The other day I must have fallen asleep while watching the 8 o’ clock news on TVM. To be honest, it’s been happening to me a lot lately. Maybe it’s the July heat. Or maybe it’s just that part of me would rather not be conscious... especially if it’s to be informed that PBS will be further “reformed” in the near future... that the newsroom will have to draw straws to decide who gets to keep his job... and that everything you’ve ever heard about government trying to monopolise the national television station – for instance, by reducing it to a glorified Department of Information – is NOTHING BUT A PACK OF FILTHY LIES! And so on, and so forth, and so fifth.
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But anyhow: on this occasion, about the last thing I remember before nodding off was an item about how the Malta Police Force celebrated its 191st birthday – a milestone anniversary, I’m sure you’ll all agree – with a public defilé on Republic Street.
I distinctly recall my eyelids becoming heavier and heavier with each historical uniform being paraded before the crowd... until a point was reached when the screen seemed to suddenly go all fuzzy, and the sound started to resemble the twitterings of birds... or was that a series of harp-string arpeggios? Well, whatever it was, it reminded me of the commencement of your classic television dream sequence... and before I knew it, I suddenly found myself watching what Monty Python might have described as “something completely different”.
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“Roll up! Roll up, ladies and gentlemen, for the event of a lifetime. Tonight, we will be celebrating the 191st anniversary of the Malta Police Force: and for old time’s sake, this year we decided to place special emphasis on the corps’ Golden Age. Yes, folks, I refer to the glorious and unforgettable 1970s and 1980s: an age when men were men, and women... well, women were tolerated, as long as they did what they were told without complaining too much. Above all, however, it was a time when our brave police officers were absolutely unfettered by such new-fangled concepts as “democracy” and “human rights”... with results that are fondly and nostalgically remembered by one and all, right up to this very day.
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On to the main attraction in tonight’s action-packed programme. For the first (and, hopefully, last) time in history, former members of the historic SMU (that’s short for “Special Mobster Unit”, in case you’re too young to remember) have come out of retirement specifically to stage a one-time-only, never-to-be-repeated fashion show of historical uniforms. And here comes our very first SMU supermodel, doing his “little turn on the catwalk” to the sound of that classic 1980s disco number, I'm Too Sexy (For My Truncheon).
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Item number one, ladies and gentlemen, is an authentic Riot Police Uniform dated 1984, year of the Church School crisis (Note: any resemblance to a certain novel by George Orwell is hugely, but hugely, coincidental), and made to SMU specifications by top international designers in North Korea.
Please note, ladies and gentlemen, the tight-fitting black body-suit, suitably stretchable to cover even the most abundant of Mediterranean pot-bellies. Please note also the designer “numberless” label... which, coupled with the unique “tinted visor” helmet, enabled these brave mobsters to remain incognito while risking their lives in the call of duty (which, for the record, included such life-threatening tasks as: firing tear-gas into peaceful demonstrators, intimidating potentially dangerous schoolteachers as they attended union meetings and protecting Labour thugs as they patriotically broke up the occasional anti-government protest).
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Accessories to this outfit include: a man-size transparent shield – ideal to protect the user from his own rubber bullets, which were known at times to ricochet unpredictably after being fired into a crowd – as well as a stainless steel truncheon coated in rubber: light and easy to handle, yet at the same time sturdy enough to deliver that appropriately savage beating... as can be attested to by a number of university graduates who were fortunate enough to experience this privilege first-hand.
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OK, folks, the fashion show’s over. Now move along quietly to the next attraction, or we will have no option but to open fire. Thank you for your cooperation.
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Ladies and gentlemen, you are now standing in a scale model of the interior of the Floriana depot, as it used to be in the good old days (ie, before it was tastefully converted to serve as a detention centre for illegal immigrants... complete with hooks on the wall and extra shoelaces lying around on the floor, in order to maximum the comfort and ease with which these unwanted scumbags can hang themselves at leisure.)
Here, for instance, is a perfect replica of a typical cell in which detainees would be kept for a total of 48 hours – as a rule – after having been arrested for any of the following, nefarious crimes:
a) turning up to work with a copy of In-Nazzjon under your arm;
b) gathering in groups of more than 10 people, regardless for what purpose;
c) possessing a CB radio or walkie-talkie;
d) attempting to protect yourself from beatings by Labour thugs (after which you would invariably be charged with “assaulting” said Labour thug, as well as “resisting arrest”, “plotting to overthrow the State”, etc., etc.);
d) failing to genuflect as required before the ubiquitous photo of Is-Salvatur Ta’ Malta.
