Lizzie Eldridge's Blog: Lorca by Candlelight, page 5

Tales from the Land of Serenity Part 12

‘Tales from the Land of Serenity’ came into being shortly after the horrific assassination of Daphne Caruana Galizia in Malta on 16th October 2017. A well-known investigative journalist, Daphne Caruana Galizia was blown up by a car bomb, minutes away from her home in Bidnija. The title of these stories derives from words spoken by the Maltese Prime Minister, Joseph Muscat, a few days after her murder: ‘When the MEPs visit Malta, they will do so with a sense of serenity…’

In what was an unusual sequence of events for a group of citizens affectionately known as ‘passive inebriates’, certain sections of the serene and civil population – those normally assumed to be mainly concerned with riding atop an open-top bus waving their hard-earned diplomas – became headline news in the Land of Serenity.

In an election deliberately designed to mimic those in which their own dear parents participated, what should have been a peaceful and necessary part of the democracy on which serenity is founded turned into a bit of a bunfight, except some of the buns were burning while others were dowsed in unidentifiable liquids and hurled towards the unassuming spectators otherwise known as the custodians of law and order.

These green saplings of serenity, some of whom already had their eyes firmly fixed on the role of leader one fine day, were soon transformed into an unruly mob but would no doubt be suitably punished by their Mummy or their Daddy when they arrived home after the hour of curfew once the shenanigans had fizzled out. Being deprived of pocket money and grounded for a week or more is no joke when you’ve got serious exams to study for.

Meanwhile, the scholastic radicals in the leafy ivory towers were also waking up from slumber and making noises – pooh! pooh! nay! nay! rhubarb say I rhubarb! This was translated by a team of erudite scholars to mean there was dissent – although the word itself was never used – from the perceived attempt by outside forces who had permanent residence in Castille to infiltrate the dusty corridors of academic authority and impose governmental restrictions on the absolute freedom of astute critical analysis for which the hallowed university was famed.

Those halcyon days of roses, wine and summer yore seemed a distant memory, an oft-played tune now fading in the mind. Nothing was sacred, it appeared, in the land where faith was all. But. as luck would have it, or the miracle of prayer, the construction of a new fireworks factory was announced on the even more serene (if such a thing could be possible) little sister island of Gozo. In keeping with a land oft-seen as a curious cocktail of fireworks and saints, the planned site for the manufacture of highly flammable and dangerously explosive toxic products was, of course, beside the holiest of sanctuaries – a humble little chapel of major historical importance.

But none come holier than the holy family in this land of reverential serenity. So when a barrani from the never never world of somewhere else arrived on these sweet shores and expressed no small amount of surprise at the almost non-existent debate about – (citizens cover your ears and bury your heads in the sand to block out the word that dares not speak its name) – … … a… … a… … abortion (gasp, gulp, hands up to mouths in awful shock). So when this univited intruder from the faraway kingdom of Europe arrived on these fair shores breathing words of untold blasphemy, the white-clad citizens were equally uncouth in their response.

Again unusually for this calm and placid land but the Council of Europe (wherever the hell that was) Commissioner for Human Rights was heckled by the immaculately moral majority who rebuked him sternly and reminded him that ‘Murder of innocent lives is not permitted on these islands!’

The European Commissioner for Human Rights frowned a little and looked around to make sure he was in the same terrain of serenity in which a journalist had been blown to bits less than a month before. He blinked twice, pinched himself then, hearing the sound of jubilant fireworks, was reassured that his faculties had not deserted him and there he was, safe and sound, slap bang in the middle of that Mediterranean model of serenity, fashioned from the ancient clay of dynamic limestone, harbouring just the faintest whiff of sulphur.[image error]

Malta for Dummies #2

This is the second part of a series I created and wrote for the Shift News: Malta for Dummies.

In Malta, where everything is upside down and topsy-turvy, this guide is designed as a brief induction into the operational methods of the smallest state in the EU. The ideal dummy is visualised as a foreigner, an outsider, a barrani, a person of European origin who’s been instilled with European values since birth. Part 2 focuses on how the country deals with dissent.

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The first part was published a week ago and focused on the erasure of memory in relation to multiple attempts to clear the makeshift memorial in front of the Law Courts, set up in respect to assassinated journalist Daphne Caruana Galizia and as an ongoing reminder that justice has still not been served.

