How do you condense the life of a controversial figure like Dom Mintoff into two programmes of one hour each and ensure that it’s an accurate portrayal?

Mintoff has always stirred such deep emotions in people (from hatred to adulation) that his biography, as produced by Where’s Everybody, was bound to leave some viewers dissatisfied. I’m sure there were those who would have preferred testimonials from people who suffered political discrimination and violence during his terms in power.

Instead we had interviews with people who knew him best and on the whole, apart from Maria Camilleri, who was embarrassingly gushing, I think what emerged was a relatively clear account of Malta’s most famous politician.

I made it a point to watch it, not because I needed another reminder of what the man was like. Having lived through the mid-1970s and 1980s when everything started going pear-shaped for the Labour government, I remember what happened then too.

While there is no question that Mintoff will always be credited for lifting the working classes from poverty when he created the welfare state, his considerably inflated ego became unmanageable after he stayed in power too long. It was Joe Grima, I think, who pointed out in the documentary that Mintoff should have called it a day in 1979, after he had seen his dream of Malta becoming a Republic come true.

Instead he clung on, and we know the rest.

Even those closest to him confirmed that essentially, Mintoff was a miser and a tyrant who always wanted his own way and who got a kick out of shouting at his subordinates. One of the most telling facts disclosed was that he cheated at bocci – and if that doesn’t tell you a lot about the man then nothing does.

I watched the programme mostly because I wanted to fill in the gaps of what happened in the 1950s and especially, the 1960s. What was, up to then, mere hearsay recounted by the older generation who had lived through the infamous “interdett” (exclusion from the Church) was, in this documentary, explained in the most visual way possible – through the publicly displayed posters which threatened eternal damnation to anyone who voted for Labour. It is one thing hearing people describe it; it is another to see the actual footage.

Of course, these days, an ominous fire and brimstone warning such as this by the Church would elicit a smirk, a shrug of the shoulders and probably a rude retort on the lines of “bite me”. But taken in the context of 1960s Malta, it is easy to understand the tremendous moral dilemma many Labour voters must have felt.

We are talking of a time when the Church’s hold on a (largely uneducated) population was more of a stranglehold. Religion ruled the very fabric of society and no one made a move without it being in line with “what the Church said”.

Being forced to choose between one’s political views and one’s faith – an ultimatum if there ever was one – would today be inconceivable. Mintoff was at his best then, fighting a fierce crusade against what he rightly saw as a breach of human rights and the freedom to choose one’s politics. The paradox of the man came later, when he went on to do the very same thing to others.

I also find it inexplicable how someone who was so ahead of his time, battling for the separation of Church and State, and advocating for social change on an island where time seemed to have stood still, could then go on to resist change so much himself. I will never forget when a container full of our household goods arrived from the States, which included our colour TV set, and the image of my father arguing furiously with the Customs officers because they wouldn’t let him have it.

I sometimes wonder where that television ended up…

By the time Mintoff resigned, handing the role of Prime Minister to the unelected Karmenu Mifsud Bonnici (a move which, in the programme, the latter himself wryly described as “Mintoff’s biggest mistake”), the Malta Labour Party in government had virtually become a dictatorial regime. Today, despite several changes in leadership, this unsavoury image continues to haunt the party at every turn.

While it may have had its flaws, this documentary was perhaps the first impartial attempt at telling Malta’s recent political history. Other documentaries, as far as I know, have always been produced by either One TV or Net TV – enough said.

If nothing else, the production served to shed some light on just how deep the division between Nationalist and Labour supporters has always been; how the rift between the socio-political classes runs so deep that its repercussions are still felt today. Tracing the roots of where it all began, it explains why you still find families who find it hard to stomach when their children marry someone who does not vote for the same party.

There are fervent supporters on both sides who still cannot discuss the events of the 1960s and 1980s dispassionately – the contempt and derision they feel for someone who is a “Laburist” or a “Nazzjonalist” is revealed in the adjectives tagged on to each label, “imgiddem” (filthy) and “ahdar” (malicious).

Mintoff has often been blamed for stirring class hatred in the working class towards those who were better off – but let’s not fool ourselves into thinking that the hatred did not work both ways.

