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Recently a reader wrote in to The Times expressing his longing for the days when hefty jail terms were meted out to criminal offenders. This bout of nostalgia (‘Oh for the good old days of the ball and chain’) was prompted by his reading about a petty thief who ended up spending a lengthy spell of time behind bars some fifty years ago. Although I don’t really adhere to the “clap them in jail and throw away the key” school of thought, I can understand why so many people have given up on ever understanding how or if, convicted criminals ever get their just desserts these days. Even allowing for mitigating circumstances, judicial discretion and just plain leniency, you can’t help feeling that nobody, but nobody, ever gets sent to jail unless it’s Gisele Feuz with half a joint or less. I’ve lost count of the number of times that I’ve seen the same businessman receiving playful little slaps on the wrist after issuing cheques which bounce, stealing chequebooks, forging signatures and generally defrauding people right, left and centre. He’s still out there, probably waiting for his probation officer to steal her chequebook.
You may or may not agree that conditional and unconditional discharges, probation, and suspended sentences are effective or suitable deterrents, but you will have to agree that the courts seem to be falling over themselves to find reasons to apply them. It seems that any flimsy reason will do. If I was on the attorney general’s staff I’d soon develop prosecutors’ paranoia and start giving out a derisory snort whenever an offender was rewarded with another ridiculous penalty for coming up with some idiotic reason for being let off. Something of the sort happened some days ago when a man was given a two-year suspended jail term for raping a woman. He trapped her in a car and held her there against her will and raped her, slightly injuring her in the process. He then pleaded guilty to the crimes but argued that his punishment should be reduced because the woman had forgiven him and she had been paid compensation. Surprisingly the magistrate concurred. The court let off a self-confessed rapist in this manner for three reasons, these being mainly, that the crime was committed in a not-so public place and therefore society had not been harmed, that the accused compensated his victim and that his employer supported him. All these reasons are of course complete tosh.
Where the crime of rape is committed has absolutely no bearing on the case, save for the fact that if it is not committed in a public place, then it is at the victim’s discretion as to whether to pursue the complaint. Here, the rape was committed in a car which was parked outside, which is as public as you can get. Whether it was dark or not and whether it was a secluded spot or otherwise is also irrelevant and no amount of waffling and fudging and ‘what ifs’ can change that. If a car parked outside in the dark is not a public place why do policemen delight in flashing their torches at embarrassed couples rolling around on the back seat of their cars? The police tell them to cover-up because they’re committing lewd acts in public. Yes, in public, even though they’re at Ta Qali at midnight.
You can consider the payment of compensation as a sign of the wrong-doer’s remorse or you can view it as paying your way out of a jail term. Take this a little further and you end up with two classes of criminals. Those who can offer compensation and get let off, and those who don’t and end up behind bars. Rape, injure and maim, as long as you pay for it. Money can’t buy happiness, but it can get you quite far. I disagree with the person who suggested that the victim was simply making the best out of a bad situation. Rape and other crime victims should be entitled to compensation anyway. Its payment should have no bearing on the punishment of the offender. Serious criminal offences such as rape affect society as a whole. They should not be treated as purely private matters and settled like any other business transactions. Head down that path and you end up with people like Michael Jackson buying their way out of one set of accusations and into another little boy’s bed.
Finally, what on earth does the rapist’s supportive employer have to do with anything? Granted, he is to be commended for not firing him at the first sign of trouble and for continuing to pay him the wages with which to pay the victim’s compensation. But other than that, I fail to see where he fits in. Most employees think that having a decent boss is a job bonus, not a “get out of jail free” card. This decision made them think again. No wonder everybody’s still tut-tutting about it.
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Singer Claudette Pace is spearheading a national weight-loss campaign. This is not to be another of those faddy diet crazes that grip us girls from time to time. It’s not the meaty monotony of the Atkins diet where you can only eat protein (for this read “meat and more meat”) and eventually a cupful of carbs every other week. Nor is it the South Beach Diet, the Montignac Method, the Grapefruit Diet or the dreary Cabbage Soup diet. No, this is a campaign based on the sensible maxim “moderation in all things”. And it’s the only thing that works. After thousands of years, diet gurus and their books, we rediscover the Aristotlean mean and that not eating too much or too little is the only way to keep the kilos from creeping up. People should eat less, exercise more, throw their diet books into a huge bonfire and buy colourful string bikinis instead. Men can do the same but stick to patterned boxer shorts instead of the bikinis.
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We’re always going on about the need for a culture change and how important it is for children to eat healthy fruit and vegetables instead of the reconstituted fat and gristle available at fast food restaurants. Very often we forget the other half of the healthy equation and that children need to exercise regularly if we don’t want them to swell up into chubby adults. We go and ferry them about all over the place. Parents take on this ‘Driving Miss Daisy’ role and their children grow up with the idea that walking is some vaguely exotic thing that people do on special occasions. Save for the sport slots at school and some football and cycling around at weekends, children don’t do much physical exercise these days. I thought that the constant lift-giving and Gameboy obsession was bad enough. Then I started catching sight of them – battery operated cars trundling slowly down the Sliema front. Miniature versions of off-road vehicles which weren’t much smaller than a Smart car. The young children slumped into these ambling vehicles spend whole afternoons stuck in their oversized perambulators. Their feet don’t touch the ground. They don’t run and play and enjoy themselves in a happy, active manner. No, they’re paraded along the promenade in ostentatious toys of their parents choosing. In forty years time, the fat little boy in the battery-operated car will probably have grown into an unhealthy, overweight man with a mid-life crisis. Maybe then he’ll realise that the flashy car was never a solution and long walks are.
Claire Bonello
cl.bon@global.net.mt
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