On 6 September, the flowers, candles and cards constituting the makeshift memorial were removed by State authorities ahead of a wreath-laying ceremony commemorating Malta’s victory over the Turks in 1565. Within hours, the women-led activist group Occupy Justice returned them, leaving the wreaths laid at the monument intact.

Two days later, on 8 September, the actual date of Victory Day, another wreath-laying ceremony took place. Minutes after a supposedly solemn State occasion to remember Malta’s glorious past, workers descended on the revered monument and completely blocked it off with scaffolding, wooden boards and green material placed over them.

Amid accusations that activists had vandalised the memorial with weapons of mass destruction, otherwise known as candles and flowers, suddenly – and on the day symbolically represented by this monument – the apparently much revered statue was removed from view…on government.

You’d be forgiven for picturing parallel images of stagehands dismantling the scenery mid-way through a play, or of undertakers clearing away the accoutrements for a funeral while the final hymn was being sung.

To put our dummy’s mind at rest, an explanation was provided (just as one would expect from any law-abiding government). The Minister for Justice and Culture, Owen Bonnici, announced that the base of the statue needed restorative work, and there’s no time like Victory Day to hasten on with such activities. Never mind that days later work on the monument hadn’t started.

Immediately after the barricading of the memorial – which also includes police barriers designed to prevent people approaching what is a public monument in a public square – two activist groups were quick to respond.

Il-Kenniesa created seven new memorials during the night on monuments across the island, including the Great Siege monument. Likewise, Reżistenza put up banners with the message ‘She investigated them. They killed her’.

Less than 24 hours after Malta For Dummies was published last week, the situation regarding the memorial intensified, and the government’s actions have sparked heavy criticism from anti-corruption activists, MEPs, Maltese and international politicians, as well as members of Caruana Galizia’s family.

Meanwhile, people continue to place candles and flowers in front of the barricaded memorial, undeterred by heavy-handed attempts by the State to bury the memorial – and with it memories of the journalist – from public view.

In many ways, the sight of non-threatening objects acquire an added poignancy in front of a memorial so overtly covered from view.

But just in case our European observer thinks that all’s well with our world, PN MP Simon Busuttil had to retrieve a photo of the journalist from a bin while another photo was ripped down and stamped on by a furious passer-by.

Female activists have been harassed by ageing men while placing candles and flowers, swallowing the government line that they are responsible for vandalising the now well-concealed monument.

A public monument barricaded and hidden from public view is what will greet the eight MEPs from the European Parliament’s Civil Liberties Committee visiting Malta to probe the rule of law in the country next week.

They just missed Malta’s police violently dragging activists out of a Planning Authority meeting on Thursday for the crime of taking a stand against aggressive development.

Oh my – yes, this is – Malta.[image error]

Malta for Dummies #2

 

Tales from the Land of Serenity Part 11

‘Tales from the Land of Serenity’ came into being shortly after the horrific assassination of Daphne Caruana Galizia in Malta on 16th October 2017. A well-known investigative journalist, Daphne Caruana Galizia was blown up by a car bomb, minutes away from her home in Bidnija. The title of these stories derives from words spoken by the Maltese Prime Minister, Joseph Muscat, a few days after her murder: ‘When the MEPs visit Malta, they will do so with a sense of serenity…’[image error]

As a normal land with normal laws with normal people who stay indoors, the Land of Serenity was unexceptional. Likewise, each day was equally as unremarkable as any other. Nothing out of the ordinary, no dangerous bolts from the blue, and nothing to ruffle the feathers of the bird now limp and lifeless in the hunter’s happy hands.

Business, as always, carried on as usual in that rhythmic mundane tempo so expected of this land, with a bang bang bang and a drill drill drill and a beep beep beep and a pay-me-how-you-will, the citizens went about their work without complaint, although some did mutter unsavoury comments over breakfast about how that witch had got what she deserved.

In a land where freedom of speech was a natural birthright, the citizens, whose white robes mirrored their angelic aspirations, didn’t like to make a fuss when some of their brethren uttered sentiments which in many countries (including most of their neighbours) would have been condemned for being hateful, callous, cruel, vindictive, hideous, malicious, an incitement to violence, and grossly and grotesquely inhumane.

But the Land of Serenity had its name to live up to and so no-one in this haven of paradise was ever put to shame. “It takes all sorts to make a world,” they smiled and so serenely. “Shame is a shameful game,” the good citizens agreed. “No good ever comes from speaking evil,” they said, although this doctrine was not always applicable when one was speaking of the dead.

