Nostalgia for a rotten regime

I get a kick reading Mark Vella Feltrinelli's blog. I've decided it is one of the best, if not *the* best weblogs by a fellow Maltese citizen. Like myself he is one of the 80s generation who is still trying to come to terms with the period when he came of age and one of the small group of one-time-hopefuls who is analysing the present through a very disillusioned pair of eyes. I cannot but share most of his views about our crazy motherland who time and again ended up being raped by a bunch of filthy honourable politicians and now the mighty motley crew of 'media' figures.

His entries about the Mintoff era, especially the one narrating the (true) story of Korean dancers being taught to chant the then notorious socialist anthem "Ma taghmlu xejn mal-Perit Mintoff" is simply hilarious. What impressed me most in this entry was, however, Feltrinelli's similitude of Mintoff to Ceaucescu. I used to think that this kind of similitude - which I have often thought seriously about - was all nationalist propaganda crap. But now, seeing that even my dear Feltrinelli (who never voted PN as I did in 1987) is drawing the same conclusions I have put my mind to rest that I haven't been infected by the PN's propaganda machine in some Orwellian manner.

And then nostalgia creeps in. Some three winters ago, Feltrinelli and co, used to meet at the Gifen, Valletta, and, in the little hours, behind closed doors (obviously), used to indulge in spontaneous socialist nostalgia rituals, such as cacophonous choruses of old time socialist and nationalist chants archived from the 80s; Mintoff impersonations; and countless parodies of Eddie (aka Edward) catchphrases.

I have no doubt that many people my age who watched Ir-Rewwixta tal-Qassisin last weekend had their share of socialist nostalgia as well. This is a very interesting socio-psychological phenomenon, which, like many other things, has not yet been analysed locally. In an interview I gave to Adrian Grima for babelmed.net last January I spoke about the nostalgia sweeping through former communist countries. While in Bratislava last December I was taken for a night out of bar hopping in the city centre, and my host was trying to amuse me by touring me to pubs like KGB, and others.

I don't know why exactly but these lines from the greatest Maltese poet, Victor Fenech, come reeling back to mind:

Be off Samuraj - may the worst curse fall upon you . I look at this land and I see nothing but your shadow: a frail people with glass eyes, silently witnessing the seven moons of havoc, babbling mutely the failed spring.

(apologies to Victor Fenech for my poor translation)

The Priests' Uprising

Twenty years ago, when the socialist regime in Malta was already preparing for its own funeral, the now defunct "ateatru" produced Ir-Rewwixta tal-Qassisin (The Priests' Uprising) by Alfred Buttigieg, a Maltese playwright whose untimely decision to quit writing left a void in the political arts in Malta.

Theatre scholar Marco Galea has welcomed the revival of this play, being once again produced at the Manoel Theatre this weekend. In a commentary he wrote about The Priests' Uprising, Dr Galea made it quite clear that the present political and social situation in Malta is still very similar to that targeted by Alfred Buttigieg twenty years ago. Of course, some things did change: the socialists have since then, except for a few months, sat on the opposition benches, news headlines no longer report physical political violence, and Malta has joined the European Union. Yet, as the play shows in a very convincing manner, the Maltese people have basically remained a docile crowd that follows either one of the two main political parties, ready to accept whatever the leaders babble about in their notorious and monotonous Sunday sermons.

Buttigieg's masterpiece is an exception in Maltese theatre, in that it has not become outdated despite the twenty years that passed since it was staged for the first time. No other playwright has managed to put on stage a situation which, alas, is still very much the reality of present day Malta.

In his programme note Alfred Buttigieg puts forth a fundamental question: how true is it that Malta has changed since the mid 80s when, according to him, "for the first time, democracy was in peril"? The rest of his programme note seems to answer the question: not much has changed. At the beginning of the 21st century we are still being told by our honourable politicians that whatever they say is right and whatever the 'others' say is wrong; we still have the cult figures - often arrogant ones - who drum their ideas in the collective psyche; still the usual messages from the government's side that we need to do sacrifices for the sake of a healthier economy; still polarised.

A good number of artists and intellectuals who came of age in the 80s, such as Buttigieg and Marco Galea, often express a lack of faith that history might ever change. Despite the revised ending of the play - now giving some ray of hope that situations could one day turn brighter - Buttigieg's hunch that history keeps repeating itself proves this.

I was very glad to notice the large number of literature students at the Manoel. That too is, regrettably, a rarity here. When the play was first staged these weren't even born, and little do they know what it means to live in a country raped by a violent regime such as the old Socialist party. However, I am sure they could identify with the issues raised by the bunch of seminarians acting out the priests' uprising led by the priest Dun Gejtan Mannarino in 1775