The Labour leader said yesterday that he is ready to govern with a “strong and united” team. Yes, I appreciate that he’s drawing comparisons here with the fact that his opposite number has problems with a couple of jerks, but surely he’s missing the point.
It’s not Labour’s self-professed strength and unity that are a source of concern to sensible people who aren’t about to vote on a grudge. It’s Labour’s brains, ability and competence. And aside from a couple of people who seem all right (which begs the question as to what they are doing with Labour in the first place), all I see when I look at the line-up is a bunch of incompetent or corrupt idiots mixed into a melange with rejects from the Cabinets of Dom Mintoff and Karmenu Mifsud Bonnici.
Most notable among them is that blow-dried, withered and doddery old lady, Karmenu Vella, who can’t remember what he said three minutes ago when discussing Labour’s plans, even though he’s the one who’s supposed to have been composing those plans and writing them up for the last three years or so.
Yes, and all of them led by somebody I spent years listening to as he heckled Nationalist politicians in his role as a Super One propagandist and hack. Now, he’s heckling them as the Labour leader and his mentality and competence are about the same they were then.
I don’t exactly feel inspired, but what the hell. I survived the experience of a god-awful series of Labour governments between the ages of six and 23, when I knew nothing else. I think we can contend with government by a Super One hack and his old-lady friend Karmenu Il-Guy (again).
Whether we want to do so is another matter. It seems like a waste of time and energy and too big a risk to the economy, but there you go. If the switchers (that’s the correct word – switchers, not floaters) are turned on by Joseph, they’re turned on by Joseph, and it’s the switchers who are going to decide this one, just as they decide every one.
Of course, whether they’ll be claiming, two years down the line (after having spent the first year telling all and sundry to give the new government a chance because they haven’t got warmed up yet) not to have voted Labour at all is another matter. After the 1996 election I was besieged by smug individuals − some of whom I remember, incidentally, and some of whom I didn’t know from Adam and still don’t, telling me triumphantly that they had voted Labour. One man even said to me that he had voted for Sant because I had said not to. “Really?” I told him. “You’re very mature. I hope you take your business decisions on a much sounder basis.” He had expected a different reaction, because I was around 30 and wearing a small skirt, and he had clearly said it to impress, so I’d say the poor thing was a little disappointed.
Six months down the line, and miraculously, only half of them had voted Labour. By the time Sant was in full swing with his CET circus, nobody had voted Labour. And when he was down at the docks screaming and banging and saying that the country was heading to the polls after just 22 months, everyone had voted PN. And the same men who had accosted me to say proudly that they had voted Labour were accosting me once more, this time to ask anxiously “X’se naghmlu, tahseb? Tghid nirbhu din id-darba?” I remember particularly enjoying saying to one of them, “Oh, I think this time your party is going to lose.”
You kind of get used to that sort of thing. It’s so predictable. As soon as Joseph and Michelle start looking really creepy and naff (they do already, but not to those who currently think that their creepy naffness is sort of cute and touching) as they waltz in and out of the Auberge de Castille and the novelty of having hammered the Nationalists wears off, the fun will be over and suddenly switchers will realise that we’re not playing games of Snakes (yes, snakes) and Ladders here. When that trio of financial wizards, Old Lady Guy, Pensioner Scicluna and Charlie ‘Land Deals’ Mangion, begin screwing the economy over with their take on Mintoffonomics and their inability to remember what was said three minutes ago, the honeymoon will be well and truly over.
If it were not for the grisly tedium of having to contend with a hideously inept Gvern Tal-Laburisti (not quite the same thing as a Labour government) all over again, I would actually enjoy meeting the current crop of switchers at the occasional party at that point.
My take on switchers now is that if they want to feel clever and different, they could always try dyeing their hair pink and reading a couple of books that are not Fifty Shades of Grey. The interesting thing is that while they are quite happy to be voting Labour, they get really upset if they’re called Laburisti and they won’t be seen dead at a Labour mass meeting whereas they were quite happy to go to the PN meetings in Sliema’s Dingli Street or at the St Andrew’s parade ground. The other day I felt like teasing a switcher and so said to him, as he posed at a party, “I hear you’ve become a Laburist.” There was a moment of shock as his wineglass shook. “Just because I’m voting Labour doesn’t mean I’ve become a Laburist.” Right, I said, and if you collect stamps, that doesn’t make you a stamp-collector.
Dear switchers, it would be so much easier to respect you if you had the courage of your convictions. If you’re voting Labour, then have pride in your choice and admit it before the election not afterwards. And while you’re doing so, have the self-respect to admit to yourself that you’ve become a Laburist. If you’re not proud of your choice, or uneasy with it, then it’s time to ask yourself why. It’s not because you’re worried about what other people might think of you. You’re unhappy with what you think of yourself.
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