Dom Mintoff – Calumnies, Contradictions and Cult

Any attempt at analysing and judging Dom Mintoff’s contribution would have to contend with the many contradictions his political behaviour reflected. In the late forties Mintoff was the first important Maltese politician who made no bones about the fact that he considered himself to be a Socialist. Simply to state that required a great deal of courage: the decade before the Pope had issued an encyclical, Quadrogesimo Anno, which contained a ringing denunciation of Socialism. Of course, the Socialism Pius XI had in mind was probably the Communist variety holding sway in Russia at the time but that could hardly have cut any ice with local Churchmen and Mintoff’s political enemies.

Mintoff always defined himself as a Socialist, and mixed (mostly) with Socialists - especially at the European level. Socialist themes imbued his utterances and writings and he tried to put into practice measures clearly inspired by the notions of social equality and egalitarianism. So it is against this ideological benchmark that his political actions should be judged.

Democratic Socialism was the creed he espoused. Of central importance were the social legislation and social measures in favour of the poor and the working-class, but worker participation in industry and greater citizen participation in social organisation and administration were also important features of Mintoff’s ideology and praxis. In the context of the geo-political realities of the time and the ideological currents swirling around, all measures, initiatives and changes could only make coherent sense if Malta were to be truly politically and economically emancipated by doing away with the British base whose presence underlined economic dependence and lingering psychological subservience to the erstwhile colonial master.

The rapid social evolution of the poorer sections of the population in the 16 years between 1971 and 1987 is one of Mintoff’s greatest triumphs. Social housing, which afforded comfort and dignity to thousands of individuals who previously resided in quite inhuman conditions in slums, tenement houses and hovels, and a myriad of benefits, which raised the standard of living of ordinary workers, widows, pensioners and the disabled are a dazzling testament to the success of the social soul which drove the Labour Government of the time. Any attempt to minimise the positive social impact of these policies only underlines how tenuous the connection of some commentators with the social reality of the time is.

“Freedom’’ was achieved pretty smoothly on the political and practical level, less so in its economic aspects with only employment in the Labour Corps staving off an unemployment rate of gigantic proportions, partly as result of the closure of the British base. While efforts to attract German and other European investment produced some remarkable successes, the attempt to establish wholly or partly-owned Chinese industries was an unqualified disaster. As a result, the civil service became bloated with unnecessary personnel, often recruited on the basis of party allegiance rather than merit.

Democratic Socialism also implies a staunch belief in human and individual rights – and the institutions which safeguard them. That Mintoff’s governments were lacking in this regard is a tragic understatement. Tragic not only because the effects of Mintoff-led governments’ cavalier attitudes towards the Constitutional Court and fundamental human rights. It was a tragedy also because the heavy-handedness, autocratic attitudes and intolerance denatured the core of what Democratic Socialism was supposed to be about and turned it into a wretched variant more akin to ideologies it ostensibly was inimical to. The opportunity to influence positively a national ethos, to form the thinking of a whole section of the people into a democracy-friendly mental force was lamentably thrown to the winds.

So what went wrong? How did an intelligent, idealistic, charismatic and capable socialist politician muck things up so badly as to legitimately open himself to the accusation that he was leading a movement at times more reminiscent of the far right than the democratic left? The answer may lie partly in the socio-cultural realities he had to contend with. Post-war Malta, while aspiring for a better standard of living was still mired in a quasi-medieval culture centred on village-life which reflected a parody of the religious worldview which pervaded everyday existence; it was an us and them, “tagħna l-aqwa’’ u   “tagħna t-tajjeb’’, the others-are-devils tribal mentality with elements in the small communities coalescing around the rival feast clubs which provided identity to individuals, extended families and whole neighbourhoods.

The political parties did, to an extent, supplant the feast-clubs as a point of reference (although in some localities party affiliation became an extension of band-club affiliation), but rather than impart to their members and supporters a new set of values drawn from the political ideology they embraced, they assimilated their adherents’ own priorities and attitudes. These were projected onto the arena of national politics. The Labour Party which drew upon the bulk of the working and lower-class people for support tended to attract these cultural elements on a greater scale than the PN.

