of solving or stopping them. But I hope the Mexican Minister of Justice hasn’t thought of taking a feather out of our lawyer/politician’s cap and asking his staff to stop bothering because so many murders are happening they can’t keep up with them.
I shake and quake when I hear or read similar accounts of what learned men and women say without thinking of the consequences. I’m sure the Turk was given a lesser sentence after the lawyer’s eloquent defence. And good luck to the Turk. But it would be a tough sentence on the inhabitants of Malta if this lawyer becomes Minister of Justice and practises what he is preaching in court.
This article first appeared in The Times on January 29 2011
Saturday, 29 January 2011
Saturday, 8 January 2011
Of marriages made in heaven
Marriages of convenience are, to say the least, strange beasts. But if we introduce divorce in Malta they could always be dissolved by a Maltese court. And hurrah to that I say, to the echoing agreement of Maltese liberals and other assorted folk.
So what am I on about?
Jeffrey Orlando Pullicino and Evarist Bartolo recently, figuratively and conveniently, got together to launch the Iva (yes) To Divorce movement. It’s a pity they didn’t name it the Iva For Divorce Organisation as then it could have been shortened to I DO. No harm in the marriage between the two at all. In fact, I hope it will be a start to further cooperation between the two giant parties and their individual components who could find a lot of common ground if only they, and we, their followers, change their, and our, mindset.
Let me immediately state I agree that divorce should be introduced in this fair land of ours. I cannot see how divorce can harm the family as an institution. Hasn’t that institution been harmed enough with broken marriages through separation and marriage breakdowns? Will children born out of a second marriage contracted after divorce be any worse than the ones born to parents still legally married but are in what is now fashionably called a partnership?
Back to marriages of convenience: Mr Bartolo marrying Dr Pullicino Orlando sounds as if it’s made in heaven. It’s like a Hindu in India marrying a Moslem and fostering a Catholic. We should all sing our praise heavenwards and say a few words of thanks to Shiva, Allah and, maybe, put in a few secret words to our own Alla. But, God permitting, I still have a few problems with this marriage regarding the Yes To Divorce movement.
Even their name seemed to be made in hell. The Iva For Europe was a movement that asked for unity not divorce. And much as I like the idea of yet another yes movement, couldn’t these two important and prominent politicians come up with a new name? Maybe they should have found something more in tune with division like Disunity Rules or something even pithier like the Le movement.
I don’t think a movement or a slogan can be patented but I would have expected the Iva For Europe campaigners to stop the usurpation of their movement’s name. At least to give our land a bit of fun and games and the courts some more work to be postponed sine die.
I cannot imagine stranger bedfellows than Dr Pullicino Orlando and Mr Bartolo. They both have a winning smile and are both very media-savvy. But beneath their endearing demeanour lies something worrying. I have nothing but admiration for the two politicians and I know they are both honourable men. However, I am inclined to believe they had more than the nation’s well-being in mind when they agreed to cohabit in their pro-divorce stand. Both have a political life verging on the peripheral. Both need a new impetus to get back on the national radar. Both must have thought some maverick tactics could get them noticed and their pasts, whether murky or contentious, conveniently filed under the carpet. Mr Bartolo fought for some leadership post he didn’t get and he doesn’t seem to be the most beloved of the new Labour leader.
Dr Pullicino Orlando, well, the whole galaxy knows about this man. Before the last election, he was the galaxy’s champion for anything environmental. All the while he was being touted as Malta’s green messiah, he was somehow, directly or indirectly, involved in some grand design to turn, or have his land turned, into some flashing disco. So from messiah to pariah in two easy steps was the name of the game for him. He now plays around with his vote in Parliament and so the Prime Minister has his hands tightly tied to keeping said Dr Pullicino Orlando quiet and good. As all legislatures come to an end after five years even without a maverick MP voting the government out of office, Dr Pullicino Orlando needed to find another cause célèbre to make him an electable politico. So it was decreed, by the heavens above, that he and Mr Bartolo espouse divorce.
As I said, I am all for unity between diverse factions and I also am all for divorce. I do object strongly when these movements/organisations/think tanks, which always claim to be liberal, start acting in illiberal ways themselves. If the Church says anything about divorce the intelligentsia accuses it and its spokesmen of blasphemy against democracy or of corrupt practices even before the election or the referendum are announced. And if Eddie Fenech Adami talks about marriage and divorce the Iva movement comes out against him and drags his children’s marital situation into the public domain. Isn’t that the most illiberal and despicable of actions?
The strange name of Iva to divorce and division should get another of our stalwarts into sloganeering mode. Karmenu Mifsud Bonnici who is, strangely enough, still screaming and ranting, should launch another of his crusades and movements and give birth to another Iva organisation: the Iva to Divorce from Europe Movement (yes idem: and more of the same).
Marriages, the gurus tell us, fail if they are not based on love. Clerics add that failure is assured if the marriage partners do not pray together. I hope and pray the marriage between Dr Pullicino Orlando and Mr Bartolo is not just for their selfish ends and they will prove me wrong in my analysis of the situation and remain happily united forever and ever.
This article first appeared in The Times January 8 2011
So what am I on about?
Jeffrey Orlando Pullicino and Evarist Bartolo recently, figuratively and conveniently, got together to launch the Iva (yes) To Divorce movement. It’s a pity they didn’t name it the Iva For Divorce Organisation as then it could have been shortened to I DO. No harm in the marriage between the two at all. In fact, I hope it will be a start to further cooperation between the two giant parties and their individual components who could find a lot of common ground if only they, and we, their followers, change their, and our, mindset.
Let me immediately state I agree that divorce should be introduced in this fair land of ours. I cannot see how divorce can harm the family as an institution. Hasn’t that institution been harmed enough with broken marriages through separation and marriage breakdowns? Will children born out of a second marriage contracted after divorce be any worse than the ones born to parents still legally married but are in what is now fashionably called a partnership?
Back to marriages of convenience: Mr Bartolo marrying Dr Pullicino Orlando sounds as if it’s made in heaven. It’s like a Hindu in India marrying a Moslem and fostering a Catholic. We should all sing our praise heavenwards and say a few words of thanks to Shiva, Allah and, maybe, put in a few secret words to our own Alla. But, God permitting, I still have a few problems with this marriage regarding the Yes To Divorce movement.
Even their name seemed to be made in hell. The Iva For Europe was a movement that asked for unity not divorce. And much as I like the idea of yet another yes movement, couldn’t these two important and prominent politicians come up with a new name? Maybe they should have found something more in tune with division like Disunity Rules or something even pithier like the Le movement.
I don’t think a movement or a slogan can be patented but I would have expected the Iva For Europe campaigners to stop the usurpation of their movement’s name. At least to give our land a bit of fun and games and the courts some more work to be postponed sine die.
I cannot imagine stranger bedfellows than Dr Pullicino Orlando and Mr Bartolo. They both have a winning smile and are both very media-savvy. But beneath their endearing demeanour lies something worrying. I have nothing but admiration for the two politicians and I know they are both honourable men. However, I am inclined to believe they had more than the nation’s well-being in mind when they agreed to cohabit in their pro-divorce stand. Both have a political life verging on the peripheral. Both need a new impetus to get back on the national radar. Both must have thought some maverick tactics could get them noticed and their pasts, whether murky or contentious, conveniently filed under the carpet. Mr Bartolo fought for some leadership post he didn’t get and he doesn’t seem to be the most beloved of the new Labour leader.
