The other side

I am not one to ruminate and constantly rewind back to yesteryear. That habit brings back all the bad memories rather than the good ones. But somehow the older you get the more important it is to look back and reminisce.

Last Friday I met up in a reunion with old Lasallians. We had shared many years together and we all went out different ways. We all had heard the Vulcan explode at Zabbar, we had mixed with boarders from all over the world, played football and hurt ourselves on the harsh gravel, sang and danced in the school soirees, longed for the Sixth Form girls, learnt French in what was the first ‘language laboratory’ on the island, and battled with religious dilemmas at school.

It was only my second school reunion ever, but it was just great. It proves beyond any doubt that our generation is a bloody different one.

It was the generation that grew up never discussing politics, the generation that was brought up with an unfair dose of religious indoctrination and one that did not quite realise that we were living in the 1970s. One that was not privy to the sexual revolution that had taken Europe by storm, and one which kept the wonders of mixed schooling or political tension, out of the school perimeter.

As we talked, ate and drank, it was refreshing not to hear one quip about politics.

Not one joke about Panama or the bloggers. No sick jokes about Muscat or Busuttil. Not a single word.

It was more about the decline of the De La Salle Brothers and the fact they could soon become an extinct species in Malta and abroad.

We talked about the things that mattered. The children, the former school friends who had left Malta and those who had even sadly passed away. Of the boys who were geniuses, and then simply faded out. Of the spouses who had died and the children who had been injured and killed in accidents, and the permanent scar on the parents who lost their children. And more importantly the unforgettable school episodes that made us smile and cry with laughter.

All around in the restaurant, people were smiling, eating and drinking and unconcerned about our loudness or about the unforgiving Gregale, now a fairly rare occurrence, that shook the restaurant’s shutters. Neither did they seem to be lost in some useless debate about the politics that overshadows everything around me.

The same school friends who had shared those long hours in junior and secondary school maintained the same code of conduct and rules of engagement that they had upheld years ago, that is before 1978. Politics was never discussed and never on the agenda.

And it was refreshing.

And perhaps the reason for their attitude is not because any one of them does not have an opinion but simply because they simply could not possibly want to waste their time arguing over political debacles that do nothing to change their lives or that of others.

Politics has divided people, making them bitter and confrontational. And politicians have fostered this environment and encouraged this confrontation. There was another side at this reunion – the vast majority were all successful at what they did. But most had started to wind down. Most of them were in the medical field, doctors and specialists, and they had clearly decided to slow down and not turn into slaves of their work.

Most of them had been involved in around-the-clock business projects, and were happy talking of the quality time they had now. Of their travels to faraway places, of the music they listened to and of the films they loved to watch in their recreational time.

What a breath of fresh air when I compare them to those, especially the younger friends I know, who probably would have been (like me) discussing parochial politics and how to make more money for themselves.

And the wonderful thing at the table is that none of them had any hang-ups about where and what to eat; the doctors present most significantly were all indulging in nibbling at the fried chips plonked in the centre of the table and helping themselves to red meat and pasta.

The life they were talking about was all about living, and there was none of the heavy-handed arguments that would make one hate the evening. Which is why it is becoming very important to understand the other side.

I guess the reason is because these kind of people do not spend five years waving their hands and banging their fist on a table, trying to make a point that frankly will do nothing to change one’s life. None of them seem to want to be dependent on the patronage of politicians.

Out there, there are thousands of normal Maltese and Gozitan people who live normal lives and do not need to stop to ponder about what is happening around their lives to frame it in terms of their partisan choices.

When the time comes, and that is usually every five years, they will still make sure that they will vote. And then they move on.

More importantly at our age, which is closer to the sixties than forties, cynicism is something that grows rather than diminishes.

Being irreverent to the political class and politicians in general these days can only be described as noble. Muscat, Busuttil, Cassola and now Farrugia should appreciate that the vast majority of Maltese are very much in this category. They deserve to be treated as the majority. The problems, the ego and electoral ambitions of politicians of all hues, cannot be used as an excuse to turn this country into the bloody battleground of the Somme.

It is not the Somme, it is just another country with problems, but not with gargantuan complications, and that alone should make everyone stop to contemplate.

There is a conclusion to every story. I cannot think right now of stopping from journalism. Far from it, but it does make me more conscious that sometimes it would not be such a bad idea to walk to the other side, pull down the shutters and live a normal life!