Whether we admit it or not, in our heart of hearts we all know it’s ticking wildly. There seems to be hardly a single day on the calendar when somebody or other is not injured or killed in a traffic accident somewhere on the island. It has become such a horribly familiar statistic that we tend to ignore it, or at least shove it to the back of our national memory in the idle process of regularly re-shuffling our priorities.
However, the day will come when we won’t be able to do so anymore. Time bombs are not on a loop and they tend to explode when the prescribed hour finally arrives. It would be too late then to make amends and offer solutions, given our undoubted disposition to manage by crisis.
It is not the almost daily bloodbath on our roads and village streets that is the only source of concern where traffic is concerned. The number of cars per square metre space has become overwhelming, our road courtesy remains steadfastly non-existent and the authorities, local and governmental, seem to prefer playing snakes and ladders with both the driver and the pedestrian.
Of course, with a public transport system that is as inefficient as it is old and disorganised, few people are ever ready to waste the chance of buying a car. One of the reasons why we have such acute traffic problems is because the traffic has become as dense as the drivers.
Since the 1970s, when student stipends and children’s allowances were rightly introduced, no 18th birthday has gone by without the purchase, or the solid promise of a purchase, of a car. It is why families today have two, three and sometimes four cars. Add to that the fact that more and more men and women in their twilight years continue to drive – though it must be said they are probably the safest on the road.
When you think about how small this place is, and how laughable our distances are, you marvel at the pathetic impatience that most of us display behind the steering wheel. We honk away at our claxons, gesticulate wildly at everyone and drive bumper-to-bumper to gain a few seconds here and there. Even worse, there are those who take unnecessary and highly dangerous risks, only to cause serious accidents and, sadly, the distress associated with them.
Many of our motorists are, seemingly, people in such a hurry to get to their destination that they often end up in the next world.
The authorities really do not help. There are two-way streets all over Malta and Gozo which simply cannot take that kind of traffic load, but they are expected to, including buses that have to chug their way past parking on both sides of the street against the onslaught from the on-coming traffic. It is about time someone came up with a plan to turn the whole of Malta’s internal street system into a one-way-traffic zone, regardless of what the business communities may say as they wave their voting documents, come election time. While the big roads and the new bypasses can take a double flow of traffic in opposite directions, the vast majority of village and town streets cannot. No more, no less. Case closed. At least that is how decent societies elsewhere work things out.
There are zebra crossings, at least those with paint that can actually be seen, that create danger, rather than avoiding it, because of their location such as at corners, mid-hill and blind spots.
Even worse, no one seems to be policing our roads. Local wardens show up where and when you least expect them, but nowhere near places such as the popular village and town shops and retail outlets where double and triple parking is the norm. There they could earn their salaries in a single day, but strangely do not seem to bother to do so. I wonder why.
Our traffic police are conspicuous by their absence on the road. Every single person with a car can pinpoint out all the black spots on these islands. It is where countless young men and women have lost their lives through excessive, drunken, drugged and irresponsible driving. A policeman there at awkward times during the weekend and sundry holidays would bring all the unnecessary carnage to a happy halt.
Only last Saturday night I was driving along the Coast Road from Sliema to Cirkewwa with a carload of English friends. Forget the atrocious driving all around us and the hideous smells near the Maghtab landfill and Salina Bay saltpans, on a road over which tourists are shuttled about at every given hour of the day, and is so popular with the Paceville revellers, there was not a single traffic policeman or warden to be seen.
There were on my way back, though, when it really was too late for some unfortunate drivers. You see, traffic slowed down to a crawl as we inched past the more curious who stopped their vehicles on both sides of the busy road, to witness the scene of yet another horrific accident. I saw people crossing themselves, agitated policemen trying to control the snowballing traffic and relatives and friends of those involved understandably looking unhappy and distraught.
The time bomb may be ticking faster than we really know. When are our politicians going to do something about it? While government ministers continue to offer lip service to grandiose projects of better public transport systems that could eventually help reduce the number of private cars on the road, the list of victims continues to grow. While our traffic authorities assure us that they are making the mandatory EU-standard tests to reduce the obvious health hazards, the buses bellowing out clouds of sickly black smoke ironically seem to be on the increase.
As we sit on this time bomb, there will, thankfully, always be the odd funny anecdote to share with friends on the Net or elsewhere about the least popular warden on the beat or this national malady called reckless driving. As one does so, this ditty may offer some respite:
“The rush-hour traffic I’d just as soon miss,
When caraftercarismovinglikethis.”