Dr Pullicino Orlando, well, the whole galaxy knows about this man. Before the last election, he was the galaxy’s champion for anything environmental. All the while he was being touted as Malta’s green messiah, he was somehow, directly or indirectly, involved in some grand design to turn, or have his land turned, into some flashing disco. So from messiah to pariah in two easy steps was the name of the game for him. He now plays around with his vote in Parliament and so the Prime Minister has his hands tightly tied to keeping said Dr Pullicino Orlando quiet and good. As all legislatures come to an end after five years even without a maverick MP voting the government out of office, Dr Pullicino Orlando needed to find another cause célèbre to make him an electable politico. So it was decreed, by the heavens above, that he and Mr Bartolo espouse divorce.
As I said, I am all for unity between diverse factions and I also am all for divorce. I do object strongly when these movements/organisations/think tanks, which always claim to be liberal, start acting in illiberal ways themselves. If the Church says anything about divorce the intelligentsia accuses it and its spokesmen of blasphemy against democracy or of corrupt practices even before the election or the referendum are announced. And if Eddie Fenech Adami talks about marriage and divorce the Iva movement comes out against him and drags his children’s marital situation into the public domain. Isn’t that the most illiberal and despicable of actions?
The strange name of Iva to divorce and division should get another of our stalwarts into sloganeering mode. Karmenu Mifsud Bonnici who is, strangely enough, still screaming and ranting, should launch another of his crusades and movements and give birth to another Iva organisation: the Iva to Divorce from Europe Movement (yes idem: and more of the same).
Marriages, the gurus tell us, fail if they are not based on love. Clerics add that failure is assured if the marriage partners do not pray together. I hope and pray the marriage between Dr Pullicino Orlando and Mr Bartolo is not just for their selfish ends and they will prove me wrong in my analysis of the situation and remain happily united forever and ever.
This article first appeared in The Times January 8 2011
Saturday, 30 October 2010
The booby trap
This time I’ve boobed terribly. I accepted to write about boobs while a woman on the opposite page is doing the same. (you can't see her piece here. but if you really think you need to leave a comment or email me and I'll send you her version) I’m going to make a complete boob of myself. Let’s get on with the titillating, I mean scintillating, subject of breasts, or lady lumps, that have been surgically re-created, re-aligned or re-adjusted.
The best thing about boobs, in my opinion, is their quirky, different nature, which makes them unique. Their bounce, their size and their shape, in their individual, distinct way, is what makes them so ‘perfect’. The imperfection is what renders them so attractive to me, so cute and adorable.
Today’s obsession with boob jobs is the most outrageous part of many modern women; and it is a right turn off. The more successful the operation, and the more exacting and finicky the re-aligning surgeon is, the more those mammaries lose their appeal and their complete malleability. The more women of all shapes and sizes and nationalities have these infernal boob jobs the less original these women, and their assets and attributes, are becoming.
Women now go to a specialised dentist for a new set of sparkling teeth; they have their buttocks and sides firmed up; they are then surgically topped with some fattening of lips and get an eye-lid changeover. If their face needs a few tuck-ins they do that too. Finally, the boobs are realigned to look ‘picture perfect’: picture-perfect for a catalogue of human Barbie dolls which all come out of a
production line with the same boobs, the same body, the same sultry lips which cry out ‘please don’t stop me or try me’.
All this surgery and enhancement which, besides costing an arm and a leg (or should that be a boob and a butt?), is carried out in the name of looking more beautiful and more seductive. Most women after all this hard work and pain, look like one of those inflatable dolls sold from those naughty sex-shops. Both doll and Barbie-lookalikes can be tragically punctured and can, most probably, end up deflated
and defeated.
Apart from the aesthetics of it all, I’d also have, for baby and me, sickening worries and thoughts of the newly realigned boobs tasting of horrid silicone: would make me feel instantly sick and intensely silly. There’s another big problem with boob jobs. I cannot imagine how a woman who was always sportingly, but aptly, known as “fried eggy”, comes to a gathering of friends and foes and has to confront them with a newly acquired pair of knock-out knockers. How does she explain the
new-found blooming?
At least, if men have an extension to their manhood, it won’t really show. Men’s private parts are usually truly private and are kept well hidden from view. So except for some quite intimate friends no one will ever find out the truth about those added inches of length or girth. While females usually want their boobs’ size decreased if they are huge, and vice-versa when they have them small. However, with men there is only one option in their mind when it comes to size change and that is definitely not reduction!
So what if boobs sag or look funny and not made in heaven? If they do life moves on; if we age, we wrinkle and we also lose some of our twinkle, but a few imperfections are more than normal. If God wanted us to be utterly and udderly perfect, He surely wouldn’t have given us a brain. If we were perfect I imagine we’d still have invented plastic surgery to change those perfect boobs into imperfect ones. And we would have been chucked out of Eden yet again.
This article first appeared in the October 2010 edition of TuneIn
The best thing about boobs, in my opinion, is their quirky, different nature, which makes them unique. Their bounce, their size and their shape, in their individual, distinct way, is what makes them so ‘perfect’. The imperfection is what renders them so attractive to me, so cute and adorable.
Today’s obsession with boob jobs is the most outrageous part of many modern women; and it is a right turn off. The more successful the operation, and the more exacting and finicky the re-aligning surgeon is, the more those mammaries lose their appeal and their complete malleability. The more women of all shapes and sizes and nationalities have these infernal boob jobs the less original these women, and their assets and attributes, are becoming.
Women now go to a specialised dentist for a new set of sparkling teeth; they have their buttocks and sides firmed up; they are then surgically topped with some fattening of lips and get an eye-lid changeover. If their face needs a few tuck-ins they do that too. Finally, the boobs are realigned to look ‘picture perfect’: picture-perfect for a catalogue of human Barbie dolls which all come out of a
production line with the same boobs, the same body, the same sultry lips which cry out ‘please don’t stop me or try me’.
All this surgery and enhancement which, besides costing an arm and a leg (or should that be a boob and a butt?), is carried out in the name of looking more beautiful and more seductive. Most women after all this hard work and pain, look like one of those inflatable dolls sold from those naughty sex-shops. Both doll and Barbie-lookalikes can be tragically punctured and can, most probably, end up deflated
and defeated.
Apart from the aesthetics of it all, I’d also have, for baby and me, sickening worries and thoughts of the newly realigned boobs tasting of horrid silicone: would make me feel instantly sick and intensely silly. There’s another big problem with boob jobs. I cannot imagine how a woman who was always sportingly, but aptly, known as “fried eggy”, comes to a gathering of friends and foes and has to confront them with a newly acquired pair of knock-out knockers. How does she explain the
new-found blooming?
At least, if men have an extension to their manhood, it won’t really show. Men’s private parts are usually truly private and are kept well hidden from view. So except for some quite intimate friends no one will ever find out the truth about those added inches of length or girth. While females usually want their boobs’ size decreased if they are huge, and vice-versa when they have them small. However, with men there is only one option in their mind when it comes to size change and that is definitely not reduction!
So what if boobs sag or look funny and not made in heaven? If they do life moves on; if we age, we wrinkle and we also lose some of our twinkle, but a few imperfections are more than normal. If God wanted us to be utterly and udderly perfect, He surely wouldn’t have given us a brain. If we were perfect I imagine we’d still have invented plastic surgery to change those perfect boobs into imperfect ones. And we would have been chucked out of Eden yet again.
This article first appeared in the October 2010 edition of TuneIn
Thursday, 28 October 2010
Chronicles of a misguided father
Let’s start at the very beginning goes the cute old ditty. And that’s what I am going to do because I like the sound of such a rule and because I quite like rules. I adore rules as long as they are of the kind imposed by me. I love breaking all rules and love telling others, especially the ones dearest to me, that they are not sticking to the rules. Makes me a big bigot I presume. And a touch of a dictator: a benign one but still a dictator.
