Have you ever noticed that the word we use in Maltese for ‘foreigners’ (barranin) is the same word we use for anyone who is an outsider, including those not related to us?

This occurred to me recently after reading the story of the Simshar widow who is being evicted from the home she shared with her husband – the property is owned by the Joint Office and was leased to Mrs Carabott’s father-in-law. As long as her husband was alive, the couple was being “allowed” to live there, but now that he’s gone, the father-in-law has made it clear that the woman is an “outsider” and he couldn’t care less if she ends up homeless.

Reports say that the two were never on good terms, but this does not justify the man’s cruel attitude.

If people can be so callous to those who share the same nationality, should we really be that surprised that anyone who is not Maltese is often looked at with suspicion, heartlessness and brittle indifference?

This delineation of “us” and “them” even between ourselves serves to explain just why Maltese people are so ready to pull up the drawbridge, so to speak, and become even more insular when they feel that their cultural identity is threatened.

The measure of contempt with which we view ‘the others’ tends to increase by degrees according to just how different they are to us: social class, political allegiance, religious beliefs or lack of, ethnicity, race and so on, until there is so little common ground that we find it relatively easy to harden our hearts to their suffering and feel absolutely no compunction.

Blood lines

I find that while people are ready to make allowances for differences when they marry into each other’s families, it is often done very grudgingly. “They’re not like us,” relatives tell each other with a sniff when speaking privately about the in-laws (implying, of course, that the way they do things is better). Then, as soon as a baby comes into the world, the tangible product of this union, the respective extended families zoom in on the child’s facial features to detect which side of the family the child resembles. When it is made, the triumphant pronouncement carries with it volumes of undercurrents – “he looks like us!” (lilna jixbah). In other words, our “side” of the gene pool is best, it is victorious, and it has won because our side of the family is, naturally, the more attractive.

Conversely, when this poor child turns out to be well, not that great looking, eagle-eyed relatives will pounce on (for example) a prominent hook nose and sigh with resignation, “miskin, he has his father’s nose”. And, of course, should the child grow up to be dim or unpleasant or a constant source of anxiety and worry for his parents, then the finger-pointing begins, “I don’t know who he takes after, certainly not our side of the family!”

When family conflicts occur, the lines are quickly drawn, and the source is often said to be “dik” or “dak” (“that one”). In other words, the daughter or son-in-law who quickly fall from grace and becomes, in the eyes of the family, the troublemaker who has supposedly caused all the mischief in an otherwise harmonious home. How often do we hear the phrase that arguments between siblings or adult children and their parents occur “because the outsiders start to interfere”, with the word “outsiders’ referring to the in-laws. That’s when all the buried distrust starts to rise to the surface, and people give voice to their true feelings: “Humph, I never did like the look of him/her – I always thought he/she was trouble.”

They say blood is thicker than water and nowhere is this truer than in our culture. Generally speaking, at the first sign of a problem, Maltese people tend to close ranks very quickly and very aggressively. No matter whose fault it is, they will stick up for their blood relatives and anyone outside the immediate family circle is firmly shut out.

Which is why Mrs Carabott’s father-in-law had absolutely no problem with coldly describing his late son’s widow as an outsider. Now that the son who linked them is dead, she is once again a stranger who, in his eyes, is no better than a squatter.

It could happen to you

Mrs Carabott’s predicament should be an eye-opener for other reasons. There is a lesson to be learnt here for all women, no matter their age. I always find it incredible that, even in these supposedly enlightened times, women do not have a clue about the family finances or their own legal standing. No one expects to be a widow at the age of 29, but it does occur – and yet so many married women never seem to give a thought about what they would do if “something happens”. Everything is in the hands of the husband so when tragedy strikes, such as in this case, or the man walks out (as in many other cases), the wife is distraught at her loss but also overwhelmed by her own helplessness.

In an ideal world, people stay married and grow old together, but in the real world, a fisherman goes out to sea and never comes back, and women wake up to find their husband has left. Or else the wife decides she wants to leave, but realises too late that, financially, she is stuck.

More than ever, women need to learn how to protect themselves against what might happen in the future. While no one likes to think of worse case scenarios, experiences such as that of Mrs Carabott make it clear that at the back of their mind women should always ask “what if…?”

Perhaps (along with some honest talk about contraception) our Life Skills teachers in secondary schools should also be teaching girls the importance of being financially independent. Much as we would like to cling to our fairytale notions of romance, I’m afraid the days of relying on Prince Charming to sweep a girl off her feet so that she can stay home and never have to work, are well and truly over. These days, a girl would be wiser to invest in her own castle, so that if she does meet a prince, they can walk off into the sunset on an equal footing.

May your God be with you

Religion, like politics, is a very personal matter. It is one of those subjects where, if you know someone has very strong beliefs either way, it would be foolish and futile to try and make them come round to your point of view.

This is why I cannot understand why people even bother arguing about these two subjects with those who are firmly entrenched in their beliefs. It is also why I think religion really needs to stop being dragged into everything we discuss.

In a country where everyone is inundated with the teachings of the Catholic Church from the time we are born, I doubt there is anyone who does not know where the Church stands on practically every single moral issue. And yet we insist on having priests give their viewpoint on every subject under the sun on every medium available, and now, even in Parliament (regarding the law regulating IVF). The true separation of Church and State is starting to seem more out of reach than ever.

Let me let you in on a little secret.

The more you try to shove the Church’s teachings down people’s throats the more they are going to dig in their heels and refuse to listen. Have you ever wondered why the people who are so adamantly anti-religion tend to have been raised as strict Catholics? It’s because it was forced on them and now that they are older and have started to question and can choose, they have chosen to shake off what they see as the claustrophobic mantle of organised religion.

The furore that arose over people dressing up likes nuns, priests and Jesus at the Nadur carnival needs to be taken in this context. Devout people were offended, while those who are not practising Catholics couldn’t understand what the fuss was all about.

It became even more bizarre when people were actually charged by the police for breaking an obscure law dating back to the 1930s.

The proceedings of the court case against the “nuns” sounded like something out of a wacky comedy; apparently they were not charged with ridicule of the Catholic religion because they were not wearing crucifixes. Which begs the question, shouldn’t the actresses who took part in a Maltese production of the musical comedy Sister Act have been similarly charged? And what about Ray Calleja when he does his hilarious sketch of an obese, squeaky-voiced priest named Dun Djon who periodically goes off into paroxysms of indignant rage? That’s the trouble when you start arresting people for dressing up as clergy – where do you draw the line?

Meanwhile, what I found really funny were the reactions by politicians when asked what they think of this outdated law. The prize must go to Francis Zammit Dimech for this gem, “I don’t think it should be illegal to dress up as an angel, for instance.” Please tell me he said this ironically and not in a solemn tone of voice.

Personally, I tend to agree with Evarist Bartolo’s summation that, “I think Christ has a sense of humour.”

Which reminds me: a rapidly growing Facebook group with the tongue-in-cheek name Friends of Jesus is already planning for Nadur 2010. Over 400 of its members are planning to dress up like Jesus in order to get into the Guinness Book of World Records.

You see, that’s the problem when you try and stamp out irreverent satire by muffling it under a clock of officialdom —it has a way of wriggling out anyway and finding new ways of expressing itself.

[email protected]