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Matthew Vella
The defining aspect of yesterday’s dramatisation of the Nationalists’ ‘difficult’ third year in government was their obvious effort in stage-managing everything into a painstakingly drab two-hour set.
If this was microcosmic enough, the Gonzi government wants you to think the last three years have been a pleasant Vivaldi string concerto, with the rough edges smoothened out by the soft and dimmed lighting of the stage construction.
Violin music wafting out the speakers, blue and red reflectors beaming onto ceiling-high glass panels, flat screen technology and the sound of tinkling glasses from outside the hall reminding you of the canapés you’ll get to eat for sitting this one out, yesterday’s press conference was beckoning us to relax and enjoy the ride.
And then comes the reality of this 17-year-old government. A classic entrance from the brusque investments minister, as Austin Gatt immediately slags off the glass panels from which Gonzi will be beaming his DVD presentation. “It looks like we’re in a bathroom,” he guffaws.
Lawrence Gonzi’s introductory speech is not just a tad lengthy. The familiar catchphrases are there: “Let’s be careful now… the people have to realise something here… God forbid this and that…”
In an inflection on the Mater Dei hospital, set to open on his birthday on 1 July 2007, Gonzi smugly boasts about how he will be able to tell the sceptics “I told you so” when he finally cuts the inauguration ribbon. Rich, considering the last twelve years spent nurturing this behemoth with millions of taxpayers’ cash.
Then, after finishing off, a 30-minute visual rendition of what he has just said is beamed onto the glass panels. Cue the ubiquitous drum-n-base soundtrack over stock footage of a nation in good health and strong economic performance.
The female voiceover delivers an Orwellian monologue of the government’s mid-term progress: “This government has done this… this government will do that… this government will not do that… resistance to change is not the solution…”
The script is in our hands, a 26-page long brochure, but one journalist still jots down the narration feverishly. It’s so long and boring that Francis Zammit Dimech nods off twice, having to fight off the ill-timed slumber by chatting to Tonio Borg. All the ministers and journalists are chatting. The Super One cameraman films the cabinet ministers picking their noses which will later be broadcasting on the evening’s news. Gonzi attentively watches the last three years on film.
Unfazed by the lengthy presentations, nobody is yet jaded enough an hour since this press conference started. The government has just celebrated its past year of hard work. The press instead asks about the oil surcharge, the allegations of favouritism in the new development zones, the climate of racial hatred, and the general feeling of dismay amongst the people.
When the two-hour affair comes to an end, even the hors d’oeuvres are largely ignored by the press, as if nothing can seem to allay what is really brewing beneath the Nationalist government’s picture-perfect rendition of Malta. There’s gloss in this government, but not enough to make everything bright and shiny.
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