An imposer of rules I used to be called by my sweet adorable children. Whatever I suggested, even the most enjoyable of parental suggestions, was usually accompanied by my rules. These suggestions would be greeted by disdainful derision and uncontrollable howls of laughter by the three brats, better known as my adored and adoring children. Then they would suggest a number: what’s this, they’d chorus ever so lovingly, is it rule number 29014? Yes I might be a dictator, benign or not, but I’m a bit of the useless dictator who never got his way. A misused dictator and an abused father. And this is going to be my diary of the abuse that happened to me and is still being inflicted upon me by my offspring, usually spiritedly supported by their ever faithful mother.
One of the best titles of books I read or read about is “My family and other animals”. I even tried going to Corfu, where the author of that book was brought up in. I tried going there for my honeymoon. But the story of my life with my long suffering wife is another story altogether so we won’t get into it here. Although if we had to start at the genesis of the story the marriage and maybe the honeymoon escapades and some of the goings-on would or should also feature here. But it will have to be another time. So you will be spared. And my wife, long suffering woman that she is, will be spared some blushes.
I always loved the hidden connotations of the “other animals” of the book about Corfu and the author’s childhood. I’m sure I could title my life with my fruit of my loins something like “My beasts and other children”. As I said they are cute and I adore them but I have suffered them and I think they have suffered a lot because of me and my antics.
This is going to be a view of my family from the eyes of a middle aged, nearly-old father and his relationship, stormy, choppy but always deeply loving one with his children.
I promised to start at the beginning and went on to do the exact opposite. I lost myself in my usual labyrinthine ways and methods. But I promise I’ll get there and all will be as clear as crystal. Pity the cliché does not specify what sort of crystal. My crystal must be of some un-bohemian type: all murky, uncut and with absolutely no value.
The beginning: let’s stick to that. When we do anything in life we are expected to have deep knowledge and unless we are very experienced we are not allowed to handle much in life. Today you need certificates even to do the most menial of jobs. And this is a wonderful improvement in our society. Lawyers, to earn their keep and learn all about the vicissitudes of life, are starting at the very bottom of the rung of life and can be seen, fully suited and cuff-linked and tied up in some designer shoes, scraping the loos at the most prestigious law firm offices. That makes them humble and always ready to be forgiving and not ever, ever be greedy. But again I digress. Back to my central point.
We are taught everything and given manuals about everything in life. But then when we create lives, or do a few things in association with some other agencies to beget life, we are just plunged into the deep end with no course in life-saving and much less in life-rearing. At least for marriage we are given a crash course at Kana. Even if we, or at least most of us who get married, should flunk our entrance exam to one of the biggest and most life-changing steps in our life that is marriage we usually still make it to get married. But unlike the rudimentary and barely elementary kana courses with children there is no learning at all. At least I never heard of any. And my wife and I never attended any course to teach us how to bring up our children.
Mind you even our children didn’t have it any better. With all their schooling and basic skills learning and boy-scouting and girl-guiding I know for a fact that my offspring were never taught how to cope with parents. If we were plunged into parenthood head first with no basic teaching at least we had some years of experience in life and we did see some other children and the way they were treated or maltreated by other parents. So we could look, learn and unlearn some basics. Children have no such skills and no experience but are faced with two incompetent, usually quite dysfunctional adults who are desperately trying to make ends meet and trying hard to cope with one child or a number of children who have complete dependence on them. I imagine there is no manual and no training course because it is so impossible to come up with any form of rules. So see I did mean it when I said we should start at the very beginning. Just as the twee Julie Andrews said in that silly dotty ditty that we start with the notes to learn about music likewise in life we should be given life skills about kid-rearing and parent-handling.
That I imagine is enough of a preamble. Let’s get to the basics now
After we settled in married life my wife and I decided to have children. Or rather it was always agreed that we’d have children to keep us contented and looked after for life. What happened in between or rather what is happening now to me and my offspring was never really thought out, discussed or planned in any way. Again we just did it as it came quite naturally. We made our way from one age to the next with no real design. We groped our way along quite merrily. There were no manuals or guides to lead us in our quests and hoped for conquests.
With children there are loads of problems that crop up from the day they are born. Even to the hospital to my first-born’s birth there was a bit of a hiccup. Well my hunger pangs and my calmness nearly caused a few problems. On the way to hospital I was scared, not about the actual birth or the suffering that my wife was going to go through, but that I’d be caught lacking in the proper calories-intake for my suffering body. So I stopped at some horrid place for sustenance. I bought a half a dozen cheesecakes and ate some in the next few seconds in the car and left the rest for after. I knew I was in for a night of waiting and my body, unless properly sustained and primed, can, with the attendant hunger pains, be a bad example of nerves and quashed hopes even in light of such stupendous sights of new daughters. Much after the birth I found out the real feelings my wife went through having to smell those cheesecakes and having to witness me wolfing them down. Now if I had a manual I’m sure I’d have been told to keep off the greasy great delicacies and not stuff my face in front of such delicate people as pregnant, practically popping mothers tend to be.
After the birth and a few other problems there are the obvious dilemmas: like when do you reveal to your children all that you don’t know about sex? What exactly do you tell them? What time do you let them stay out when their hormones start playing up? Do you tell your kids to be careful when doing what the birds and the bees do or do you lie brazenly and tell them you expect them to be as virginal and good as all good children should be; or do you let out that having a good time is quite ok even if a tad naughty? When can you ever say that naughty is, after all, quite nice? These are the obvious pitfalls which you go through in life with each and every child. It’s more or less a hit or miss situation and you just hope you are aiming right every time you hit out at the cute little angelic monsters. These problems we males have are common to all of us and we all suffer from this frightening lack of confidence when facing children. No matter how much we are trained we lack the finesse of the mothers to know it all. Mothers are surely given some specially bound manual, which is never shown to us males, which explains in plain language all mothers ever need to have explained on the how and wherefore of coping with all known and unknown situations which concern their offspring. I’ve heard it told that women have the maternal instinct while we males never had it in us. It’s a load of rubbish. It’s a manual which is kept hidden away in some female covert convent far away from all male prying eyes that makes all the difference.
Back to the problems of my life: the problems start at birth. I was incredibly proud when the first-born popped her head out of her mother. I had three children and each time I thanked God for his prowess at devising such a lovely procedure as birth. It is an incredibly wondrous piece of harmony and loving. And God’s greatest love was that in His infinite kindness and goodness He (or He/She?) gave the gift of giving birth solely and uniquely to womankind. Was very kind of Him to have saved man-kind a lot of useless suffering. And I would say man would have long ago given up on birthing of any kind if God had given the gift of giving birth to the male of the species.
So no manual for me when the baby was born. I remember an instruction from my mother to make sure something or other is done to the baby. Make her wail maybe? Sounds something my mother would have instructed me. Who knows? The mists of time have started dimming memory and there were too many strange things going on with no easy solution to them. All I knew was that I was ecstatic and hoped the baby was fine. After that we were left quite on our own. A few days after the birth off my wife trotted home to tend for baby and me. And then the kids started growing but that will be another episode of the intrepid adventures of a misguided father.
A shorter, edited(or is that butchered?) version of this article appeared in the October 2010 issue of M magazine
An imposer of rules I used to be called by my sweet adorable children. Whatever I suggested, even the most enjoyable of parental suggestions, was usually accompanied by my rules. These suggestions would be greeted by disdainful derision and uncontrollable howls of laughter by the three brats, better known as my adored and adoring children. Then they would suggest a number: what’s this, they’d chorus ever so lovingly, is it rule number 29014? Yes I might be a dictator, benign or not, but I’m a bit of the useless dictator who never got his way. A misused dictator and an abused father. And this is going to be my diary of the abuse that happened to me and is still being inflicted upon me by my offspring, usually spiritedly supported by their ever faithful mother.
