OK, it’s cliché time.

But seriously, whatever happened to “I may disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it?”

We have seen a lot of intolerance this week, starting from that by now notorious university debate.

As one of the journalists asking questions on that stage (from where I had a clear view of all the goings on), my feeling is: sure students are by nature rowdy, and sure they were bound to show their approval or disapproval of what was being said. But what ever happened to tolerance and allowing other people to express themselves, even if those opinions grate with yours? Am I too old-fashioned to have expected that there should have been at least a semblance of good manners from this future crop of graduates?

Mocking someone who mentions his recent bout with cancer is more than just rude, it’s cruel.

A lot has been said about how refreshing it was to see students freely voicing their feelings without fear of being beaten up. I agree 100 per cent. We have come a long way and thank God for that. But let’s not now make the other mistake of using psychological intimidation against those who don’t agree with you. In that atmosphere I was trying to visualise a Green supporter having the nerve to stand up and timidly call out “Go Harry”.

That the audience was predominately pro-Gonzi is a fact, and perhaps Labour should be examining why this is so rather than whining too much about it. Maybe the MLP is hopelessly out of touch with this demographic and needed Monday’s debate like a cold shower to drive this point home.

Was the PN camp better organised at rallying their supporters, or are today’s 20-somethings, who have really only known one government, a true product of the Eddie/Gonzi generation?

Wearing the typical Uni uniform of low-slung jeans and a wrapped woollen scarf, there is nothing to distinguish them from their European counterparts... except perhaps that our rather pampered studenti (who still live at home, where Mummy does their laundry and they have no expenses to speak of), only really care about one thing: that no one touches their precious stipends.

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So who came out looking best out of this debate? On the surface it looks like Gonzi, who was playing to an adoring crowd and milked it for what it was worth. Sant, on the other hand, visibly taken aback by the students’ reaction, appeared defensive and his weak, evasive answers made things worse.

Josie Muscat proved he could take on a hostile crowd, and even got a few claps with his colourful turns of phrase while Harry Vassallo was rather too laid-back and uninspiring.

But the Nationalist Party should not be too over-confident after what happened on campus. Those for whom the PN has come to epitomise arrogance will say that the sight of those fervently pro-PN students only confirms their worst fears of what will happen with another five years of this.

Oh, and one last thing.

The hall was filled with students chanting “Viva l-Labour, Viva l-Labour”, cheering wildly when Alfred Sant spoke and booing with hostility when Lawrence Gonzi opened his mouth.

Huh? What the...?

No, of course it didn’t happen that way, it was quite the opposite...

But just hold that image in your head for a second and then imagine what the grinding Nationalist PR machine would have done with it.

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Déjà vu anyone?

All of the PN guns are now pointed firmly and unswervingly at Alternattiva (Josie’s more radical AN party seems to have been put on the back burner – perhaps they are hoping he will just disappear).

The problem is that those who support PN can’t seem to get their stories straight. One minute they tell you that Harry is dreaming and no way will AD elect even one MP. The next minute they are blasting away at him with all their ammunition, screaming accusations that he is in cahoots with Labour and out to get “their” votes. Then, with all cannons blazing they deliver the ultimate insult and mind-numbing scenario: a vote for AD is a vote for Sant.

Ooh, mummy help, I’m so scared. Make that bad man go away.

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All politicians of every colour and hue like to give the message that their party is ahead. It makes them feel good inside and, more importantly, it reassures their supporters that they are doing the right thing in backing a winning horse. Mass meetings are a reassurance on a grander scale: “kemm kellna nies!” (look at how many people we had!), the diehards tell each other, measuring the length and breadth of the streets and calculating how many thousands were jammed in there. It’s a psychological boost that serves to raise morale and (hopefully) strike terror in the hearts of their opponents.

But the truth is that for every person who wraps himself up in his party flag and spends his Sunday afternoon hollering the name of his beloved leader, there are others who sit quietly at home, minding their own business, sipping a cup of tea. And reflecting. There are those who really don’t want to go around shouting from the rooftops about how they are going to vote. Deep down, politicians are also fully aware that in cynical Malta, not everyone who gives them a wink and a nod will really follow through and place that magical Number One next to their name.

For, at the end of the day, when we are all alone in that tiny voting booth, it’s just us and that little pencil.

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Josie Muscat’s scathing remarks about single mothers and unknown fathers has made me pause for thought. Perhaps instead of free energy-saving light bulbs what this government should be distributing is free condoms.

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