In a few days, King Carnival will reign for a few days over our capital city and several outlying areas. Like in previous years, many, mostly schoolchildren, will be eager to see what the carnival enthusiasts have in store for them. In all probability, it will be the usual small-scale Brazilian-styled floats, parades and dances.
The float themes remain a secret until shortly before the party begins, and nobody is allowed to photograph them before then. This helps build curiosity and attract more spectators. After all, carnival street parties are a multi-thousand-euro business. At the same time, the organisers want to avoid potential legal disputes.
True, they are always a spectacle full of vibrant colours, incredible and ingenuous pieces of engineering and unparalleled artistry. But isn't there something missing?
It was only in 2012 that political satire found its way back during carnival time in Malta after it had been banned in 1936 under British Colonial rule. It was thanks to then-Culture Minister Mario de Marco that this came about, and it was heartily welcomed by most, not least, actors and theatre critics.
While we might have a good dose of political satire in various pantomimes put up during Christmas time, we do have a dearth of it during carnival time, a time when the reign of folly takes over the whole country and when the visual and colourful floats communicate vibrant messages and anecdotes.
Despite having free rein to indulge in political satire, to my mind, carnival enthusiasts are not doing enough to help revive what I consider to be a weak local culture of satire. I heavily suspect that this might be because of a fear of public reaction.
The last time that I enjoyed seeing and appreciating a good piece of local political satire during carnival time was in 2016, with former Prime Minister Joseph Muscat's caricatured effigy standing at Café Premier, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a passport belonging to one Sai Mizzi Liang in the other.
Furthermore, we had former opposition leader Simon Busuttil, wearing a schoolboy's uniform and driving a crane, riding by atop a float, backed up by a heavily cracked Mater Dei Hospital.
Last year, we simply had a hint of light political satire in Nadur.
Like intermittent protests throughout the year, political satire at this time of the year takes the form of resistance against power. It is a very well-known fact that satire can be a very effective political tool. This is the only way our politicians are ever going to nurture the ability to laugh at themselves, an ability well nurtured abroad in such countries as Italy, Germany and France.
Satirical portrayals of politicians and current affairs are an integral part of Carnival celebrations. It was once an enduring and flourishing tradition in Malta, despite the occasional controversy sparked by such displays.
While topics connected with religion and the Church are particularly sensitive and likely to attract protests, criticising politics should be an essential part of carnival in Malta and a badge of honour for those who make the caricatures. Politicians need to learn to put up with it. Our master carnival craftsmen surely have the expertise and creativity to express criticism humorously without personally offending anyone, including politicians.
Many of them are well aware of politicians' sensitive spots and can often serve as messengers to Castille and Parliament. More than that, carnival time can serve as a platform for exchange.
To build a rapport with the public, local politicians and political leaders should make it a point to make appearances at carnival events in elaborate costumes. The relaxed atmosphere can set the stage for successful networking and even lucrative deals. Many small and medium-sized business owners are members of established carnival associations, and they would be keen to mingle with politicians in this type of informal environment. Both sides tend to benefit from such exchanges.
Why not, for example, come up with an Award of Opposition to Deadly Seriousness, honouring politicians who display humanity and humour in their work?
Humour and laughter are key elements of most human communication to some degree. They reflect and magnify this all-too-human fondness for wit and whimsy, and yet, many do not engage in the pursuit of laughter merely for the sake of it.
Veteran carnival enthusiasts today long for those past times when, hidden beneath the frequently overt comedic façade, often lurked a more politicised agenda predicated on a particular form of laughter-that of the carnival satirist. They long for that playful clown figure operating in the highly participatory world of the carnival, a world that brings together, unifies, weds and combines the sacred with the profane, the lofty with the low, the great with the insignificant, and the wise with the stupid.
The carnivalesque, as a performance site and mode, has the potential to offer a highly dialogic realm with tireless satiric employment and redeployment of the symbols of the oppressor and oppressed alike. No idols are sacred in such a carnivalesque approach to art; no figures or concepts are exempt from being satirically inverted and deconstructed.
Carnival can be a liminal site of political inversion where pretensions are (often literally) stripped, dogmatic hierarchies are exposed and teaches you how to think critically.
Under this additional playful banner of the carnivalesque, laughter would truly perform serious work.
Dr Mark Said is a lawyer