One of the best titles of books I read or read about is “My family and other animals”. I even tried going to Corfu, where the author of that book was brought up in. I tried going there for my honeymoon. But the story of my life with my long suffering wife is another story altogether so we won’t get into it here. Although if we had to start at the genesis of the story the marriage and maybe the honeymoon escapades and some of the goings-on would or should also feature here. But it will have to be another time. So you will be spared. And my wife, long suffering woman that she is, will be spared some blushes.
I always loved the hidden connotations of the “other animals” of the book about Corfu and the author’s childhood. I’m sure I could title my life with my fruit of my loins something like “My beasts and other children”. As I said they are cute and I adore them but I have suffered them and I think they have suffered a lot because of me and my antics.
This is going to be a view of my family from the eyes of a middle aged, nearly-old father and his relationship, stormy, choppy but always deeply loving one with his children.
I promised to start at the beginning and went on to do the exact opposite. I lost myself in my usual labyrinthine ways and methods. But I promise I’ll get there and all will be as clear as crystal. Pity the cliché does not specify what sort of crystal. My crystal must be of some un-bohemian type: all murky, uncut and with absolutely no value.
The beginning: let’s stick to that. When we do anything in life we are expected to have deep knowledge and unless we are very experienced we are not allowed to handle much in life. Today you need certificates even to do the most menial of jobs. And this is a wonderful improvement in our society. Lawyers, to earn their keep and learn all about the vicissitudes of life, are starting at the very bottom of the rung of life and can be seen, fully suited and cuff-linked and tied up in some designer shoes, scraping the loos at the most prestigious law firm offices. That makes them humble and always ready to be forgiving and not ever, ever be greedy. But again I digress. Back to my central point.
We are taught everything and given manuals about everything in life. But then when we create lives, or do a few things in association with some other agencies to beget life, we are just plunged into the deep end with no course in life-saving and much less in life-rearing. At least for marriage we are given a crash course at Kana. Even if we, or at least most of us who get married, should flunk our entrance exam to one of the biggest and most life-changing steps in our life that is marriage we usually still make it to get married. But unlike the rudimentary and barely elementary kana courses with children there is no learning at all. At least I never heard of any. And my wife and I never attended any course to teach us how to bring up our children.
Mind you even our children didn’t have it any better. With all their schooling and basic skills learning and boy-scouting and girl-guiding I know for a fact that my offspring were never taught how to cope with parents. If we were plunged into parenthood head first with no basic teaching at least we had some years of experience in life and we did see some other children and the way they were treated or maltreated by other parents. So we could look, learn and unlearn some basics. Children have no such skills and no experience but are faced with two incompetent, usually quite dysfunctional adults who are desperately trying to make ends meet and trying hard to cope with one child or a number of children who have complete dependence on them. I imagine there is no manual and no training course because it is so impossible to come up with any form of rules. So see I did mean it when I said we should start at the very beginning. Just as the twee Julie Andrews said in that silly dotty ditty that we start with the notes to learn about music likewise in life we should be given life skills about kid-rearing and parent-handling.
That I imagine is enough of a preamble. Let’s get to the basics now
After we settled in married life my wife and I decided to have children. Or rather it was always agreed that we’d have children to keep us contented and looked after for life. What happened in between or rather what is happening now to me and my offspring was never really thought out, discussed or planned in any way. Again we just did it as it came quite naturally. We made our way from one age to the next with no real design. We groped our way along quite merrily. There were no manuals or guides to lead us in our quests and hoped for conquests.
With children there are loads of problems that crop up from the day they are born. Even to the hospital to my first-born’s birth there was a bit of a hiccup. Well my hunger pangs and my calmness nearly caused a few problems. On the way to hospital I was scared, not about the actual birth or the suffering that my wife was going to go through, but that I’d be caught lacking in the proper calories-intake for my suffering body. So I stopped at some horrid place for sustenance. I bought a half a dozen cheesecakes and ate some in the next few seconds in the car and left the rest for after. I knew I was in for a night of waiting and my body, unless properly sustained and primed, can, with the attendant hunger pains, be a bad example of nerves and quashed hopes even in light of such stupendous sights of new daughters. Much after the birth I found out the real feelings my wife went through having to smell those cheesecakes and having to witness me wolfing them down. Now if I had a manual I’m sure I’d have been told to keep off the greasy great delicacies and not stuff my face in front of such delicate people as pregnant, practically popping mothers tend to be.
After the birth and a few other problems there are the obvious dilemmas: like when do you reveal to your children all that you don’t know about sex? What exactly do you tell them? What time do you let them stay out when their hormones start playing up? Do you tell your kids to be careful when doing what the birds and the bees do or do you lie brazenly and tell them you expect them to be as virginal and good as all good children should be; or do you let out that having a good time is quite ok even if a tad naughty? When can you ever say that naughty is, after all, quite nice? These are the obvious pitfalls which you go through in life with each and every child. It’s more or less a hit or miss situation and you just hope you are aiming right every time you hit out at the cute little angelic monsters. These problems we males have are common to all of us and we all suffer from this frightening lack of confidence when facing children. No matter how much we are trained we lack the finesse of the mothers to know it all. Mothers are surely given some specially bound manual, which is never shown to us males, which explains in plain language all mothers ever need to have explained on the how and wherefore of coping with all known and unknown situations which concern their offspring. I’ve heard it told that women have the maternal instinct while we males never had it in us. It’s a load of rubbish. It’s a manual which is kept hidden away in some female covert convent far away from all male prying eyes that makes all the difference.
Back to the problems of my life: the problems start at birth. I was incredibly proud when the first-born popped her head out of her mother. I had three children and each time I thanked God for his prowess at devising such a lovely procedure as birth. It is an incredibly wondrous piece of harmony and loving. And God’s greatest love was that in His infinite kindness and goodness He (or He/She?) gave the gift of giving birth solely and uniquely to womankind. Was very kind of Him to have saved man-kind a lot of useless suffering. And I would say man would have long ago given up on birthing of any kind if God had given the gift of giving birth to the male of the species.
So no manual for me when the baby was born. I remember an instruction from my mother to make sure something or other is done to the baby. Make her wail maybe? Sounds something my mother would have instructed me. Who knows? The mists of time have started dimming memory and there were too many strange things going on with no easy solution to them. All I knew was that I was ecstatic and hoped the baby was fine. After that we were left quite on our own. A few days after the birth off my wife trotted home to tend for baby and me. And then the kids started growing but that will be another episode of the intrepid adventures of a misguided father.
A shorter, edited(or is that butchered?) version of this article appeared in the October 2010 issue of M magazine
Sunday, 24 October 2010
What if, God forbid, we were atheists?
We live in the land of the fit and free. Thank God for that. Will we, in a fit of “let’s ape the Brits”, all start saying we are atheists now?
Ed Milliband, the new leader of the British Labour Party, has declared he is an atheist. Nick Clegg, the British Deputy Prime Minister also believes in no God (or in his case would that be god with an uncapitalised g?) leaving the God-believer David Cameron in quite a singular, or rather minority state. Obviously there is no connection to the politicos in our land. Most of our politicians, besides being honourable and unassailable, are exceptionally pious and believe fervently in God and His militant Church. In Malta, besides the holiness of the blues, we also have some religiously fervent reds. Even the greens do not usually dare say anything which could be interpreted as going against the Church or its teachings. The Maltese politicians nearly all avoid anything that might prove they are agnostic or, God forbid, atheist.
Back to the Brits and their new Leader of the Opposition with his “I’m an atheist” confession. I don’t much care for British politicians (who are nearly as inept as their footballers) as they all seem sleazy, slimy and sinister. But regarding the Labour Party’s leader’s beliefs or otherwise in a God-head do we care? Or rather should we, or the British people, really care? Shouldn’t such beliefs be personal and not be bandied about in public?