Besides the cultural idiosyncracies of the time, it is within Mintoff’s own personality that another part of the answer to the question as to why the Mintoff years at times resembles a far-right–dominated era lies. Mintoff himself was bold, narcissistic, irascible, clever, aggressive, foul-mouthed, uncouth, charismatic, patriotic and unable to suffer dissent gladly. His close friends have repeatedly mentioned his inability to lose graciously at boċċi – and his attempts to cheat to ensure a victory. He probably had a suspicious streak – later to develop into fully-fledged paranoia when old age brought with it incipient dementia – and was ruthless enough to exploit a horrible rumour about his Labour arch-enemy Paul Boffa which was doing the rounds, although, in truth, he later expressed regret at how he had treated his former leader.

Many of these personal traits and qualities did not sit comfortably with the political creed he embraced and tried to put into practice.The contradiction between the persona and the ideology goes at least some way to explain the serious conflicts between credo and praxis during his time as PM – and later. Mintoff himself, while intellectually embracing the tenets of Democratic Socialism led the party and the nationon the strength of his personality and charisma rather than the force of ideas.

That, of course, chimed in perfectly with the parochial mind-set of many of his followers who were used to idolising the village saint rather than excogitating on their understanding of the faith – or how that should have an impact on their lives. Anything was acceptable as long as it came from Mintoff; the man was far more important than the ideals – or even the ideas. 

It would, however, be very wrong to consider Mintoff as some sort of closet fascist or right-wing nutter in Socialist clothing. He knew and respected Socialist beliefs, and was intellectually committed to them. Generally speaking did his utmost to turn Malta into a Socialist country which respected the basic democratic institutions. But the personal imprint on those beliefs was conditioned by his personality with its good qualities – and some serious flaws. Hence his decisions to suspend the Constitutional Court for a number of years, the seriously maladroit handling of national broadcasting and the tolerance of the violence he openly condemned but against which he never actually took a strong internal stand, which may have very well stamped it out. One cannot forget also the savage reactions to peaceful dissent which turned adversaries into bitter enemies and shocked a few (too few) MLP-supporting intellectuals into changing allegiance or going into political hibernation, while the massive bulk of his supporters roared their approval.

It is too early to judge his place in history, but one day it will be possible to examine the true impact of this extraordinary man on the the country. Sixteen months ago months the celebration of the centenary  of his birth were somewhat subdued – possibly a sign that the emotional impact of his politics is receding. The tangible effects, though, will remain for decades to come.

To Be and to Have

Now that I’m out of it in so far as paid employment is concerned – and any improvements in status, salaries or conditions will have absolutely no material effect on my situation - I hope that I can view the matter with a degree of detachment. Following the agreement reached between the teaching profession and government, the Maltese Association of Social Workers (MASW) have called for a similar agreement for our profession – or words to that effect - reflecting an appreciation of the importance of the role of social workers in contemporary society and thus sending an important message about the nation’s commitment to helping its most vulnerable citizens. Few people in their right senses would even begin to doubt that this request is reasonable and just.

In the context of the intra-profession discussion about this, the matter of whether the unions representing social workers would be up to the demands of the situation, and indeed have the fire in their belly necessary to fight the good fight, came up. Inevitably, the question of whether a dedicated union should be set up is also being discussed with a fair degree of animation. Many members seem dissatisfied with the way the unions are approaching collective agreements and the improvements in conditions they have managed to secure. Other colleagues have pointed out that the level of interests displayed by many social workers in negotiations – as evident from the attendance in meetings called by the unions – is pretty low. In other words, according to the latter view, we’re relying too much on the unions as guided by a small number of colleagues doing the work for us and we are not displaying commitment and unity.

There are those who are suggesting that the MASW itself should morph into a Trade Union and conduct negotiations for members itself. Ever since the inception of the MASW, as other founder and original members will recall, this idea has been floating around and is periodically brought down to earth and re-proposed when discussions about salaries and other conditions become particularly inflamed.

When we set up MASW, there was practically a consensus that the new organisation would function purely as a professional association and would aim at enhancing standards and ensuring that social workers would be formally and legally recognised as professionals. Efforts to improve salaries and conditions would be the province of the established unions, which were much better versed in industrial relations than we could ever be and which possessed the expertise and the clout to negotiate with employers.