Still alive and still on vigilant duty, the Police Commissioner licked the final piece of rabbit from his plate. Still alive and still presiding over the clanking wheels of justice, the Attorney General made a quick call to his leader and reassured him that despite allegations made by their very own Minister for Justice, the politicians were categorically NOT responsible for the recent assassination of a journalist who had accused so many of these politicians of untold corruption on a widespread scale and had even used proof to support her allegations, proof which was now receiving ridiculous support from what was indisputably a fabricated body of evidence involving a mere 13.4 million documents dating from an insignificant number of years between 1950 and 2016 analysed by a handful of journalists – 381 to be precise – from a miniscule number of 67 countries.

“Nothing to worry about on that front,” the Attorney General smiled as he ended his phone call to a man – nay, a leader! – whose position at the helm of Serenity had no bearing whatsoever on the judicial procedures which had been praised for being an exemplary model of independence by everybody except those not lucky enough to live safely and soundly within this hush-hush of serenity.

In comparison to the harmless teasing taunts of those who spoke just a little unkindly of the dead, it could be nothing but brazen audacity or perhaps a wicked personal vendetta that had led the President of the Chamber of Advocates – tacitly expected to safeguard the laws of Serenity – to infer – and do so treacherously – that something was amiss. He even – and at this, the timid citizens of serenity covered their children’s ears – he even went so far as to suggest that this coveted land of cleanliness and truth was – oh, horror of horrors! – that IT WAS NOT A NORMAL PLACE!

This horrendous and brutal attack on the transparent procedures which sustain and feed and nourish the seamless structures of Serenity was, and to put it mildly, well below the belt in a land where nothing is, apart from the bone spat out into the Police Commissioner’s crotch as he choked on his over-cooked rabbit.

Malta for Dummies

This is an article I published in The Shift News, the first in a series I created called Malta for Dummies.

In Malta, where everything is upside down and topsy-turvy, this guide is designed as a brief induction into the operational methods of the smallest state in the EU. The ideal dummy is visualised as a foreigner, an outsider, a barrani, a person of European origin who’s been instilled with European values since birth. Part 1 focuses on memory and its erasure.

Malta for Dummies [image error]

Tales from the Land of Serenity Part 10

‘Tales from the Land of Serenity’ came into being shortly after the horrific assassination of Daphne Caruana Galizia in Malta on 16th October 2017. A well-known investigative journalist, Daphne Caruana Galizia was blown up by a car bomb, minutes away from her home in Bidnija. The title of these stories derives from words spoken by the Maltese Prime Minister, Joseph Muscat, a few days after her murder: ‘When the MEPs visit Malta, they will do so with a sense of serenity…’

In the azure blue sky thinking of the land of serenity where fenek was pulled from the hats of magicians with looking-glass eyes, the roulette wheel of fate and fortune was spinning with the soothing hum that emanates from a Hotpoint automatic squeezing dirt from its mud-stained clothes. In the land of infinite possibility, all traces of impossible misbehaviour were quickly bleached and ironed out.

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Good humour and joviality were in abundant supply, oft cited as national characteristics of the citizens of this land. A reference to ‘whores’ by a man who once fervently protected the rights of workers of both sexes was understood for what it was – a trivial joke shared between friends who knew, in their hearts, that their virgin wives were pure.

Playful banter was part and parcel of maintaining their serenity, and a taxi driver was merely having a little laugh when he suggested he use his legally licensed vehicle to plough into the inhuman crowd of dissidents who were still displaying disobedience in the face of the tightly constructed rule of law. He was wiping away the tears of laughter as he fantasised about mowing his fellow citizens down and the police, busy as always with their ever so urgent business in a land where, it has to be remembered, a journalist was blown to pieces by a car bomb in broad daylight not so very long ago, yes, the police acted as they knew they must and in the line of duty. Being sacked – not something with which the police were familiar – was punishment enough for this poor man and to investigate him further would only cause unnecessary distress AND to his innocent family who were already suffering under the strain.

Compassion is the watchword for the boys in blue, a word that cannot be overstated in this clean and pleasant land. Compassion was key. Compassion is everything. And another family were reminded of this as they sat in the lawcourts of justice within hours of witnessing the horrific murder of their mother and a wife. They sat patiently in a waiting room within hours of the assassination of the journalist who’d probed into the workings of the system of justice and found a gross imbalance in its scales.