If a Royal heir in Britain were to voice such thoughts, then there could be some constitutional, religious or existential problem of nerve-raking scope. Not sure what sort of constitution would be consulted as there isn’t one in Britain to consult as far as I know. The heir to the throne in Britain, once crowned head of state, automatically becomes the head of the Church of England. Could the ultimate in ironies be that you can head the Church and not believe there is a God? Now wouldn’t that be cause for some real worry and talk of annus orribilis to quote one of the most quoted quips by Queen Beth the second. It’s like us Catholics getting a new Pope elected and instead of the usual Habemus Papam we’d hear habemus ateium from the Vatican balcony. Or whatever an atheist is called in the August Latin language. All mayhem would be flung upon us, dear, devout, foot soldiers of Catholicism.
I never quite care whether anyone believes in God or an afterlife. Or whether angels had a great big fight back in the long gone past when one batch sided with good and the other sided with evil and the bad angels were consigned to hell and had to look after all the tormenting of us humans and possible androids and aliens who sin in life and have to suffer hell-fire for ever and ever.
Do such beliefs change the way we look at life? I daresay not. Even if this could win me the opprobrium of all the bishops and archbishops of the Maltese Isles, I would still insist that whatever we believe in our hearts of hearts is not important as long as those beliefs do not hinder us from letting others have their own beliefs however wacky they might sound.
Back to modern-day UK and its politics. I don’t have a clue where Nick Clegg is going to take the country and to what monstrous levels he will consign it in his atheistic ways. All I do know is that he comes after two deeply religious men held sway in Britain. Gordon Brown and Tony Blair were God-fearing, good men who, it is claimed went to church regularly and prayed fervently. When Tony Blair was out of Downing Street he converted and became a very “devout” Catholic. When Blair was heading the government (with Brown as one of his most powerful ministers), he took Britain into a war in Iraq which has cost countless lives all for an unknown cause. The only palpable reason I ever found for waging that war was because the other God-fearer, George Bush, dictated it. Bush was another big believer in God, an out-and-out Texan. So these three God-believers piled on the lies to get themselves into a war against Iraq. Does God actually come into these equations? Did God or belief in Him stop them from waging a uselessly harsh and unwarranted war?
The good Catholics cite Bush’s abortion policy (of limiting its ease of use) as a God-inspired way of looking at life that has contributed to our well-being. The senseless deaths that have happened in Iraq and Afghanistan are hardly Christian. As someone once quipped: would the USA be in Iraq if Iraq’s main export was broccoli?
More than God being the source of all political decisions I fear the worst demon still dominating life and politics is money, greed and desire for more and more power. I don’t care a fig or a leaf if the minister, prime minister or next door neighbour believes in aliens and is God-fearing or is a humanist and an atheist. It is not what people believe in that moulds them but their public and private actions.
This article first appeared in the Malta Independent on Sunday on October 24 2010
Ed Milliband, the new leader of the British Labour Party, has declared he is an atheist. Nick Clegg, the British Deputy Prime Minister also believes in no God (or in his case would that be god with an uncapitalised g?) leaving the God-believer David Cameron in quite a singular, or rather minority state. Obviously there is no connection to the politicos in our land. Most of our politicians, besides being honourable and unassailable, are exceptionally pious and believe fervently in God and His militant Church. In Malta, besides the holiness of the blues, we also have some religiously fervent reds. Even the greens do not usually dare say anything which could be interpreted as going against the Church or its teachings. The Maltese politicians nearly all avoid anything that might prove they are agnostic or, God forbid, atheist.
Back to the Brits and their new Leader of the Opposition with his “I’m an atheist” confession. I don’t much care for British politicians (who are nearly as inept as their footballers) as they all seem sleazy, slimy and sinister. But regarding the Labour Party’s leader’s beliefs or otherwise in a God-head do we care? Or rather should we, or the British people, really care? Shouldn’t such beliefs be personal and not be bandied about in public?
If a Royal heir in Britain were to voice such thoughts, then there could be some constitutional, religious or existential problem of nerve-raking scope. Not sure what sort of constitution would be consulted as there isn’t one in Britain to consult as far as I know. The heir to the throne in Britain, once crowned head of state, automatically becomes the head of the Church of England. Could the ultimate in ironies be that you can head the Church and not believe there is a God? Now wouldn’t that be cause for some real worry and talk of annus orribilis to quote one of the most quoted quips by Queen Beth the second. It’s like us Catholics getting a new Pope elected and instead of the usual Habemus Papam we’d hear habemus ateium from the Vatican balcony. Or whatever an atheist is called in the August Latin language. All mayhem would be flung upon us, dear, devout, foot soldiers of Catholicism.
I never quite care whether anyone believes in God or an afterlife. Or whether angels had a great big fight back in the long gone past when one batch sided with good and the other sided with evil and the bad angels were consigned to hell and had to look after all the tormenting of us humans and possible androids and aliens who sin in life and have to suffer hell-fire for ever and ever.
Do such beliefs change the way we look at life? I daresay not. Even if this could win me the opprobrium of all the bishops and archbishops of the Maltese Isles, I would still insist that whatever we believe in our hearts of hearts is not important as long as those beliefs do not hinder us from letting others have their own beliefs however wacky they might sound.
Back to modern-day UK and its politics. I don’t have a clue where Nick Clegg is going to take the country and to what monstrous levels he will consign it in his atheistic ways. All I do know is that he comes after two deeply religious men held sway in Britain. Gordon Brown and Tony Blair were God-fearing, good men who, it is claimed went to church regularly and prayed fervently. When Tony Blair was out of Downing Street he converted and became a very “devout” Catholic. When Blair was heading the government (with Brown as one of his most powerful ministers), he took Britain into a war in Iraq which has cost countless lives all for an unknown cause. The only palpable reason I ever found for waging that war was because the other God-fearer, George Bush, dictated it. Bush was another big believer in God, an out-and-out Texan. So these three God-believers piled on the lies to get themselves into a war against Iraq. Does God actually come into these equations? Did God or belief in Him stop them from waging a uselessly harsh and unwarranted war?
The good Catholics cite Bush’s abortion policy (of limiting its ease of use) as a God-inspired way of looking at life that has contributed to our well-being. The senseless deaths that have happened in Iraq and Afghanistan are hardly Christian. As someone once quipped: would the USA be in Iraq if Iraq’s main export was broccoli?
More than God being the source of all political decisions I fear the worst demon still dominating life and politics is money, greed and desire for more and more power. I don’t care a fig or a leaf if the minister, prime minister or next door neighbour believes in aliens and is God-fearing or is a humanist and an atheist. It is not what people believe in that moulds them but their public and private actions.
This article first appeared in the Malta Independent on Sunday on October 24 2010
Sunday, 5 September 2010
Another boring article about divorce
Breaking a promise must surely be a sin. I’m not sure if it’s mortal or venial and now I can't even ask the higher authorities of the church about such a delicate issue as local church dignitaries don’t seem to be in agreement. One high authority said something was a sin only to be contradicted by another. The latter actually went a step further and said that the former should never say when anything is sinful. Confused? Join me and a whole load of others in this confusing, convoluted saga called the divorce issue. Bring the tissues out to dry the tears caused by mirth, tragedy or simple exasperation. As the weather cools down the divorce issue strongly hots up. Jeffrey Pullicno Orlando cannily opened a can of wriggling worms in our midst.
