Something odd, if not bizarre, is happening at the local level of drab Maltese politics. It seems that the long, unacceptable velvet veil of corruption has fallen off the head of the corpus of our national power structure to reveal a malady spreading downwards fast and across the rest of the body.

The ever-increasing number of corruption and criminal cases involving pro-central government local councillors, mayors and deputy mayors has now reached a crescendo that must be causing Prime Minister Gonzi enough sleepless nights, assuming the high rate of incidence is, to him and his party, a source of both political embarrassment and electoral alarm.

From the northernmost little hamlets of Gozo to the bigger towns and population concentrations of residential Malta, there have been stories that expose a sad trend of local power politics in which unprepared men and women and party-fed-and-inspired little dictators are seemingly making hay while the sun shines. It is obvious that what they have seen occurring – and being staunchly defended or whitewashed – at national level has been serving as an inspiration, more of an instigation, really, in the affairs of local councils and local politics.

That this is happening at a time when people are apt to come up with the sad little argument that since most people on this island would not bat an eyelid at witnessing corruption even at local level as long as it serves them well, is indeed worrying. Even worse is the thinking that since there is no way corruption can ever be completely eliminated, stop harping on the subject and join the rotten crowd before it is too late.

Not only is this a defeatist approach to politics at all levels, but it is also an insult to this whole nation of conscientious citizens who are willing to put in their fair share of personal effort to ensure that the creaking wheels of an obviously ailing economy continue turning.

In fact, I will not hesitate to claim that 98 per cent of the adults in this country are decent, hard-working, honest people. It is the other lousy two per cent that get all the publicity. But then – we elected them. Auberon Waugh, son of the great Evelyn and a top journalist and writer in his own right, wrote in The Spectator in 1984: “When we have finally stirred ourselves to hang them all, I hope our next step will be to outlaw political parties

outside Parliament on the grounds that, like amusement arcades, they attract all the least desirable

members of society.”

That may have been the wittier side of radical thinking in the Thatcherite epoch of UK politics, but it reflects the anger and the angst of those who believe in clean and fair politics at whichever level they are played. The problem with the current situation here is that a cancerous growth has been identified and no one, particularly from among the tired and bewildered power brokers of Maltese governance, is doing anything about it.

The continuing story of Nikki the Kid at the PN-dominated Sliema local council is a reflection of all this political helplessness. There really is no way one can describe it other than an utter and complete disaster, amusing to some but extremely perturbing to most.

First there were the disquieting rumours of something sinister happening within the council, then, with the media finally taking a keen interest in all the goings-on, the doors were closed shut with the councillors and their electors left wondering whether anyone was coming or going. Someone, somewhere, had taken the decision and there was no contesting it.

The saga entered a new chapter when Nikki the Kid was finally allowed back in and, lo and behold, all the thunder and fire was taken out of him as he ran the next first meeting like a kindergarten class at which no one was allowed to eat jelly, let alone throw it about. It seemed the storm had been tempered and some blue sky cheekily appeared from behind the dark clouds. Not for long, though.

Nikki the Kid neatly bit the bullet as a new rumpus developed quickly into a national dilemma involving prime-time actors from the ruling party’s administrative machine, the constituency, local council and disgruntled government MPs. From then on it was a comic, albeit tragic, free-for-all that was not the first of its kind, and certainly will not be the last.

The Maltese language is rich in idioms and expressions. When someone declares that “il-huta minn rasha tinten” (loosely translated as “the fish stinks from its head”), he or she is bringing up a time-honoured piece of popular wisdom. In the context of present-day Maltese power politics, it is stating the obvious.

Local councillors can only do and imitate what national politicians of the same ilk – spoiled rotten within their vicious circle of bosom friends and fat cats – have been doing so brazenly while still managing to get away with murder. The BWSC contract in connection with the Delimara power-station extension is not a case in point, but a huge political dolmen against which the rest of the people of these islands can only bang their heads in desperation. Too many other similar stories have occurred in the past few years to find enough space for them in this forlorn corner of one newspaper.

To equate this sad state of affairs with the attitude of the general public is adding insult to injury. It is absolutely untrue that the Maltese are innately corrupt, as some would have it by way of excusing what obscenities have been taking place from the fish head downwards.

Enough is enough. A stinking fish head pollutes the rest of the body, alas. Once the rot has reached the tail, as is the case now, there is only one way to deal with it – throw it away at the very first opportunity you get. Just make sure you hold your nose first, though.