Over the past quarter of a century since MASW was set up, social work has established itself very solidly within society.  Our professional status was recognized a decade and a half ago, and a sizeable proportion of social workers currently in employment do not remember a time when we there was no Social Work Act and no warrants, and when we could not officially call ourselves professionals. One of MASW’s stated objectives has thus been clearly and unequivocally achieved.

However, many would point out that salaries and other conditions, while having registered substantial improvement over the years, still fall quite significantly short of what we deem to be just and fair. While a professional status is essential for the prestige of social work, many of us are firmly of the view that pay-packets and conditions must be boosted if they are to reflect the importance and objective difficulties of our work, and its contribution to a more just and more inclusive society. The unions are held by some to be unable or unwilling to accord the interests of social workers the energy required to bring about the desired improvements.

Given this situation should other forms of industrial representation be sought? There are arguments both for and against the setting up of a union catering solely for social workers. To go through them would be beyond the scope of this piece.

Is the transformation of the MASW into a union a sensible solution to the problem – as perceived by some – of inadequate industrial representation? A union and a professional association differ in fundamental ways. The core function of a union is collective bargaining: striving to better conditions of its members as a whole. Another fundamentally important role is the protection of individual workers through the provision of advice or representation when difficulties of an industrial nature arise.

A professional association’s function is different. Its raison d’etre is the promotion of professional standards, such as professional ethics. It does not look at the material conditions per se, although it may comment about them in the light of their relationship with the professional status of its members. To an extent, it is concerned with furthering the education of its members and representing the profession (not individual members) when required. It is concerned with the quality of the delivery of social work, its effectiveness, its role in society, relations with clients and relations between workers. Crucially, it articulates the voice of social workers in relation to issues of social justice in the country.

Some argue that it is possible to amalgamate the two functions, and indeed point to entities representing other profession which also maintain a trade union role. I would argue that there is an inherent difference in upholding the highest of professional standards – and then defending member who may have violated those very standards. That other organisations have apparently managed to merge the two roles is testament to a flexibility of principles which I would not like my profession to be capable of. The respect for boundaries, we all know, is crucial for healthy functioning. The boundary between ethics and material benefits is one we would do well to foster.

This is not to denigrate, or even minimise, the importance of strong trade union representation. Only the masochistically naive would fail to recognise that while man does not live by bread alone, its provision is essential for the survival of the individuals who make up the profession in the first place. Let the discussion begin about how best to ensure that what is rightly ours in terms of conditions and status is accorded to us, but do not mess with the MASW’s essential nature. To turn it into a union – which effectively means doing away with the concern for the precedence of professionalism in our work – would be signalling that we too have gone with the flow and  succumbed to the belief in the primacy of the material over the ethical.

I, for one, will have no truck with that. 

Daphne: Personal Recollections of Someone I've Never Met

Actually you could almost say I once met Daphne. One afternoon in May 2009, I was standing next to the door of a packed St. Julian’s parish-church during Salvu Diacono’s funeral mass, when in she walked - quite late - and stood right next to me. Of course I recognised her instantly: I had been an avid follower of her outpourings for two decades. I could not help but steal a couple of surreptitious glances at the famous lady – quite simply the best Maltese writer of English I had ever read.

Those who maintain that she was ugly are wrong: her face was finely-chiselled and free of wrinkles and worry-lines. There was something imposing about her: you sensed you were in the presence of somebody who had had strength in their being. Her bearing was quietly proud and her demeanour confident.

It’s probably because of my love of prose and language, but in the same way I can never forget how I “met’’ P.G. Wodehouse and where I laid hands on my first Flashman, I still recall clearly the circumstances when I came across Daphne Caruana Galizia’s writing for the first time. It was in a doctor’s clinic in Tignè, where, while waiting my turn, I leafed through one of those magazines one is wont to find in such places. An article about – of all things – topless bathing caught my eye and within seconds I was riveted. Even though I happened to disagree with the author’s position, the writing was a revelation:  succinctly word-perfect and flowing, its rhythms in perfect harmony with the thoughts the writer wanted to convey and resonating flawlessly with my own comprehension mechanisms.

The effect was not only aesthetically pleasing – like a scene from nature where you feel you’re in the midst of a harmonious unity – but also almost hypnotically compelling. I had to struggle to remember that my own position was radically different from hers. I looked at the name of the author on top of the article - and would never forget it again.