As I have now broken the pledge I made to myself I might end up being condemned by the Pro Vigarju-Generali for breaking such a promise. I hope not because, after all, he only said it’s a sin if we vote in favour of divorce. Broken promises or writing in favour of divorce have not been sanctioned as sinful yet. As the same good monsignor succinctly put it, we can always sin and then confess and all will be ok with me and my conscience and the heavens above will sigh their celestial sigh of relief and I will be pardoned and be all good and ready for entry into heaven.
Now what can silly me add on to this debate? I’m far from an expert on divorce. The only real experts on divorce are the ones who have experienced it a few times. This sounds facetious but maybe there is a bit of truth in it. I have not heard too much about divorce from the ones who have either been divorced themselves or who are in need of divorce after their first marriage failed.
If only divorcees, or those seeking divorce, are allowed to have their say in the divorce issue one can then extend the argument, if one can extend such things, and state that the last people who can talk about marriage are priests, of the Catholic ilk, who have been barred from entering into sacred matrimony for a good few centuries. I don’t think priests know much about matrimony as they have never experienced it. This sounds like a good argument but it does lose a bit of its strength if one thinks of male gynaecologists or football coaches who have been flops at being footballers yet still turn into managerial wizards. As I have amply shown by now I am definitely no expert and my personal credentials are rather poor. I haven’t read or studied too many tomes on the subject and I have been happily married for over 30 years.
I’m not an expert but whatever it is I am in favour of divorce. If saying something like this is sinful I’m afraid I am now going to be in a state of non-grace till I go to confession. Then I will, I imagine, have to promise that I will never do it again: and we all know how good I am at keeping promises. All I want is for Malta to legislate in favour of divorce as soon as parliamentarily possible. Yes, referenda and divorce should be divorced even before conception. They just don’t go together. If we want to safeguard the sanctity, not of marriage, but of the minority, I just hope that divorce will be introduced. And, if you give the ultra-Catholic majority the power to stop the minority to take what is legitimately theirs then I am afraid they will vote against divorce. The great majority of Maltese people are Catholic so will stick to Catholic traditions and will most probably want those traditions to be upheld by everyone. Parliament, on the other hand, will hopefully rise above all this and pass legislation in favour of divorce and be ready to let the minority, small as it may be, to be able to go ahead and terminate their wedding vows.
Let’s reverse the scenario and imagine, that in the land of Grog, the majority of the inhabitants are non-Christian and according to their age-old religion no first-born child can get married. Now imagine the priests and leaders of Grog decide to pass a law prohibiting all the first-born of whatever religion from getting married. Won’t the Christian minority in Grog revolt at such revolting rules and laws? Won’t we, all Christians of the western world, join in condemning the people of Grog as being uncivilised brutes?
If the majority of Maltese are predominantly Catholic the church and the rest of the authorities should not be too worried. Just by introducing divorce we Maltese should be mega-sure that divorce will hardly be utilised. If we are the God-fearing men and women who are constantly worried about sinning that we are made out to be, most of us will surely not get divorced. If it’s a mortal sin to vote for divorce what category of sin will await all good God-fearing Catholics who eventually make use of the despicable and diabolical law of divorce? As Malta is one of the last vanguards of the old, traditional, conservative, Catholic Church we can rest assured that the divorce lawyers are not going to have much of a field day once Jeffrey’s law comes into force.
Let’s talk about sin a bit more. I will not enter into the intricacies of whether Mons Gouder should decide what is sinful or not. All my life I have thought that is what most priests and the church did quite vehemently: they constantly used to tell us what is sinful, shameful and what needs to be avoided for us to remain in a state of grace. Let’s leave that aside to let the two distinguished clerics have their own little sparring game.
I do believe that Mons Gouder was hardly breaking any electoral or political rule by telling the faithful what is right or wrong and what he wanted these same faithful to do if a vote is ever called. I feel it is quite acceptable for him to say it’s a sin to vote for divorce. The fact that he said that no one will be excommunicated was just up to him. He could, for all I know, even have said that he would arrange for the definite damnation of anyone voting in favour of divorce. He might have sounded ridiculous but since when are we going to decide what rules and regulations can be used by the church itself?
Will we next issue an injunction against the church because its priests wear what resemble women’s clothes?
Before Jeffrey Pullicino Orlando issued his mid-summer bombshell and got us all debating divorce hardly anyone mentioned it. Divorce was mentioned regularly by a vociferous lawyer who was also a “leader” of a so-called party which polled less than a few dozen votes in general elections and divorce was mentioned a few times by a think-tank headed by Mr Martin Scicluna. I’m not sure if the eminent lawyer is still going on about divorce but the last article penned by Scicluna and also echoed by Dr Joe Brincat is hardly the best pro-divorce pronouncement. Mr Scicluna’s and Dr Brincat’s main thesis is that Mons Anton Gouder’s views on divorce and sin are tantamount to illegal practices in a forthcoming election or referendum.
If the priests, nuns, churchmen and the pope want to defend their ideas and ideals and say that something is sinful then good luck to them. If the church feels that something is immoral, reprehensible and divinely wrong then I cannot understand how they can be barred from saying so. I might not agree with their ways of saying it and I might find their ideas grotesquely archaic but I will defend their right to say it in any strange way they desire. It’s interesting to see that the liberal brigade is, to a certain extent, being more illiberal, intolerant and sanctimonious than the church and the rest of the anti-divorce faction.
This article first appeared in the Malta Independent on Sunday on September 5 2010
As I have now broken the pledge I made to myself I might end up being condemned by the Pro Vigarju-Generali for breaking such a promise. I hope not because, after all, he only said it’s a sin if we vote in favour of divorce. Broken promises or writing in favour of divorce have not been sanctioned as sinful yet. As the same good monsignor succinctly put it, we can always sin and then confess and all will be ok with me and my conscience and the heavens above will sigh their celestial sigh of relief and I will be pardoned and be all good and ready for entry into heaven.
Now what can silly me add on to this debate? I’m far from an expert on divorce. The only real experts on divorce are the ones who have experienced it a few times. This sounds facetious but maybe there is a bit of truth in it. I have not heard too much about divorce from the ones who have either been divorced themselves or who are in need of divorce after their first marriage failed.
If only divorcees, or those seeking divorce, are allowed to have their say in the divorce issue one can then extend the argument, if one can extend such things, and state that the last people who can talk about marriage are priests, of the Catholic ilk, who have been barred from entering into sacred matrimony for a good few centuries. I don’t think priests know much about matrimony as they have never experienced it. This sounds like a good argument but it does lose a bit of its strength if one thinks of male gynaecologists or football coaches who have been flops at being footballers yet still turn into managerial wizards. As I have amply shown by now I am definitely no expert and my personal credentials are rather poor. I haven’t read or studied too many tomes on the subject and I have been happily married for over 30 years.
I’m not an expert but whatever it is I am in favour of divorce. If saying something like this is sinful I’m afraid I am now going to be in a state of non-grace till I go to confession. Then I will, I imagine, have to promise that I will never do it again: and we all know how good I am at keeping promises. All I want is for Malta to legislate in favour of divorce as soon as parliamentarily possible. Yes, referenda and divorce should be divorced even before conception. They just don’t go together. If we want to safeguard the sanctity, not of marriage, but of the minority, I just hope that divorce will be introduced. And, if you give the ultra-Catholic majority the power to stop the minority to take what is legitimately theirs then I am afraid they will vote against divorce. The great majority of Maltese people are Catholic so will stick to Catholic traditions and will most probably want those traditions to be upheld by everyone. Parliament, on the other hand, will hopefully rise above all this and pass legislation in favour of divorce and be ready to let the minority, small as it may be, to be able to go ahead and terminate their wedding vows.
