The Malta Independent 25 July 2026, Saturday
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Assumptions

Mark A. Sammut Sassi Sunday, 7 May 2023, 08:12 Last update: about 4 years ago

Life has to be driven by assumptions, as time is too short to verify every single thing. Assumptions help us process information quickly, thus making life easier to live. Or do they?

They do if and only if the assumptions turn out to be true. Let’s look at some assumptions that might actually be false.

I will obviously not be tackling assumptions that matter only for small sectors of the population, even if for those sectors such assumptions might be life-changing. For instance, we assume that Arab-speakers understand Maltese – there have even been court cases in which this assumption was accepted as representative of the truth. As a matter of fact, whereas Maltese cuts from the Arabic cloth, the clothes it tailors are sewn differently from those of the Arabs. The assumption is therefore wrong. But, as it concerns only a small sector, we’ll not go into it and similar assumptions. Let’s instead focus on assumptions that concern the entire population.

Most of these assumptions are held and acted upon with unbelievable intensity. But often they’re wrong. For instance, that politicians speak the truth all of the time. There are apologists who obviously don’t believe such nonsense but keep polluting the newspapers and news portals with their defence of the indefensible. These are apologists, and therefore not really credible. But then there are others who are not apologists and sincerely believe this assumption to be true and can’t find it within themselves to overcome tribal loyalty, stop believing lying politicians, and choose the good of the nation.

The most offending assumption of all is, to my mind, that there are no limits to growth. Many – even sincerely – believe that we can keep pursuing economic growth like there’s no tomorrow. This is based on the optimism gospel spread by economists that businesses can keep finding alternative sources of energy and creating new products that can allow growth without depleting all natural resources. In fact, this is but one assumption replacing another. Ultimately, both assumptions are based on the baseless belief that resources are infinite, or, if finite, that they can be renewed fast enough to satisfy demand. To my mind, the antidote to this clearly false assumption is not to believe in the economic miracle (growth) that will redeem the world’s population from poverty, but to redistribute wealth.

Instead of striving to redistribute wealth, there’s this constant effort to embrace the assumption that foreign labour can be imported endlessly. It’s assumed that poverty cannot be effectively tackled, meaning that there will always be a boundless pool of poor people ready to emigrate and work for extremely low wages, and that therefore importation of foreign workers can go on indefinitely. But it’s more than obvious that Malta is too small for an unbridled application of the theory that importing more and more workers will keep fuelling our economic growth forever. Not even if land reclamation were the solution and another 316 square kilometres were to rise out of the sea. The fact remains that the solution lies in increasing quality, not quantity – via education and the importation of a different type of immigrant, with a higher, different skill set.  

The huge influx of foreign workers adds the need for accommodation. This has somehow given birth to the assumption that tourism will not be affected by overdevelopment. The people responsible for urban planning seem oblivious to the idea of aesthetics – so the country is not just submerged in new buildings, but these new buildings are extremely, offensively ugly. How it can be assumed that this aesthetic degradation will have no effect on tourism – one of the top five contributors to our economy (30% of the GDP) – is beyond comprehension.

Ugliness takes two forms: material and moral. Of material ugliness we have just spoken. Moral ugliness is corruption, mostly that on the macro-level. There’s this inexplicable assumption that corruption does not take its toll on national credibility. This assumption fuels the unrealistic optimism keeping this Administration in power... the unrealistic belief that corruption does not cause reputational damage which in turn does not dent the attractiveness of the country for foreign-direct investment. This assumption does not correspond to empirical findings. In one article I’ve recently read called “The Impact of Corruption on a Country’s FDI Attractiveness”, I have found this: “Empirical results of this study suggest that corruption generally causes a harmful effect on attracting FDI”. This should demolish all assumptions that corruption and economic growth are not related. Corruption actually hinders economic growth – the same economic growth which it is assumed has no limits and for which more foreign labour is required for whom more accommodation is required for which more ugly, soulless buildings need to be erected in the certainty that this will not damage the tourism sector.

Assumptions, assumptions, assumptions ...

And then one penultimate, fundamental assumption: less support for the PL will necessarily mean more support for the PN. There’s very little empirical support for this assumption so far. It seems that while the population is increasingly understanding the downside to Labour’s formula, and is steadily beginning to consider withdrawing its support, there isn’t a corresponding increase in support for the PN. Some will blame it on the current leader, arguing (albeit sotto voce) that a new leader would be achieving different results in these same circumstances. I do not think that this is an accurate assessment. This sort of “Messianism” – which believes that the leader alone can make the miracle and save the PN and the country – is also not realistic. I think the problems are deeper, and more reform is needed, on many levels.