A couple of years later (I think), I unexpectedly came across that name again: the by-now famous letter to the Sunday Times about the tragedy of the Esmeralda which had claimed the lives of two men off Sardinia, one of whom Daphne Caruana Galizia’s uncle. That letter, once again a paragon of the fusion of clarity of thought and forcefulness of argument expressed in language which compelled you to take in what she was trying to convey, brought her to the attention of the general public. Very soon she had her own column – The Good, the Bad and the Ugly – which, possibly much to Roamer’s chagrin, soon became the flagship page in the Sunday Times. It was certainly the one I turned to and started to read on the way home from the newsagent’s. That column – with its emphasis on the uglier facets of Maltese life, as she saw them - stamped her name on the consciousness of a nation.

Daphne Caruana Galizia’s break with the Times came about when Guido Demarco was chairman of the Strickland Foundation. Demarco had objected to a column criticising his daughter Giannella’s decision to defend the person who allegedly commissioned the murder of the Prime Minister’s assistant in court. This happened when her father was Deputy Prime Minister. Her subsequent (and consequent) move to the Independent, wherein she published that article, testified to her defining human characteristics: determination, adherence to her principles, hard-headedness – and cojones. She never forgave Guido and Giannella Demarco – with whom she feuded bitterly – and they became a more than occasional target of her articles.

Not that I found myself in perpetual agreement with the content of her writing; on the contrary I don’t think I ever disagreed more strongly with any other columnist as I did with her. I found her penchant for gossip quite disgusting (but, I’m ashamed to admit, entertaining at times). She was obviously aware of her formidable intellect and made no bones about her feelings concerning those she felt were less endowed in the brain department (i.e practically the rest of humanity) when their behaviour displeased her. Her classism I found repugnant: the frequent disparaging references to people “from the boondocks’’, "from the sticks’’, “from the other side of the tracks’’ reflected the elitism which formed and informed her world-view. How on earth she managed to integrate that elitism with her other liberal and humanist ideas (which she clearly genuinely believed in) God only knows.

Her hatred of anything remotely Labour was palpable. This was partly explained by her elitist and classist views, but mostly by the treatment she had been subjected to in the 1980s when, like many others, she stood up for fundamental rights. A slip of a girl, she had been arrested and bullied into signing an untrue confession. It’s not the sort of experience one can readily forget; certainly not Daphne. Whenever she wrote about those times one could capture a sense of very understandable hurt and humiliation, but also righteous indignation that the MLP government had crossed the boundaries of civilised behaviour and, indeed, basic human decency so many times in such a crass and cavalier fashion.

For someone with a Labour background who during the 1980s broke with the MLP over the wanton violence and human rights violations, her feelings were perfectly understandable. Her lack of awareness about how those feelings were colouring her analysis of political life were not. Nor how they were being vented on contemporary PL politicians and even common Labourites with no direct political involvement – MPs’ mothers, for goodness sake. Her public celebration of Mintoff’s death was possibly the moral nadir of her career.

There were many high points though. To my mind, the unstinting and unflinching struggle against the lack of moral and ethical standards in public life gained her the admiration of all those who wish to live in a society where honesty is truly valued. The revelations related to the Panama Papers and their aftermath probably marked the zenith of her life’s work. It was certainly fortuitous – she herself admitted it – that she was to  get to know about their contents prior to their publication. Actually the timing of her revelations,  with hindsight, may have been questionable for it could have allowed the Minister concerned to include the “investments’’ in the Ministerial declaration, although none but the most blinded PL supporters were taken in. Be that as it may, her abilities in spotting connections and digging up information based on educated guesses and intelligent analysis following on from the Panama papers – and in other instances – were outstanding. They were certainly unparalleled in the Maltese journalistic scene. In common with the rest of the nation, I lapped up every word.

While her references to her “international network of spies’’ may have been made half in jest, in reality dozens of people contributed to the stream of scoops (and gossipy bits) she came up with. The reasons these individuals chose to pass on information and images probably ranged from genuine concern about malfeasance to rabid anti-PL sentiment to self-interest. With some there was a clear symbiotic relationship: people who had been criticised and derided in her blogs gritted their teeth and passed on information about their enemies. The information  about  two of the juiciest stories published in her Running Commentary - Alfred Mifsud’s alleged acceptance of a huge bribe from Ronnie Demajo as well as Adrian Delia’s alleged professional involvement in the Soho prostitution scene – was obtained in this manner. Her informers in the two cases both knew where to go if immediate impact on a national scale was what they were after.