Let’s reverse the scenario and imagine, that in the land of Grog, the majority of the inhabitants are non-Christian and according to their age-old religion no first-born child can get married. Now imagine the priests and leaders of Grog decide to pass a law prohibiting all the first-born of whatever religion from getting married. Won’t the Christian minority in Grog revolt at such revolting rules and laws? Won’t we, all Christians of the western world, join in condemning the people of Grog as being uncivilised brutes?
If the majority of Maltese are predominantly Catholic the church and the rest of the authorities should not be too worried. Just by introducing divorce we Maltese should be mega-sure that divorce will hardly be utilised. If we are the God-fearing men and women who are constantly worried about sinning that we are made out to be, most of us will surely not get divorced. If it’s a mortal sin to vote for divorce what category of sin will await all good God-fearing Catholics who eventually make use of the despicable and diabolical law of divorce? As Malta is one of the last vanguards of the old, traditional, conservative, Catholic Church we can rest assured that the divorce lawyers are not going to have much of a field day once Jeffrey’s law comes into force.
Let’s talk about sin a bit more. I will not enter into the intricacies of whether Mons Gouder should decide what is sinful or not. All my life I have thought that is what most priests and the church did quite vehemently: they constantly used to tell us what is sinful, shameful and what needs to be avoided for us to remain in a state of grace. Let’s leave that aside to let the two distinguished clerics have their own little sparring game.
I do believe that Mons Gouder was hardly breaking any electoral or political rule by telling the faithful what is right or wrong and what he wanted these same faithful to do if a vote is ever called. I feel it is quite acceptable for him to say it’s a sin to vote for divorce. The fact that he said that no one will be excommunicated was just up to him. He could, for all I know, even have said that he would arrange for the definite damnation of anyone voting in favour of divorce. He might have sounded ridiculous but since when are we going to decide what rules and regulations can be used by the church itself?
Will we next issue an injunction against the church because its priests wear what resemble women’s clothes?
Before Jeffrey Pullicino Orlando issued his mid-summer bombshell and got us all debating divorce hardly anyone mentioned it. Divorce was mentioned regularly by a vociferous lawyer who was also a “leader” of a so-called party which polled less than a few dozen votes in general elections and divorce was mentioned a few times by a think-tank headed by Mr Martin Scicluna. I’m not sure if the eminent lawyer is still going on about divorce but the last article penned by Scicluna and also echoed by Dr Joe Brincat is hardly the best pro-divorce pronouncement. Mr Scicluna’s and Dr Brincat’s main thesis is that Mons Anton Gouder’s views on divorce and sin are tantamount to illegal practices in a forthcoming election or referendum.
If the priests, nuns, churchmen and the pope want to defend their ideas and ideals and say that something is sinful then good luck to them. If the church feels that something is immoral, reprehensible and divinely wrong then I cannot understand how they can be barred from saying so. I might not agree with their ways of saying it and I might find their ideas grotesquely archaic but I will defend their right to say it in any strange way they desire. It’s interesting to see that the liberal brigade is, to a certain extent, being more illiberal, intolerant and sanctimonious than the church and the rest of the anti-divorce faction.
This article first appeared in the Malta Independent on Sunday on September 5 2010
Sunday, 29 August 2010
Our fateful feasts
Let me start with a confession. I don’t particularly like feasts and I hate with quite a bit of energy the useless noise, the just-noise no-colour fireworks produce. So you have been warned. If this article will cause you offence please admire my ugly mug next to the article, fire some swear-words at me, move on and ponder on some less annoying stuff.
The poor dead man from the Mosta fireworks factory hasn’t been buried long so I will honour his memory with as much mirthless solemnity as is possible to me. Laughing and smiling and accepting and expecting to be amused even in the most solemn of occasions has always been a fault of mine so again please be patient with me and accept my flippancy. Or move on. This flaw has shadowed me from infancy. I find fun and laughter even in the worst of occasions. I have always thought that even in funerals one should see and emphasise the first three letters of the word funeral.
But I, as is my wont, digress and jabber on. What’s with feasts and their mortal accompaniment -- the infamous murtali (petards)? That I don’t like them is not what I want to talk about. I can see why they are enjoyed: after all I did say I like fun so feasts should be my great big love. What I utterly detest are the useless noisy bangs that go on from morning till late at night with no thought or care of the sick, the infirm or those who do not like such fare. The colourful ones, I grudgingly admit, are fun. The kaxxa infernali, although quite diabolically insane in its proximity to houses, is lovely to see. But is all this fun, colour and religious mania worth all the human and material loss? In fact is the terrifying din we all heard on that fateful Friday the 13th when the Santa Marija fireworks factory blew up, worth it at all? And is it in any way connected to religion? Or is it connected to Our Lord Jesus Christ? Because I imagine the glorification of patron saints is, in some ways, intended to glorify Jesus Christ himself, otherwise it would be idolatry. So by simple deduction we should arrive at the great conclusion that Jesus Christ quite loves and admires feasts and fireworks.
My heart bleeds for all the men who have died or suffered some firework-related accident. Is there a strange correlation to a macho thing here? I’ve never heard of a female being involved in any firework-related accident. Is that pure chance or are only males interested in producing the fiery stuff? Or maybe women are more averse to taking risks? Other countries produce fireworks but we rarely hear of factories being blown off. Is it our heat? Is it our Mediterranean bravado? Maybe we in Malta produce our fireworks as a sign of respect for the panoply of saints and angels and the Holy Trinity; maybe in producing the fireworks we feel we have to be more daring in showing how devourt our religion is.
The latest in our string of national accidents in the fireworks field saw a known enthusiast and expert die. So the usual excuse that amateurs who dabble in explosive stuff were involved is not much of an excuse here. I fear that the full reason for the explosion that rocked the whole island will never be found. But even if it is found I doubt whether any action will be taken. We witnessed these accidents so often that we are becoming immune to them. We react in horror when a fireworks factory blows up but then after a few days or weeks we are back to normal. In fact although Mosta did cancel all outdoor festivities, none of the other villages thought of playing their own feast down. Maybe it would have been apt to play down their own feast as a sign of solidarity or respect?
Unfortunately I would say the solution to this is a complete ban of fireworks of all type, colourful, noisy or whatever. Sorry dear tourist and dear Maltese lover of mayhem - that would be my draconian answer to this loss of life. As many among my friends and foes would say: thank God I am no law-giver. I know a total ban would meet with loads of protests. Besides the rapt onlookers and festa visitors there would be a plethora of protests from the Malta Tourism Authority, the firework manufacturers, the church, the band players’ union and a few other groups.
It might seem strange to think that just because fireworks are banned there would be no festa. But the main fun that feasts afford is the noise that reverberates all around the village square and which illuminates the sky with all sorts of colour. I doubt if the patron saint would want to get off her cosy niche if he/she is not greeted with fireworks once he/she comes out of the church. Can anyone imagine a feast which will not have the saint fêted with some sort of colourful cacophony when he/she is being hauled in all his/her glory all around the village? The noise, the fun is needed and without it the feast as we have always known it would change drastically and it would be no more. And if it’s not a normal feast with frolicky fun the would-be revellers would not help much to make the feast a success. If the feast becomes just a deeply religious one, with just solemn services and serious rites and quiet observance of liturgy all organised in the patron saint’s memory, the attendance would fall dramatically. Would the church authorities love or tolerate such a change?
Feasts and fireworks make the village rock so even the local council loves festi. Feasts, after all, help the economic cycle. Bars and other shops love festi and the colour and noise because they sell so many more beers and all sorts of calorific colourful stuff. So besides the barmen and the brassy barmaids selling their wares and hotdogs, feasts help the beer importers, the beer manufacturers, the vintners of Malta and also ultimately the farmers who sell more grapes to the vintners who sell most of their stuff during the feasts. Feats of drinking prowess might not be organised around Malta too often but they sure seem to be held regularly every time a saint is honoured. So with every bang the Maltese economic cycle gets a really grand boost.
