The increase in the price of milk has to be taken in the context of everything else that has gone up in price over the last few months. On the face of it, we’re only talking about a measly four euro cents, and it’s easy to dismiss those who are grumbling as moaners who are making a mountain out of a molehill.

But start totting up all the increases and, for people who live from one pay cheque to the next, the milk increase is just the last straw. So, no, it’s not just about the four cents. It’s about everything that will now go up in price in an inevitable domino effect. Gas, milk and soon, the price of bread are going to contribute to a hike in prices all across the board, to anyone who offers some kind of catering service: coffee shops, restaurants, and even the little takeaway around the corner. The crippling effect on small enterprises cannot be dismissed, for how long can small businessmen continue to cut into their profit margin to avoid raising their prices? It is only natural that they will have to pass on the cost to the customer, who will now be faced with yet another increase.

The cost of the price of fuel will similarly affect everyone; in a country which is still not served well by public transport (vide the New Year’s Eve fiasco), our weekly petrol expenses are another stake in the heart of our budgets. How much can a family stretch its income after all? Even with two people working full time, paying for the basic requirements needed just to live (never mind the frills) has become an exercise in juggling.

So yes, of course, in this scenario people are going to speak bitterly about the €600 per week which MPs have awarded themselves. Just like the price of milk is not just about the four cents as such, so too, it’s not just about the actual amount which politicians are going to be pocketing. It’s about all of it taken as a whole; it’s about atrocious timing and a complete lack of sensitivity and sheer indifference to the plight of the ordinary family which is wondering just how long it can continue to postpone paying its mounting stack of bills.

But people do have money! I hear you say. Just look at all the restaurants that are packed every weekend! This oft-quoted remark needs to be examined more closely because it still seems to me that not everything is as it seems. How many people are dining out during the week (after all, a restaurant can hardly survive on weekend customers alone) and how many of those diners are paying with credit cards? Although a credit card gives you the illusion that you have money to spend, we all know that it’s just a fallacy – you’re spending money which is not yours and which needs to be paid back with interest. The way I see it is that as a nation we love to go out, and despite financial worries, the weekend is the only excuse we need to escape our problems – “we can’t really afford it, but who cares, one more night out is not going to make any difference either way.”

It is also not a coincidence that no matter which town or village you are in, the only places which are guaranteed to be full are the cheap fast food outlets serving burgers, pizzas, fried chicken, kebabs and pastizzi.

Meanwhile, we seem to be overlooking just how many restaurants, wine bars and cafés have fallen by the wayside because they have lost their novelty and are no longer trendy, or have simply never caught on. In Mosta alone several places have closed down and this in what is considered to be quite a busy town with the kind of foot traffic that is so necessary for eating outlets.

My hunch is that for every successful restaurant/café there are at least two others that are failing. Part of the reason is that (like everything else) there are simply too many, but the prohibitive costs of running a business are also to blame. And finally, let us not forget that while there is a section of the population which can still afford to eat out regularly at the pricier outlets, there is another part of Malta which rarely does so. That part of Malta is hardly ever mentioned because they are not visible: they eat at home, take packed lunches to work and make sure to bring snacks and drinks with them on their Sunday outings with the kids.

For that part of Malta, any increase, no matter how small, is a big deal.

Farewell

When a politician passes away, there are the inevitable accolades and eulogies. When a Labour politician passes away, however, you will read the occasional negative remark by people who cannot seem to understand that at a time when there is a family in mourning, snide comments are hurtful.

Dr Philip Muscat died on New Year’s Eve at the age of 80. To some he will be remembered as the Education Minister who introduced the student-worker scheme and the infamous 20 points needed to get into university, which hindered many of my generation from pursuing their education. Others have memories of him as one of the stalwarts of “Old Labour” during the Mintoff years, with all the connotations that go with that era. For Labour supporters he was a much-admired family doctor and an MP who served his constituency of Żebbug with great pride and loyalty.

For me, however, he was family; my mother’s brother.

A soft-spoken, dignified, very intelligent man, he continued to be interested in learning until the very end – were it not for his illness he would have gone up to receive his diploma from the University of the Third Age during the recent graduation ceremony. Until recently, he was still quite active, running his pharmacy in Qawra and staying in touch with people, which is what he enjoyed the most.

Although I did not always agree with his political decisions, I always respected his achievements and the fact that from humble beginnings he succeeded in his career the way he did, thanks to my formidable grandmother who ensured that all of her eight children received a good education.

When we used to meet at family gatherings, the subject would inevitably fall on politics, which he continued to follow avidly, and I could sense that he yearned to be 20 years younger so that he could be in the thick of it all yet again. Once a politician, always a politician, I guess. Over the years we found common ground on several issues, except when it came to the topic of Mintoff’s later policies – on that we could never agree.

Being related to a politician who is taking unwise decisions brings with it a whole range of conflicting emotions – on the one hand there is family loyalty, but on the other hand there is the fact that I have always found it impossible to justify something which is blatantly wrong.

“Why don’t you just stand up to Mintoff or resign?” I remember demanding of him when he was Minister of Education and I was being affected by all the skewed decisions of the time. He just looked at me with his steady gaze, probably thinking what a naive upstart I was. I suppose the relatives of today’s politicians are similarly caught up in the crossfire of unpopular decisions.

It is difficult to accept that someone who had been so energetic and full of vigour is now gone. In my mind’s eye, I will always picture him the way he was at his peak, with my Aunt Doris unfailingly by his side during his long political career, and the way their large kitchen/dining area would be over-run with people during those gruelling election campaigns. After seeing what being in politics is really like up close, I can fully understand why none of his three children, my cousins, followed his career path.

For, despite the public recognition and the glory that comes with being elected to office, once a politician chooses this road, he has to accept the flak and the criticism as well. His immediate family often has to pay the price because they also have to sacrifice their privacy.

This was brought home to me especially during his funeral, which inevitably became a public event. Having said that, the presence of so many people from all walks of life who came to pay their respects to Uncle Philip was a tribute to the fact that, even if not everyone there shared his politics, he was well-respected by many.

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