A black parable for the ship called Malta

Adrift. Sailing on in terrible conditions and circumstances. A Prime Minister who talks of sordid legalistic precedents and a whole population which, deprived of any moral compass, hardly whimpers.

Thankfully, the 49 human beings have been saved. But only after Joseph Muscat was thrown a lifejacket by way of guarantees that these people, but not all of them, will have the right to remain in Malta. This horror story, even if it eventually ended well, will always reflect on our conscience – on our pseudo-Christian conscience which, in such circumstances, always shines forth in its callousness. A plague on us all – on all who looked on and said nothing and did not have the moral fibre to put pressure on the authorities to provide a safe harbour.

Malta – the legalistic claim – cannot afford to be humane because we have limited resources and are positioned strategically where boats with desperate people often pass by. We love repeating this and that our land is not rich enough to offer safe haven. What a land of uncivilised, inhumane people we have turned into.

We pray in our gilded churches. We go to funerals in cathedrals and churches all laid out with garlands, carpets and all things beautiful. We feel the absolute need to be buried – when we are gone and lifeless and our limbs feel no cold – in consecrated ground. We need our bodies – dead and unfeeling – to be blessed when being lowered into hallowed ground. We need guardian angels to guide us straight to heaven.

Yet we feel no need to offer hospitality to a few lost people adrift in frightening seas.

The Prime Minister can grin away now and deliver more words to explain why he did what he did. How he stood up to that bully from Italy, what a tough man he is in not bending while caring little that more human blood could have been shed around our cosy little island. This will remain an hour of horror in our nation’s history.

It is truly a reflection of what and who we are. The plight of the men, women and children on the ship off our shores is a good – even if horrible – parable for Malta.

Our country resembles a small ship, surrounded by seas with mostly tough living conditions. We have little land to spare but, even when we were desperately poor, we sailed on. With the help of others – safe havens in other countries, other communities, other men and women in better circumstances than us – we marched on.

We set ourselves impossible goals and, desperate to be independent and unshackled, we dived in where others warned us not to. We became independent when the going was tough and the future unknown; we joined the EU and the euro when it seemed frighteningly hard to cope and to achieve a better future.

We beat obstacles and we believed in ourselves and others supported us, offered us sanctuary and guidance. This is the essence of solidarity – and of Christianity or whatever religion is bandied about. It is all about caring and sharing. And, if we are not ready to share with those less fortunate than us, what future lies in store except bleakness and blackness of the heart?

Today we are—or think we are—a more civilised, more educated, more savvy and richer country than we were a few years ago. If leaving people out on a boat when they need our help is civilised and savvy, then let me die a savage.