The credibility gap that separates politicians from the rest of the population is often a remarkable one. The credibility gap that separates politicians in power from the rest of us all is frightening. The best example was provided during the recent spate of local council elections and the campaign preceding them which culminated in yet another overall Labour victory that, many rightly believe, places it in pole position for the forthcoming general election, whenever they are held.

There simply were too many instances that caught the incumbent Nationalists, even at village and town levels, with their pants down. What certainly proved to be highly entertaining for the casual observer, though, was the surrealistic approach to the whole local council scenario.

How could anyone in his right senses believe that he could sell the political goods just by sending the EneMalta people to fix some village street lamps during the last few days of an electoral campaign? People who had been patiently waiting – some of them for years – for the “enlightening” process to occur must have been highly amused by the sudden surge of energy (no pun intended) that seemed to have engulfed the national utility company.

As the orange-shirted, helmeted men of the company went up ladders in towns and villages the party in government was suddenly fearful it could lose to the Opposition, it must also have been difficult to stifle a few guffaws. Cettina woke up one morning and looked out of the balcony to find workmen at the same level busily making sure the village mayor’s face was saved. Was it enough to salvage her vote, or did she think someone was trying to be funny? The spent lamp had been reported way, way back, but there had not been even a whimper of response.

Cettina quietly drank her coffee and mused. Are they doing this because they love me, or because they love themselves in power? By the time she came up with an answer, there were neighbours in the same street exclaiming in both joy and amazement. Council elections should be held every week, they agreed unanimously, just as the Pope or Queen Liz should swing by at least every other year.

But roaming the selected 22 localities where a local council election was due, were another species – ministers and parliamentary secretaries, jolly old civil servants and party pundits who seemed to have suddenly been injected with the effervescent spirit of civic camaraderie. They knocked on doors and visited the popular clubs, they stopped voting-aged women pushing non-voting babies in their pushchairs and, for most of the time, gave the impression that they were there to find a solution to everyone’s problems.

It was such an obvious masquerade. When villagers see this small army of do-gooders descending on them on the eve of an election they tend to see through the hypocritical fabric. What the mayor and his cronies have not been able to deliver during the past three years is provided on the spot by the minister who has all too obviously been press-ganged into carrying out this embarrassing chore.

People of course say thank you, and then walk straight into the polling station where they give their verdict. In most cases last weekend, the verdict was: you can’t really expect to take us for another ride. The credibility gap has widened and such stop-gap methods can only help to turn it into hopeless rupture.

Local council elections are indeed a timely barometer for the political analysts and soothsayers. A third of the population going to the polls can, and does, offer an indicative glimpse into people’s minds. One on-going process of local council elections eventually covering the whole electoral territory is more than ample confirmation of things as they are at this moment in time in the national psyche.

Even worse than the sudden Martian appearances in villages and towns about to vote, were the insults to people’s intelligence contained in reactions to accusations concerning overpaid handymen, unmoved statues of lions and last-minute infrastructural adjustments. Years of abandonment and complete indifference cannot be made up by the use of such hideously obvious strategies. The hardliners, of course, will always be convinced, even without anyone having to resort to any such hoodwinking tactics. They will always go out to vote for their party.

The rest, however, will remain – and feel – mostly amused and abused. The hardliners on the other side of the political fence will be delighted by the absurdity, while the unattached will rightly take offence that they have been taken for imbeciles.

With hindsight, the results have shown the Maltese electorate is slowly but surely learning to deal with those politicians who take it so much for granted, treating it like putty they can squeeze and form into different shapes and sizes according to the wishes and hopes of the time.

There will come the day when the people of Malta and Gozo will vote with their minds and not according to the traditional colours of their favourite parties. It is already happening. They will gradually opt for those politicians who make things happen, rather than those who promise to make them happen. They will go for those politicians who deliver, rather than those who deliver in last-minute gasps intended to keep the electoral clock from ticking any further.

Cettina is all the wiser. Opening the balcony window, she quickly offered the EneMalta employee a hot cup of coffee. He declined. There were other street lamps to be seen to. His was a race against time. Hers was a cuppa of good humour.