Identified:
By his gruff, husky, ‘barumbara’ voice.

What does he loves most:
Himself.

Apart from that:
The microphone.

What would he prefer not to do:
Grimace like an idiot.

Most disappointing moment:
When Simone Cini turned down the chance to co-present ‘Stejjer’ with him

What does he believe in:
That 99% of the population is dying of hunger and living in abject poverty.

Why is he a priest:
Because that way he can be different from all the rest and stick out like a sore thumb.

What would he change if he became Malta’s archbishop:
He would make everyone speak in a booming voice and smile like a pervert and donate all one’s money to Super One. And he would make all the rich poor and the poor rich. He would also make celibacy a dirty word.

Does he have political allegiances:
None whatsoever but he always votes Labour.

Favourite colour:
Black, or is it red?

Say something nice about him:
He is very good at telling ‘Stejjer’ (stories)!

A Christmas story

From Valerie Borg, Valletta

I want to take you on a little journey, back to your own childhood. It will take just a moment - clear your mind and take a deep breath. Think about when you were little, just starting primary school. Do you remember recess? Playing with the other children?

Do you remember running around the playground, dashing for your favourite ball? How about coming home with your favourite handmade craft? A paper, glitter and glue masterpiece. The outline of your hand or a big red heart with the words ‘I love you’. The world seemed so large.

Everything was strange and wonderful. You couldn’t wait to grow up. Now let me take you to another world. There is no school, no recess. The other kids don’t want to play. They want to beat you and take everything you have. You have nowhere to run or hide. You have no home, no parents and no security, You cannot show fear or let anyone see you cry. Any sign of weakness will be exploited. Your bed is a scrap of cardboard, your blanket is a plastic garbage bag. You live day to day begging for or stealing the food you need to survive. You have no fear of sex or drugs or Aids. The streets will kill you before drugs or AIDS does. Every adult you encounter wants to starve you, beat you, or rape you. You cannot understand why some adults hate you so much, they stalk you by night trying to exterminate you like vermin. There is no reason to dream about your future, you will die before reaching adulthood.

This is the harsh life of street children in Latin America. Six years ago, when my plane came down over Rio, I could see the ‘favelas’ near the airport.

I had come for one purpose only, to help these children. Even though it was Christmas Eve, the poverty and hopelessness prevented them from being happy. The Victory Outreach children’s ranch was a place of refuge, a sanctuary from danger. The children were studying in the courtyards and smiled as I greeted them. At first they were cautious but later showered me with hugs and greetings. They were so loving it was hard to believe the story behind each little face.

On Christmas day I woke to the sound of praying which rang throughout the building. Adults and children alike were on their knees crying out to God for the lives of those who lived in peril in the city.

On that Christmas night, one of the workers at the ranch approached me and some others who had come from far away places to help out and told us of a body that lay outside the ranch.

The end result of three gunshots we heard the night before. We walked to see the body and the horror of the city firsthand. Suddenly, in the distance, there came a piercing sound, which struck terror in the hearts of all of us.

It was the siren of the Military Police. Our hearts were pounding as we watched the police coming towards us. Yet just before they reached us they stopped two men as they were walking. This created enough distraction for us to slip back inside the walls of our very welcome sanctuary.

Being in the city of Rio can be very deceiving. Yes, they have the beautiful Copa Cabana and miles of beaches but on every hillside is the haunting reminder of an evil presence. A stronghold of murder, lust and addiction. One would have to be blind not to see the numerous children begging and wandering the streets. But sadly enough, many are blind.

On Boxing Day I took a night bus to San Paulo to the children’s home there. Late that evening I went to help the children on the streets with a group of others. What we saw was horrifying.

Children, young children, sitting in corners of alleyways sniffing glue and smoking crack. Some talked to us yet many kept their distance, not knowing if they could trust us or not. We watched as people shunned them and walked away.

Most would not even look at them. We stopped to eat at the roadside burger inn. As I sat eating, I could see a young boy clutching a small bag of glue and watching me from a distance. I could hardly finish my meal as I saw him, knowing he might die never having had a hamburger.

I turned away and when I looked again he was gone. Suddenly my heart was before me. It was a mirror reflecting something I never knew was there and I was ashamed. Not so much because I turned away, but because I could and he could not. Two days later I received a unique opportunity to visit the antiquated children’s prison. I arrived around 10am in downtown Sao Paulo at the institution which held 500 children under the age of six.

As I walked in, I could feel the presence of death. Then I beheld the children, many children, small children, children I still see today especially around Christmas time. There were at least 40 small infants, lying in a dirty corridor on the cement floor.

There were no adults around. The staff were in the surrounding rooms which housed as many as 30 babies to one 12-hour shift worker. The cribs were so close you could not see any space between them.

There were no sheets, no blankets, and no pillows to protect these babies from the cold at night. Many were sick and unattended. One child was covered with chicken pox and left to lay in a room with children that looked quite healthy. As I looked around, tears began to swell within my eyes but I could not cry in front of them.

I reached down and picked up a beautiful girl. Her deep brown eyes still haunt me today, six years later. My heart was torn from me as I put her down, praying she would not cry and she didn’t. None of them cried, they did not know how to. My tour finished with somewhat older children who literally clung to my legs and begged me to take them with me. It was there within the midst of their pain that I faced my greatest battle during Christmas time six years ago…walking away.

Against animal exploitation

From: Members of A+

Last Sunday 16 December, the Maltese-Anarcho movement ‘AZZJONI POZITTIVA’ together with other NGOs and some people who are in the media, organised a protest demonstration against the exploitation of animals in the circus ‘Citta di Roma’. Over 80 people attended and we passed flyers to those who attended the first show at 4.30pm.

Soon we were being insulted and provoked by the circus staff. They tried to move us from the space we occupied with physical force. Some members of ‘Azzjoni Pozittiva’ and ‘Graffiti’ were savagely beaten by members of the staff. Why?

We even told the passers’ by that we were not against the circus shows but against the animals’ exploitation. We urge those who are in authority to ban this kind of circus. Other countries have already passed laws regarding this situation. Why were our members violated? We know how to react - the story won’t stop here.

You readers - do you want to be kept in a cage?