Waiting – without time to even begin to absorb the horror of what had just happened, as if such an atrocity could ever be absorbed – the family sat and sat and waited with no leniency being shown to file a court application insisting that a magistrate who’d been implicated in allegations of corruption by the journalist who’d been assassinated on the self-same day should not be placed in charge of this particular murder inquiry.
The compassion shown was almost overwhelming as one would expect when the milk of human kindness is the nectar of serenity.

A similar olive branch of Immediate forgiveness was extended to the Minister of Justice when, his burden of work having an audible impact on his ability to position his words in the right order, he insisted – and very clearly given his befuddled state of mind – that the journalist whose shocking assassination was – or was it ‘was’ or ‘is’? – for now the Minister of Justice began struggling with his tenses – but the minister of Justice for the Land of Serenity quite clearly and categorically stated in a way that quite clearly illustrated his confusion that the journalist ‘was killed by politicians!’
…
Gasp, shock, sigh as he excused himself politely and replaced the original word (a mere slip of the tongue that any one of us could quite easily make and be forgiven for making) with the word he originally meant to use of course. ‘By criminals!’ he bellowed, and serenity was restored.

Just like jokes, a silly little mix-up in one’s choice of nouns which has hilarious implications if you take it seriously, is no more than a minor aside in this land of serenity where everything – even the brutal assassination of a journalist in broad daylight – can eventually, and in the sheltered haven of this watertight rule of law, be put to rights to ensure that order is restored.

Prosit-Proset Tassew Onorevoli Owen Bonnici: No Stone Left Unturned?

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This was my reply to Malta’s Minister for Justice and Culture, Owen Bonnici, when he published a Facebook post in response to my article Owen Bonnici and Me

Owen Bonnici is the minister responsible for the more than daily removal of flowers, candles and photos from the protest site in front of the Law Courts in Valletta.

No Stone Left Unturned

Owen Bonnici and Me

This was a piece I published on the blog of Manuel Delia ‘Truth Be Told’. It’s about a chance meeting I had in the street with the so-called Minister for Justice and Culture in Malta last year.

[image error]Owen and Bonnici and Me

Tales from the Land of Serenity Part 9

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The normal humdrum peace and tranquility characteristic of this quiet little island where everybody goes about their own business with impeccable discretion and the utmost of respect had its cages slightly shaken by the newly-acquired discovery that the ever-so-annoying dissidents who were not representative of the majority of law-abiding citizens who scuttled along with their eyes firmly on the ground had committed an act of unquestionable brutality that most certainly deserved further investigation by the rigorous forces of law and order that ensured the security of all its happy grateful people who wanted nothing more than just to get a good night’s sleep.

But no! There were some, a devious few it must be said, who wanted to usurp the rightful powers that be and possibly upset the smoothly-oiled apple cart, providing an opportunity for those nearby to gather up some of the fruit that rolled astray, not in an act of theft, you understand, but in rightful acquisition of a bounty that just happened to appear right underneath their noses and thus it would be a criminal shame to let such succulent samples of temptation go to waste in a land where thriftiness is next to godliness.

The police – renowned for their intrepid skills in the art of investigation – worked diligently in their determined quest to keep this land crime-free. So you can imagine how horrified they were to take up their positions of alertness come Monday morning, in a police station which was always a hive of activity, but now buried by a pile of missiles in the form of paper planes. Rightfully identifying these as weapons of mass destruction, police officers approached the scene with the same caution and effectiveness they’d used when two of their very own colleagues had arrived with a single fire extinguisher between them to fight back the fierce blaze caused by a massive car bomb which had blown a female journalist into pieces only weeks before.

They’d learnt their lesson and using arms-length sticks to prod at the mound of paper, one of them with an above-average level of literacy, realised that the missiles contained words. Amongst the hundreds of messages handwritten by the ever-so-annoying dissidents were two which were deeply ominous, perhaps, indeed, life-threatening.

‘Sleep with one eye open,’ were words which sent a shiver through the boys in blue for no matter how hard they tried, and they did try, they could not imagine how this would be possible.

‘We know where you live,’ read another, deeply disturbing in a tiny country where everybody knows where everybody lives.

They took the matter more than seriously, placing the Land of Serenity on high alert, but even this was not enough to dissuade a small but implacable group of women to storm the sacred bastions of Castille, their faces demonstrating none of the emotion usually expected from the fairer gentler sex. Undeterred by the fact the palace doors were closed against them, six women waited patiently on the doorstep until, in despair, the butler and the housekeeper ushered them in.