Her stories about Egrant’s supposed ownership by the PM’s wife also fell into this category. The Russian informer wanted to get back at the Bank and strengthen her claims against it. Daphne had the scoop of a lifetime, one which fitted perfectly with the available evidence and confirmed her assessment of Muscat, the PL Government, the PL itself and the essence of Labour - as she saw it. Moreover, the story had the potential to spell the end of the hated PL government. Daphne Caruana Galizia obviously believed the story was genuine, and, in my judgement, the informer exuded credibility when she was interviewed by Pierre Portelli. The PM’s denials about ownership of Egrant were equally convincing. Daphne maintained that it was not she who precipitated the election. I think she underestimated the effect of that particular allegation on the PL grandees and the PM himself.

One facet of her writing which always intrigued me, perhaps because of the contrast with the hard-hitting, sometimes vicious prose she reserved for her preferred, mostly political, targets, was the tenderness and sensitivity she displayed when writing about family affairs. I don’t just mean her own family, but her take about many aspects of family dynamics, particularly mother and child relationships. Her insights into that aspect of family relations were impressively profound. They often provoked a smile in me.

On Monday 16th October, I had a few minutes to kill and wandered into a local band-club – a rather unusual occurrence for me. The place was practically empty, save for half a dozen apparently regular patrons who were laughing and joking while I sat on my own sipping tea and watching snooker on TV. At one point the barman turned to one of the other customers he had been exchanging banter with.

“Look, they’ve killed Daphne Caruana Galizia with a bomb’’, I thought I heard him say.

I didn’t react.

Then a few seconds later I heard myself say, “You’re joking, right?”.

“No”, he said, ''Look’’, and he held up his mobile phone.
I didn’t have to look at it. His expression was clear enough.

I literally felt myself breaking into a sweat. The shock must have shown on my face.

“Was she a relative of yours?’’, the barman asked.

“No’’.

“I’m asking because of the way you reacted’’.

Daphne Caruana Galizia – dead? Daphne Caruana Galizia, whose page I consulted several times daily, with whom I had had a couple of minor run-ins on the newspaper comments boards or perhaps her own blog, whose offerings I found to be always stimulating – sometimes to the point of near-apoplexy – blown up? It was as if I had been informed that I had lost the use of my left arm because of somebody’s deliberate decision to inflict permanent damage.

I don’t remember walking out of the club. I’m still not sure whether I paid the barman his 40 cents...

I don’t remember getting on the bus, but at 5.45pm I was in Floriana for a meeting I have attended every Monday, practically without fail, for many years.

Somebody said, “I’m not saying she deserved it, but the way she wrote it was almost to be expected’’. I grasped my right arm with my left behind my back, and bit my tongue.

From where I stand, she was not an amiable woman - but she was a great one. Not flawless, not by a long chalk, but one who left her mark. No saint, says this great sinner, but a fighter for proper standards in public life  - despite the fact that she herself sometimes violated other standards.

Her life was taken before its time. Savagely, brutally, in an inhumane manner. A family was plunged into grief. Save for the very few troglodytes who rejoiced at her death, a nation is mourning her passing and searching its soul for answers to questions which it never believed it would have to ask – and which it may never be able to answer. But which it should ask anyway.

I wonder how she herself would have answered them.

Catholic and Latin: What Does it Mean?

On the Granaries last Wednesday, Dr. Delia was mainly concerned with flaunting his Nationalist credentials and consolidating his position among the core of the party supporters. Considering the way the MPs are carrying on in his regard - it beggars belief that, even now that the members have spoken, a way to ensure his becoming Leader of the Opposition has not been found - one cannot blame him. Hence the references to traditional Nationalist symbols and elements of historical identity, to the halcyon days of thirty years ago strongly associated - not to say identified - with the hallowed name of Eddie Fenech Adami. Hence also the emotive presence and support of George Borg Olivier's son. The message was clear: I am the natural successor, the organic continuation of these icons; if real Nationalists respect them they should respect me.