So my dream of a total ban will definitely never be attained. Malta needs feasts and therefore it needs fireworks to keep it going. Feasts and fireworks are ingrained in our psyche: some years ago we even had incoming and outgoing flights banned for a few hours to allow fireworks to be let off close to the airport. We also used to have an arterial road like the B’kara bypass closed off to traffic to let the village revellers get on with their noisy mirth to show off their love of some saint in heaven. Doesn’t this show our love of feasts and fireworks? Can anyone imagine closing Heathrow airport so that some English protestants can show their disdain of that horrid Catholic, Guy Fawkes?
If the ban is implemented we would have no fireworks festival in Grand Harbour. So we would lose another occasion to show off our bastions and cities.
I know that fireworks, however lethal, will never be banned. And although we keep saying we will legislate to make the manufacture of fireworks less dangerous all we ever do is talk, talk and then talk a bit more. Then finally after another period of soul-searching and gut-wrenching we end up passing some tough draconian measures that make us, on paper, the least likely to suffer any casualties in firework-related accidents. But such measures need enforcement and I’m not convinced we are the best enforcers of tough measures. So whatever happens and whatever is discussed and decided all will remain exactly the same with the same results and loss of lives or limbs.
Even if you love feasts and their din I cannot imagine anyone loving, or easily living with, the disasters that are regularly witnessed in the firework field. If faith is in any way involved in festive fireworks the horrid fate of so many enthusiasts should make us stop and think very hard. Is it all worthwhile to see so much effort and human life go up in useless but colourful smoke?
This article first appeared in the Malta Independent on Sunday on August 29 2010
The poor dead man from the Mosta fireworks factory hasn’t been buried long so I will honour his memory with as much mirthless solemnity as is possible to me. Laughing and smiling and accepting and expecting to be amused even in the most solemn of occasions has always been a fault of mine so again please be patient with me and accept my flippancy. Or move on. This flaw has shadowed me from infancy. I find fun and laughter even in the worst of occasions. I have always thought that even in funerals one should see and emphasise the first three letters of the word funeral.
But I, as is my wont, digress and jabber on. What’s with feasts and their mortal accompaniment -- the infamous murtali (petards)? That I don’t like them is not what I want to talk about. I can see why they are enjoyed: after all I did say I like fun so feasts should be my great big love. What I utterly detest are the useless noisy bangs that go on from morning till late at night with no thought or care of the sick, the infirm or those who do not like such fare. The colourful ones, I grudgingly admit, are fun. The kaxxa infernali, although quite diabolically insane in its proximity to houses, is lovely to see. But is all this fun, colour and religious mania worth all the human and material loss? In fact is the terrifying din we all heard on that fateful Friday the 13th when the Santa Marija fireworks factory blew up, worth it at all? And is it in any way connected to religion? Or is it connected to Our Lord Jesus Christ? Because I imagine the glorification of patron saints is, in some ways, intended to glorify Jesus Christ himself, otherwise it would be idolatry. So by simple deduction we should arrive at the great conclusion that Jesus Christ quite loves and admires feasts and fireworks.
My heart bleeds for all the men who have died or suffered some firework-related accident. Is there a strange correlation to a macho thing here? I’ve never heard of a female being involved in any firework-related accident. Is that pure chance or are only males interested in producing the fiery stuff? Or maybe women are more averse to taking risks? Other countries produce fireworks but we rarely hear of factories being blown off. Is it our heat? Is it our Mediterranean bravado? Maybe we in Malta produce our fireworks as a sign of respect for the panoply of saints and angels and the Holy Trinity; maybe in producing the fireworks we feel we have to be more daring in showing how devourt our religion is.
The latest in our string of national accidents in the fireworks field saw a known enthusiast and expert die. So the usual excuse that amateurs who dabble in explosive stuff were involved is not much of an excuse here. I fear that the full reason for the explosion that rocked the whole island will never be found. But even if it is found I doubt whether any action will be taken. We witnessed these accidents so often that we are becoming immune to them. We react in horror when a fireworks factory blows up but then after a few days or weeks we are back to normal. In fact although Mosta did cancel all outdoor festivities, none of the other villages thought of playing their own feast down. Maybe it would have been apt to play down their own feast as a sign of solidarity or respect?
Unfortunately I would say the solution to this is a complete ban of fireworks of all type, colourful, noisy or whatever. Sorry dear tourist and dear Maltese lover of mayhem - that would be my draconian answer to this loss of life. As many among my friends and foes would say: thank God I am no law-giver. I know a total ban would meet with loads of protests. Besides the rapt onlookers and festa visitors there would be a plethora of protests from the Malta Tourism Authority, the firework manufacturers, the church, the band players’ union and a few other groups.
It might seem strange to think that just because fireworks are banned there would be no festa. But the main fun that feasts afford is the noise that reverberates all around the village square and which illuminates the sky with all sorts of colour. I doubt if the patron saint would want to get off her cosy niche if he/she is not greeted with fireworks once he/she comes out of the church. Can anyone imagine a feast which will not have the saint fêted with some sort of colourful cacophony when he/she is being hauled in all his/her glory all around the village? The noise, the fun is needed and without it the feast as we have always known it would change drastically and it would be no more. And if it’s not a normal feast with frolicky fun the would-be revellers would not help much to make the feast a success. If the feast becomes just a deeply religious one, with just solemn services and serious rites and quiet observance of liturgy all organised in the patron saint’s memory, the attendance would fall dramatically. Would the church authorities love or tolerate such a change?
Feasts and fireworks make the village rock so even the local council loves festi. Feasts, after all, help the economic cycle. Bars and other shops love festi and the colour and noise because they sell so many more beers and all sorts of calorific colourful stuff. So besides the barmen and the brassy barmaids selling their wares and hotdogs, feasts help the beer importers, the beer manufacturers, the vintners of Malta and also ultimately the farmers who sell more grapes to the vintners who sell most of their stuff during the feasts. Feats of drinking prowess might not be organised around Malta too often but they sure seem to be held regularly every time a saint is honoured. So with every bang the Maltese economic cycle gets a really grand boost.
So my dream of a total ban will definitely never be attained. Malta needs feasts and therefore it needs fireworks to keep it going. Feasts and fireworks are ingrained in our psyche: some years ago we even had incoming and outgoing flights banned for a few hours to allow fireworks to be let off close to the airport. We also used to have an arterial road like the B’kara bypass closed off to traffic to let the village revellers get on with their noisy mirth to show off their love of some saint in heaven. Doesn’t this show our love of feasts and fireworks? Can anyone imagine closing Heathrow airport so that some English protestants can show their disdain of that horrid Catholic, Guy Fawkes?
If the ban is implemented we would have no fireworks festival in Grand Harbour. So we would lose another occasion to show off our bastions and cities.
I know that fireworks, however lethal, will never be banned. And although we keep saying we will legislate to make the manufacture of fireworks less dangerous all we ever do is talk, talk and then talk a bit more. Then finally after another period of soul-searching and gut-wrenching we end up passing some tough draconian measures that make us, on paper, the least likely to suffer any casualties in firework-related accidents. But such measures need enforcement and I’m not convinced we are the best enforcers of tough measures. So whatever happens and whatever is discussed and decided all will remain exactly the same with the same results and loss of lives or limbs.
Even if you love feasts and their din I cannot imagine anyone loving, or easily living with, the disasters that are regularly witnessed in the firework field. If faith is in any way involved in festive fireworks the horrid fate of so many enthusiasts should make us stop and think very hard. Is it all worthwhile to see so much effort and human life go up in useless but colourful smoke?
This article first appeared in the Malta Independent on Sunday on August 29 2010
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