Of course, there will always be people who refuse to forget (let’s not even talk about forgive), who will continue picking at the scab of the wounds inflicted by “the others”, and who will ensure that their children will always, but always, feel the same way. They want to hang on to the hurt and the grudges, and simmering anger is never far from the surface. They lash out at anyone who has the temerity to suggest they should let it go. Inevitably, both parties use these strong emotions to their advantage. As recently as the last election, PN advertisements were still resurrecting the imagery of 1980s police violence against protestors.

And while we might shudder at the huge banner shown in the documentary proclaiming Mintoff as “Is-Salvatur ta’ Malta” (Malta’s saviour), perhaps we should not be so quick to sneer and dismiss people back then as being ignorant and easily influenced. Have things really changed all that much?

At every election it always baffles me how ready we are to make politicians into our gods and saviours. Instead of looking at them as mere mortals like you and me and who are simply being elected to serve, we are still too quick to put them high on that pedestal (metaphorically and, during mass meetings, quite literally) only to feel let down when so many of them tumble off their perch and crash.

Power to the backbench

The project to build the St John’s Cathedral underground museum has been dropped partly due to public pressure, spearheaded by the formidable Astrid Vella.

It is obvious however, that Gonzi did not just cave in because of 1,500 signatures on a petition. Nor did he change his mind because the project was “dividing the country” … because it was doing no such thing. (By the same logic, he should shelve the Parliament project pronto).

The Prime Minister’s real problem were the backbenchers he had snubbed, and who were threatening mutiny. In one of his best quotes since he became Labour leader, Joseph Muscat dryly remarked, “The only division was within the PN parliamentary group.”

Of course, no matter how much Muscat dreams of it, there was never going to be any flashback to 1998, when a dissenting vote on a project turned into a vote of no confidence, and the collapse of the government. I doubt any Prime Minister will do anything so foolhardy ever again. But the awkwardness and embarrassment of having rebellious MPs not willing to toe the party line is something Gonzi simply cannot afford right now.

This also begs the question – will the Gonzi administration be able to count on the support of its own MPs on any future projects, or does this signal a complete paralysis of this already skating-on-thin-ice government?

Funny, just a few days ago, the Prime Minister stamped his feet and declared, “I’m the Prime Minister, I’m the government, I decide!”

That’s not how it looks like from here.

Of cleavage and hair extensions

Now, on to more important matters.

Unless you live in a cave, you probably know that last weekend the song to represent Malta for the Eurovision was chosen, and we are sending Chiara once more.

Predictably, by the next day everyone had an opinion about the result. Frankly, of all the various combinations that have been tried, this year’s judging method (a foreign jury picked three and the public voted after that) was the best one so far.

As for those who are now complaining that it’s not fair that Chiara is going for the third time, let me remind them that when Morena, Olivia Lewis and Fabrizio fared so dismally, many felt that we should just forget the festival and simply send Chiara. As they say, be careful what you wish for.

Do you know what I think? Well, I’m going to tell you anyway.

Sure, Chiara has had more memorable songs, but the lady has a voice like no other. Few performers can match her stage presence and self-confidence. If meddling interference is kept to a minimum and no one gets any funny ideas about putting twirling dancers with her on stage, she should do reasonably well.

As for the festival itself, there was the usual hotchpotch of questionable outfits and flamboyant hand gestures, but this year will mostly be remembered for two things.

First, there was an unusual amount of skin on display, and this time it wasn’t the men. Several of the girls chose to display their cleavage, or lack of, depending on their bust size. This meant that viewers spent the entire three minutes of certain songs taking bets on whether someone was going to have a Janet Jackson “wardrobe malfunction” moment.

There was lots of hair too, with flowing locks courtesy of hair extensions being the most popular trend (although why everyone would want to look the same is beyond me). Again, you couldn’t help wonder whether someone’s hairpiece was going to fly off during a particularly high note.

OK, actually, there were three things.

This year will also be remembered for Joseph Chetcuti’s Kamikaze Lover. Now, Joseph is a friend of mine, so I wish him well. But really, what was he thinking? Admit it Joe, you cannot sing, so as a friend I’m telling you.

Stick to the violin.

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