There are few sights more predictable in a Maltese summer than politicians appearing at village feasts. Scroll through social media from late June until September and the pattern becomes impossible to miss. One evening they are in Mosta, the next in Żurrieq, then probably in Senglea or Qormi.
A photograph in front of the titular statue. A video of the procession making its way through decorated streets. A smiling selfie with band club members. A caption praising the dedication of volunteers and the importance of preserving tradition.
And then the cycle repeats itself the following evening.
It is difficult not to spare a thought for politicians during feast season. Contesting an electoral district is demanding enough throughout the year. Summer adds another obligation to an already packed diary. For weeks on end, evenings disappear into one feast after another, with attendance seemingly becoming an unwritten requirement for anyone hoping to remain electorally relevant.
The obvious question is whether they genuinely enjoy it.
Undoubtedly, some do. Many politicians are deeply rooted in their communities and have grown up participating in local feasts. For them, these occasions are authentic celebrations where they meet old friends, constituents and volunteers who dedicate countless hours to keeping traditions alive.
But others will privately admit something rather different. They attend because they feel they have to. Missing a feast in one locality can quickly become a talking point. Constituents notice who turns up and who does not. In politics, absence can sometimes speak louder than presence.
So politicians dutifully make the rounds, often in jackets and ties despite temperatures that make most people reach for the lightest clothing possible. They smile for photographs, shake countless hands and pose beneath illuminated façades that have already served as the backdrop for hundreds of similar images posted by colleagues.
Social media has only amplified the phenomenon. It is no longer enough simply to attend. Attendance must be documented. The proof must be uploaded. A politician standing before the parish church, filming the procession, applauding the fireworks or greeting the crowd becomes part of a carefully curated online diary designed to reassure followers that they are visible, active and close to the people.
Yet there is another side to the equation that perhaps receives less consideration.
Feasts remain an important cultural and religious tradition for many Maltese communities, but they are not universally loved. There are thousands who view them rather differently. Some are irritated by road closures, endless traffic diversions and parking difficulties. Others dread the relentless fireworks that continue late into the night. Many simply have little interest in attending.
These people are voters too.
By enthusiastically associating themselves with every feast, politicians inevitably signal support for an activity that not everyone embraces. Whether consciously or otherwise, they are taking a calculated political risk. They are betting that the goodwill generated among feast enthusiasts outweighs any irritation felt by those who see the season as one long disruption to daily life.
Perhaps the calculation is correct. After all, politicians have spent decades refining the art of understanding electoral arithmetic.
Still, there is something faintly theatrical about the annual procession of politicians from one feast to another. The familiar photographs, the carefully worded captions and the obligatory appearances have become almost as much a part of summer as the band marches themselves.
Such is modern politics. Visibility has become almost as important as policy. Being seen often matters as much as what is actually being said or done.
So, as another summer unfolds, expect social media to continue filling with smiling politicians standing beneath colourful lights, beside statues and among cheering crowds. Some will be there because they genuinely want to be. Others because they feel they cannot afford not to be.
The electorate, meanwhile, will decide whether all those carefully documented evenings amount to genuine community engagement - or simply another tradition in Malta's uniquely colourful political calendar.