On another level, however, the speech was also the verbal outline of the fundamentals of his creed, prominent among which is the defence of traditional human values, particularly human life. Delia laid down the gauntlet: his PN will be the bulwark against the onslaught of materialistic liberalism threatening to destroy the fabric of Maltese society as we know it. The liberal tsunami, Delia’s message was, is spearheaded by Muscat's political force masquerading as a coalition of Progressivi and Moderati, which in reality represents the views and interests of a collection of latter-day liberal Vandals bent on destroying the city and installing their own nefarious way of life in which drugs are freely available and the female (and male) body is commodified, and where life itself may be put under threat. The neo-Vandals have deviously manipulated their guileless moderate allies into supporting their heathen agenda by dazzling them into a state of quasi-blindness through the creation of an apparently prosperous society. However, this seeming affluence - so Delia seems to be saying -  masks serious fissures in the societal monolith as represented by considerable pockets of people who are not receiving their share of the wealth being generated and are suffering as a result.

Delia is hinting at the alternative he has to offer: a society where real Maltese, true-blood descendants of the proud Kattoliċi and Latini of the 1930s live in a “genuinely’’ Maltese society based on the traditional values. As one would expect, the vision comes with hints of all the perks: a pristine environment, top-notch traffic management, and most importantly of all, social justice: no more low-paid workers in unstable employment, no more pensioners and single-parent families struggling to make ends meet. He only very briefly mentioned Maltese citizenship, but it is strongly believed that he is quite vehemently opposed to its sale – it dovetails perfectly with what he hinted his vision for Malta is.

Not bad, actually, for a vision, but the insistence on the Kattoliċi/Latini element – in so far as it really represents his views – provokes reflections and raises questions. Is it truly a harking back to a time when Malta was homogeneously Catholic and Latin? Catholic, Latin Malta does not mean simply a population with determined ethnic characteristics; it is practically a metaphor for a society where there was order, family cohesion was the norm, serious crime was uncommon (or, at least, certainly less than it is now) and suicide was practically unknown. All to the good. 

However, it also evokes images of an era where men ruled the roost, where not to conform meant to be ostracised, where difference amounted to God-ordained inferiority, where the lower classes stood in line, where the notion of rights was alien to most, where poverty prevailed. Present-day Malta with its 40% Sunday mass attendance, its tens of thousands of immigrants, its hundreds of Maltese–born women married to Muslims and walking openly in Muslim garb, its 27% of births occurring out of wedlock, its recognised homosexual couples mingling more or less unselfconsciously in the crowd and melting in the background is so far removed from the Catholic and Latin Malta of the 1930s - when il-Gross penned the lyrics of the Innu tal-Partit Nazzjonalista where the phrase is featured - that to call it Catholic and Latin seems to be  deliberately and bizarrely eccentric.

Perhaps Dr. Delia only plucked the phrase from the Nationalist anthem because he knew it was bound to resonate with the party rank and file whose loyalty he needs to consolidate his shaky position, and did not mean much by it. Alternatively, he perhaps does hanker after a time when everything seems so much less complicated and God and predictability made for a stress-free life – unless you happened to be one of the many dirt-poor citizens worried about where the next meal was coming from. Those who are weighing him up and have to decide whether he is worth investing their vote in need to know more about his political beliefs and vision. Does he believe in a return the values which ruled decades ago? Party leaders may blather about listening to the people and translating their needs and concerns into policies, but the truth is the leader’s own views are an essential element in the party’s vision and proposals and - as the experience of the past four years has forcefully shown us – in what will actually be implemented when power is attained. 

Once the matter of that blessed parliamentary seat is sorted out, we should get another glimpse of the new PN leader’s views. Perhaps it will be on Xarabank, but certainly his response to the Budget Speech should yield important clues about the ideological direction his Party will be following. The 36,000 vote difference notwithstanding, the people need to know what Adrian Delia truly believes in.

In Memory of...

Some 13 years ago a burly man of 52 knocked on the door of our then offices in Lija. He smelt of alcohol, but was perfectly coherent. He said he wanted to stop drinking. We normally take  a dim view of people turning up unannounced practically demanding help there and then since it disturbs work with other clients who attend sessions according to schedule. Luckily one of our workers happened to be free and she assessed him, thus starting the process which, within a few days, would lead to his being dried out.