Face to face with their noble leader – a man embodying the foundational principles of the Land of Serenity – ideals of truth, integrity and justice, of Christian faith and honesty – face to face with a man who deserved his place above mere mortals, the women deigned to sit there calmly and read out their demands. All things said and done, their pleas were simple and nothing out of the ordinary in a land that prides itself on abiding by the law. They merely wanted their pristine leader to accept responsibility for the assassination of a journalist, a woman, a wife and mother just like them. Wanting to prevent the Land of Serenity to be tainted by impunity, the women further requested the removal of the Police Commissioner and the Attorney General from their posts, on the grounds that both men had completely failed in their assigned tasks of maintaining even the semblance of safety and justice in a land where both were regarded as sacrosanct.

Sadly, with a sigh and with a heavy heart, the noble leader looked at the women who, as women, although he did not blame them, were unfortunately doomed to know so much less than himself. Like a father wanting to spare his children, like a husband not wanting to bother his pretty wife’s head, he explained, and did so slowly, that although this situation caused him grave pain, that even he, not even he, could place himself above the laws of this sacred sacred land.

His hands were tied, his feet were bound and, while expressing his sincere condolences when referring to the untimely assassination of a journalist who had exposed corruption on an untold scale both within him and around him, it was with deepest regret that he informed the women that even he, a man of such high standing, but even he – however unbelievable this might seem and how difficult it was for him to concede – but even he, and this was said with bitter tears in his sympathetic eye – even he, the pinnacle of serenity – yes, even he, was not above the law.

Nothing is above the law in the Land of Serenity where the sky is the limit and limitations dissolve into the blue.

The ‘Serenity’ of Joseph Muscat

This is a recent piece I wrote published by The Shift News. It focuses on the concept of ‘serenity’ within the ideological repertoire of the current Maltese government.

The ‘Serenity’ of Joseph Muscat’s Malta

A Documentary Reportage on Malta: Valletta – Cultural Capital or Capital of Death?

 

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This is a report on Malta made by Greek TV ERT1 (Ellinikí Radiophonia Tileórasi 1). It focuses particularly on Valletta’s position as European Capital of Culture in the context of a country exposed for massive levels of national and global corruption, corruption uncovered by the investigative journalist, Daphne Caruana Galizia, who was assassinated in Malta on the 16th of October 2017.

Tomorrow marks the 8 month anniversary of her murder.

Since her assassination, revelations about the scale and quantity of the corruption taking place in Malta have been overwhelming. New stories and evidence of gross malpractice, injustice, and a flagrant disregard for any rule of law appear on a more than daily basis. What’s happening in Malta is beyond belief and yet it is all too real.

The following documentary provides insights into the current situation in Malta in which, three months after the brutal murder of the journalist, Valletta indulged in an extravagant opening ceremony to celebrate its new position as European City of Culture. To say this event was undermined by the assassination of the leading critic of the Maltese government is a gross understatement. While Valletta bathed itself in lights awash with politically motivated fantasies, this ostentatious form of celebration stood in stark contrast to the reality: a journalist who spent her life uncovering the intricate networks of deceit, fraud, misconduct and criminality had been blown up in a car bomb, while those responsible for her murder were – and are – basking in impunity.

As an artist and a member of the women’s led protest organisation, Occupy Justice, I’m one of the people who contributes to this documentary. In Malta, unlike most – if not all – European democracies, the artists have been remarkably silent in the face of the dismantling of the rule of law and ongoing attempts by the present government to stifle media freedom and freedom of expression alongside this. Why? Because all roads lead to the government in Malta. Fear coupled with self-interest becomes a self-imposed gag on the articulation of dissent. Human rights, it seems, can be sacrificed in the name of so-called art. And here we truly enter the eternally warped territory of Orwellian doublethink for how can art, which needs life for its existence, emerge from a culture of death? How can art which, by necessity, demands a free and unfettered imagination, be released from the confines of a kow-towing jail? How can art, which is inherently critical in the very moment it finds its own voice, dare to call itself art if merely reflects or implicitly reinforces the grotesque and ever-shifting deceptions of a totalitarian regime?

“Nowadays, anyone who wishes to combat lies and ignorance and to write the truth must overcome at least five difficulties. He must have the courage to write the truth when truth is everywhere opposed; the keenness to recognize it, although it is everywhere concealed; the skill to manipulate it as a weapon; the judgment to select those in whose hands it will be effective; and the running to spread the truth among such persons.” – Bertold Brecht, Galileo

ERT1 Malta Reportage