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Over to your right, you will see a scale model of the chair upon which many of these detainees would be invited to sit for the privilege of being interrogated... and which would invariably be pulled away at the last minute, so the detainee would suddenly and inexplicably find himself sprawled on the floor... sometimes (if particularly lucky) with a policeman’s boot in his face.
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the actual toilet-bowl – not a replica, but the real thing, complete with skid-marks, kindly lent to us by the Police Force for the duration of this exhibition – into which so many heads were unceremoniously thrust, and the flushing pulled, as part of their “re-education” process. Would any volunteers be willing to try out this unique unforgettable experience for yourselves? Yes, you there in the front row... no, don’t be shy... it’s no trouble at all. Our 18-stone usherettes will be only too happy to drag you there, kicking and screaming, as they used to do with such relish... oh, just under 20 years ago...
And finally, here is a full-scale replica of the depot’s front door... you know, that archway through which these same detainees would be released after their 48 hours were up... only to be promptly re-arrested and detained for another 48 hours... and then released again... and then re-arrested... and then released... and so on ad infinitum.
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OK, ladies and gentlemen, we are about to proceed to the final stage of the show: a historical re-enactment of a number of our police force’s most gushingly heroic moments... starting with (drums rolling)... the glorious incident on the Tal-Barrani Road, in November 1986.
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Now, everybody follow these instructions, and the chances are that you will only be mildly injured in the mad scramble to escape. (At best, a couple of broken ribs; at worst, part of your nose bitten off.) Let’s start by bunching up together so that you look like a gathering of approximately 30,000 people on your way to a mass-meeting in Zejtun. That’s right, put the big, tough boys in front, and keep the women in the middle. Meanwhile, for those of you watching this at home: do not adjust your sets. You are on the right channel. Those burning tyres strewn all over the road are not CNN footage of another uprising on the Gaza strip; and for your information, those people carrying sticks, and with their faces masked by paljazzi, are not individual members of Al-Qaeda issuing a press statement to Al Jazeera. In actual fact, they are the “Aristocracy of the Workers”, and they are here on this historic occasion to fulfil a noble and patriotic mission: to prevent your mass meeting from taking place, and hopefully to break a couple of your bones in the process.
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OK, let the fun begin! It all starts with a sudden surge of paljazza-faced aristocrats, hurling stones and bottles indiscriminately into the crowd. This is the signal for our brave policemen to spring into action: supervised by a helicopter circling above – and which, according to transcripts of a certain walkie-talkie conversation, was in contact with someone named “Ono Revoli” – the masked and numberless officers fire tear gas into the dispersing crowd, as they bravely hide behind the aforementioned thugs. Now it’s time to bring out the guns – yes, both sides... for who in his right mind would attend a mass meeting in 1986 and not carry about their person at the very least a semi-automatic revolver or two? – and then... Lights! Cameras! Action! Mayhem!
Honestly, it’s a pity that neither Sam Peckinpah nor Quentin Tarantino were there to witness the scene. What with the shootings, the gassings, the dogs, and the mad, chaotic scramble through knee-deep mud... it made even Reservoir Dogs look like a couple of frightened puppies at the Association for Abandoned Animals.
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Oh, and I very nearly forgot: if, in the process of fleeing for your lives, any of you are actually hit by a stray bullet, or sustain injuries which require immediate medical attention, don’t even bother going to St Luke’s. After all, back in 1986 our national hospital was there to see to the needs of the Labour faithful, and not to treat people who were obviously troublemakers, rioters and Enemies of the State – especially when (as reported on the news on Xandir Malta the following day) it was abundantly clear that they had launched a brutal and totally unprovoked attack on those poor, defenceless police officers, who were after all compelled to defend themselves in order to keep the peace...
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This was the point when I suddenly awoke with a start... just in time to hear an excerpt from the Archbishop’s speech for the occasion: “Every policeman should keep in mind that the community’s trust in the corps grows and strengthens depending on how much every member of the corps strives to do his duty, and do it well.”
Amen.