All gas and clappers

The Romans are long gone from our island.

All our conquerors, colonisers and other misguided overlords, have been consigned to the scrapheap of history. We rarely tried getting rid of them; in fact we rather loved their protection and prided ourselves on being protectorates; on the whole, we tried being as nice to them as possible and even praised their gassy airs and graces.

With the foreign demigods gone, who would have thought we’d create our own version of home-grown oppressor, a newer version of an emperor?

We have in our midst a king of kings who surveys all and solves it for us. And all we – or the sad majority of us – do is pay homage to the genius of the man who made it possible for us, willing and humble serfs and underlings, to have food on our table, jobs for life and dosh to pave our way to unfettered satisfaction. Before Joseph Muscat ascended the throne in the gilded castle of Castille, we were lost souls, now catered for graciously by the Labour Gang.

All he – our Emperor Joseph Muscat – does, we hail as grand and good. All noise he emits from whichever orifice gets our instant applause and unreasoned approval. In fact the more wind he breaks, the mightier is our applause. We stink of total lunacy: seeing us applaud, the man and his coterie play around even more with state money and heritage.

It is utterly ludicrous and loathsome that we have got rid of all emperors, kings, governors-general and installed our own version of the all-seeing, peared, evaporated mists of time.

Joseph Muscat and Co know we – the people – have a totally deficient memory. If it wasn’t for that, we would hardly be singing his praises. We’d be parading up and down Republic Street or by Castille baying out for him to scram out of our world and go into a political wilderness. Instead there he struts – the little he is seen – walking tall with his cronies like some water or gold diviner. We, the people, forget, and applaud the emperor.

How many people actually commented or cried foul when Kurt Farrugia got a super deal at Malta Enterprise? Even if the man was god’s emissary he would need to give proof of his amazing enterprising faculties.

How many raised their eyebrows – not in private but in public – when Joseph Brincat raised issues about the fiefdom being built at MFSA by the CEO and super-supremo Joseph Cuschieri?

Joseph Muscat treats us, silly subjects all, with total disdain. Regarding the MFSA situation he stated that he has full faith in all the parties. He has full faith in the CEO, the alleged overlord and the one making the allegation. Muscat has full faith in the accuser and the accused.

It needs pointing out in this world of unhinged madness that the accuser in this case is no anti-government man. He is in fact one of government’s own handpicked governors at MFSA.

Then there is the ever-growing saga of the assassination of in the an investigative journalist. Let’s put aside all the horrors of that case and what the government has been doing to hinder a proper investigation of what happened before and after the murder.

A book about the Daphne Caruana Galizia assassination is published by three journalists and the government uses the services of a British law firm, Carter Ruck, whose reputation is so bad that Private Eye, the British satirical publication known for its investigative stories, calls it Carter F*** (same spelling as Ruck but with an F). One of their most prominent clients is the Church of Scientology, they who have built an empire on lies, brainwashing and dubious ways of getting donations.

No one asks why such rogues got called in by Joseph Muscat to scare, and threaten lawsuits against, Midsea, the local publishing house and the three journalists who only wish to uncover the truth. Yet in Malta no one blinks at this but lets it pass as just another little bizarre tale not to be told too loudly or often for fear of being negative. Positive is being always in total awe of our true lord and master, our revered Prime Minister.

Emperors who are told by the majority of people that they emit perfume don’t wish to have anyone uncover their stink.

Emperors who only get applauded by the rabble will try all they can to stop the few intrepid souls who cry foul and who point out that the emperor really is totally soiled, covered from top to bottom in dirt.