There’s a last assumption: that a third party will form out of thin air to capitalise on Labour’s electoral losses caused by Labour’s intimacy with the capitalist cause. By betraying the working class and establishing an adulterous relationship with Big Business, Labour has managed to alienate many of its traditional supporters. It is being assumed that this betrayal will help conceive and give birth to a third (electable) political force.

This could indeed take place. But I’m not sure we’re seeing the signs of such a development. It is more probable that “foot voting” will take place and the disillusioned will simply stay at home on polling day. For the individual voter, this strategy is more expedient given the logic of the Maltese political system and less costly in terms of energy, social capital, etc. Then again, this is an assumption I am making – and I will have to see if it turns out to be empirically correct.

 

Hero?

An Inspector Søren Farrugia Story

Inspector Søren Farrugia opened the bottle, poured some of the amber-coloured spirit, and gulped it down. He sat comfortably in the midst of the cloud of smoke produced by his cigar penetrated by the stubborn, solitary beam of his reading lamp. The rest of the room was enveloped in impenetrable darkness. All was silent and calm.

Was Andrea Montalbano a hero? Like Christ, thought Søren, Montalbano had been killed for the common good. Well, at least, one could assume that he was killed for the common good. But was the Sicilian inspector a hero, or, better still, a martyr? Christ knew that he would be executed, and he accepted his imminent execution, after an excruciating examination of his conscience. But Montalbano? Did Montalbano know he would be executed? Had he accepted his destiny?

Søren admitted to himself he was making a huge assumption: that Montalbano’s murder had been an execution. It seemed logical to make this assumption. After all, hadn’t he travelled to Malta to investigate Sicilian Mafia connections in Malta? The lethargic reaction to his murder necessarily meant that he had been close to uncovering the probable ties between big shots here and big shots there. So somebody shot him dead.

Malta teemed with opportunities for money laundering – possibly the biggest headache for any successful syndicate. It was difficult to work out how certain businesses were making money legitimately. Declarations made by bankers, on how certain assets were being acquired without loans, were too glaringly obvious to be ignored.

The assumption that Montalbano had been executed because he was very close to uncovering something truly big was therefore a valid assumption. Despite the lack of hard evidence.

So the question whether Montalbano was a hero, or a martyr even, was valid.

Did Montalbano know he would be killed, and did he accept that execution, in Christ-like fashion?

All policemen know they signed up to a thankless job, and that risking their life was a tacit element of the job description. They all tacitly accepted they might be executed. But there’s a difference between might and shall. Montalbano knew he might be executed; did he know he would?

Does that not make him a hero? Can you unknowingly become a hero? Probably most heroes attain that title by coincidence... being at the right (or wrong, depending on your point of view) place at the right (or wrong) time.

Søren was overwhelmed by the feeling that these thoughts made him a stranger, a pilgrim... he felt himself a stranger and that everybody involuntarily feels that he’s a stranger to them. Did this estrangement from the world make him a hero?

Montalbano was probably a hero. Somebody who gave his life for the State... which raises a dark forest of questions, where one necessarily finds oneself lost. Who is the State? Why die for the State? Why give your life in the name of the Law? Why combat money laundering?

Possibly, thought Søren, because one should give to Caesar what’s Caesar’s.

He gulped down another whisky.

According to one imaginative etymologist, Caesar had a centurion whose name was Cafo. From that name came the Italian word cafone. The cafone is the uneducated, rough, uncouth, and possibly naive peasant – more or less, the equivalent of the Maltese ġaħan. Yes, in the Italian novel Fontamara, the Christ-like figure Berardo Viola – he who violates the norm(s) – dies for the collective good, for the good of the cafoni, even though they don’t know it, because they are cafoni. The cafoni always stand up for the interests of the powerful, even if it hurts their own interests. Was Andrea Montalbano similar to Berardo Viola?

Søren smiled as he raised his look and scanned his sitting room engulfed in the ever-expanding cloud of smoke his cigar belched out. He smiled because he had remembered how the cafoni see society.

“Above everybody there’s God, lord of the skies. Everybody knows this. There there’s the prince, lord of the earth. Then the bodyguards of the prince. Then the dogs of the bodyguards of the prince. Then, nothing. Then, nothing again. Then, nothing again. Then, the cafoni. And then, one could say that that’s it.”

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