                        
He had decided to seek help practically on impulse when a friend had pointed out that he really should do something about his drinking and, almost to his surprise, he found himself agreeing. It had been previously suggested to him that he was drinking too much, but he had shrugged off all warnings. He himself could never explain what on earth had prompted him to listen to his friend’s advice that day. He often said that had he not found immediate help, he would have walked out probably never to return. Alcoholic thinking being what it is, he may very well have been right.

For the first five years or so, he (and his wife) attended meetings very regularly. He would swagger in - the picture of rude health - often a few minutes late, look at me apologetically, take his seat and listen to the exchanges with rapt attention. His contributions were simple and to the point. He had few vanities one of which was that he loved to mention the prodigious amounts he used to drink and his body's ability to tolerate alcohol.

Those amounts were what did for him. Despite never having touched another drop, the regular liver tests showed a deteriorating state of affairs. Eight years ago, the symptoms appeared. Soon he had to be admitted to hospital, the first of fifty or so admissions. The doctors did their best, but the cirrhosis could not be arrested. The impressively strong-looking man progressively deteriorated until his body became a shadow of its former self. His attendance at meetings became less regular, but often he would underline that there was only one thing to blame for his woes: the alcohol he had consumed. At times, the untypical anger in his voice seemed telling and it made you wonder whether he was seeking some form of catharsis with the repeated declarations about the cause of his predicament. It was almost as if, while warning his peers, he wanted to get his own back by publicly shaming the ethanol which had brought rack and ruin to his once-mighty frame.

Eventually he had to stop coming to meetings altogether.  We kept in touch through the occasional phone-call. But last Christmas, quite unexpectedly, he turned up for our Christmas dinner in a restaurant in Rabat. Perhaps he had made the effort because he felt that there would not be many more opportunities to meet his friends, who greeted him with great pleasure.

Yesterday morning he was laid to rest. Five or six of us were present at the Mass to pay our last respects and comfort his distraught widow. We successfully accomplished the first objective, but failed rather miserably with regard to the second one.

In the evening we remembered him in our meeting; the relatively new members only knew the weak man who seemed to spend more time in hospital than outside it; the older ones clearly recollected the strong, amiable and kind-hearted family man who for years was a regular and who impressed new group-members with his accounts of his drinking – and the success of his efforts to stop when he decided it was time to give it up. We all had our memories of him. Mine was the fact that in hundreds of conversations he never ever called me by my full name; it was always the shorter ‘’Man’’, rather than ‘’Manuel’’. We pondered the unanswerable question of what would have happened had he stopped drinking a year earlier – whether that would have helped his body avoid the development of the cirrhotic liver which led to his premature death.

Inevitably,  the question of the urgency of policies which help reduce the incidence of the sort of drinking associated with addiction came up. Last year, after decades of waiting, the country seemed to be well on the way towards publishing its first National Alcohol Policy – in November 2016 there was a public consultation – but, perhaps because of premature elections the process was halted. The public document showed that the policy envisaged is not quite what one was hoping for – but it was a start.

It’s time to revive the process – and the duty to prod the authorities into breathing life once again in the project befalls the community of those struggling with drinking problems, their families and those who work with them once the official bodies who should be publicly pushing for the formulation of a National Alcohol  Policy are silent on the matter. The establishment of an NGO which, among other things, would help raise consciousness about alcohol problems and bring pressure to bear on the authorities to act and curtail abuse becomes more urgent with each passing day.

Rational national alcohol policies and all, there will be always be unlucky individuals who will pass on in the same way as our friend. But we owe it to him and to the others who have departed before their time because of alcohol-related problems to do what we can to control this use of the substance which, in various ways, is responsible for the deaths of tens of people in Malta every year,  as well as for hundreds of hospitalisations and untold misery for innumerable drinkers, family members and others.

Once he had stopped drinking our friend was all for helping others; had he been with us he would have gladly lent a hand.

On Retiring

It's difficult to give expression to the welter of emotions I'm experiencing right now. Trying to tease out all the different feelings is an impossible task. However, prominent among them is a strong sense of gratitude: I have had an excellent working life: when I discovered social work, I realised that was what I wanted to do. Within days of my starting work at All Saints Hospital in Chatham Kent I was offered the possibility of forming part of an alcohol team. I was too insecure to say no. That uncertain ''yes'' would give a definite direction to my life, a steady focus, a clear meaning - and helped graft a professional identity on a fumbling, floundering novice who until then had no clue about where to he should be heading. Within weeks I knew that that was my metier: I felt it in my bones, in every fibre of my body. At that time I could doubt anything, everything - from my own sanity to the existence of God - but not that all I really wanted to to do was work with alcoholics.

Mount Carmel Hospital came next and I was lucky to form part of a truly outstanding social work team. Most of our work there was with clients with mental health issues – the area where all new social workers should cut their teeth - but alcoholism featured quite prominently too. For the first time ever a dedicated ward for alcoholics was set up and the first ever alcohol team in Malta was formed, led by a foreign psychiatrist experienced in addiction work. She taught us the basics of work with alcoholics and we could venture outside the hospital and held meetings for drinkers and their families in the community. The MCH set-up was of itself limiting; we had to fit within hospital structures which did not leave enough room for creative work and did not take too kindly to initiatives which questioned the dominant ethos and challenged power dynamics. The stigma attached to MCH repelled a number of potential clients and after almost a decade, we seemed to be running on the spot.

Then, 23 years ago, sedqa was born and I was given the possibility to work within my preferred field full-time, and develop services.  How can I not consider myself fortunate? I grasped the opportunity with both hands. The early days were a heady mix of dreams and expectations and an exciting exploration of novel possibilities. There were times when my colleagues and I surpassed ourselves and soared but more often than not reality would rudely interfere with our plans and we would brought back down to earth with a thud. The list of failed initiatives grew - but very gradually so did the number of people our services managed to assist, motivate, prod, push and sometimes cajole into treatment - and a better, fuller life.

How can you not be grateful?  You were blessed with colleagues who viewed the world with similar, but never identical eyes, spoke the same language and knew where you wanted to go. They had your back, and because you could trust them you could take risks, knowing that they would check any erroneous before you could inflict harm. sedqa provided the true specialists, the social workers the doctors, psychiatrists, psychologists and nurses who knew their stuff and who could be relied upon to help clients in as nuanced a manner as possible. Not that it was a paradise – human relations will  always generate problems and a degree of conflict, and bureaucracy and political manoeuvering will hamper even the most determined workers  – but the sensation that one could rise above the negative aspects and collaborate because clients’ welfare so demanded  was stronger than anywhere else I’ve worked in. 

All told, I’ve had 34 years of this. I cannot recall one single instant when I rued the decision to work in the alcohol field. How can I not be thankful? People, hundreds of them, changed: lives were pulled back from the brink, families torn asunder by conflict and anger and pain helped to come back together, despair slowly transformed into hope, helplessness into self-belief. Inevitably in this field, failures outstrip successes, sometimes with spectacular awfulness: the demoralising relapses after years of dryness, the untimely deaths of those who will not or cannot change, the wrenching, devastating blow of the suicide which makes your very being shudder and fill with anguish. But even as you grieve you soldier on; you cannot afford to spend too much time feeling dejected and despondent: too many people require your undivided attention. Somehow, after a while, the wheel turns and an unexpected change for the better occurs and once again you’re energised and its’s all worthwhile. 

It’s over now. Apparently, very soon, the very name of  sedqa  may vanish into oblivion and within a few years will have been forgotten completely. Does anybody remember the SWDP, the first quasi-autonomous social work agency which, for while threatened to revolutionise the way social work was organised and delivered in Malta? Only hoary romantic freaks who harbour this strange notion the history is important and that in order to understand the why and wherefores – and the hows- of current practice you have to see it in historical context. But though the name will be gone, the spirit,  or some of it, will remain in the work. For, though changes will occur, the most fundamental interaction, that between clients and services, will remain. It is moulded by years of practice and reflection informed by theory, honed in supervision and and ingrained in our (actually no, no longer ''our''; I must get used to this) workers through hundreds of interventions with clients. It is not known which structures will remain, but the attitudes, I am convinced, will withstand whatever changes will take place.  

It’s over only in an official, formal sense.  The memories will... no, away with the cliches – I detest them anyway. There’s still plenty to do; exciting stuff, too - and most of it in the same field. So the relationship with the alcohol services is not quite over yet. Our paths will almost certainly cross again. The bond is too strong to be severed completely by something as mundane as retirement. And for that too, I can only say “Thank God’’.