The bus breaks down: we saw Malta from Xarabank, then we wanted off

At some point or another, the last 23 years of Maltese society and politics has been defined by what Xarabank was broadcasted.

Conceived in 1997 during Malta’s belated coming-of-age for public broadcasting, Xarabank was, at its outset, the culmination of Malta’s new liberal drift. At the helm was Joe Azzopardi, host and producer, a media protagonist not tied to any establishment, with a history in green politics, as were so many of his collaborators. Just like the potpourri of voices that Maltese audiences had heard on such Italian shows as Maurizio Costanzo’s late-night discussion show, here was a similar set-up: a large audience in studio, listening to what a few bigwigs, and unlikely leftfield tokens had to say, all on equal footing as part of the Xarabank panel.

Such was the instant appeal of the wide audience that Xarabank guaranteed, that no guest too outlandish, no guest too mediocre, would be denied the coveted platform. So over the next two decades, Xarabank’s magnetic pull ensured one of the widest coverages ever given to the multi-faceted Maltese society.

It was not just country leaders (every prime minister has graced Azzopardi’s stage, upon introduction given the parlour treatment, later in a semi hardtalk appearance). It was practically every single politician, from senior ministers down to the monster raving loonies who called for the people’s vote.

But not only: it gave unprecedented visibility to people and communities that had been excluded, for decades, from Maltese broadcasting. Out came a cast of the diverse Malta that Azzopardi was first to usher into public view: LGBTIQ activists and ordinary citizens, cohabiting couples, the working class (an entire episode of Xarabank was dedicated to bus drivers), the Muslim community, Palestinians (a whole edition was filmed in the occupied territories and was screened on the eve of a solidarity march attended by thousands), single mums, drug addicts, cannabis users, refugees and asylum seekers…

Subjects discussed on that show remain too many to mention. Like the taboo-shattering politics of the new movements of the 1980s and Alternattiva Demokratika, Azzopardi flew that same flag. In 1997, divorce comes to Xarabank. From then on, little seemed to be off the cards for a programme like Xarabank. But Azzopardi had a better handle on the media than most. He knew how to craft a talk show that could entertain a mass audience, and with light entertainment colouring the show, he upped the game on what people could expect from a discussion programme. Audiences started expecting more than a mere discussion between panelists and a moderator.

But that demand for more also generated huge talent. A vast turnover of people, journalists, entertainers, scriptwriters and comedians, were passed from that very same sieve of talent: people like Marie Briguglio, the economist, filmmakers like Abigail Mallia, Kenneth Scicluna, and Andrew Sultana, or the inimitable ‘James Bondin’ – Joe Debono – were all part of this laboratory of sorts. Many were the names who passed through Xarabank to become media personalities in their own right; many more were granted their 15 minutes of fame and propelled to a wide audience.

Mercifully, Azzopardi’s tabloid formula was never used to attack or threaten minorities, and especially was religious in refusing to foment any sort of racist frisson as often happens in other countries or in other TV programmes. Xarabank had refrained from milking far-right antagonists like Norman Lowell, whose cabaret racism has otherwise graced the studios of even channels like One TV, the organ of the Labour Party. Historically, Xarabank has championed progressive causes and enjoyed the benign caress of the equally progressive Peppi Azzopardi to find a sympathetic platform, rather than one that questioned or challenged anti-racism or anti-fascism.

Surely enough, Azzopardi did have his political biases. Very often they reflected his own agendas, and at times he ensured that his own agenda is aligned with the power that allowed to continue his mediatic career uninterrupted. But he had enough stamina to stand his ground when his show hit hard those who did want to be placed under his magnifying glass: famously there was the boycott of Xarabank by the entire Labour Party during the EU referendum campaign, a pivotal moment that underlined the influence of the show and its power of seduction. But Azzopardi also clashed with the Church hierarchy, which rebuked it in its early years when Xarabank’s choice of subjects, started chipping away at the silence and acquiescence that the Maltese Catholic church counted on to move unquestioned; and when the Xarabank studio was hit by a PA enforcement notice after the programme investigated illegalities by the developer Charles Polidano under a PN administration, Azzopardi soldiered on by finding a new venue that would host his show.

Young Joe during Xarabank’s first incarnation, aired from a University of Malta lecture hall

All grown-up and too much

With time, the Malta of Xarabank appeared to have been lost in the Xarabank of Malta. After those halcyon days of testing the limits of public broadcasting with subjects that merited critical insight and wide airing, something in Xarabank veered far into a slavish spectacle of sorts.

When everyone learnt the format, when Malta itself became accustomed to the performativeness that Xarabank inspired, even the show itself became aware that simple voices could give spectacle to the masses. And that, that spectacle could be nurtured, grown, and used to propel the show into new territory. At some point, even human stories that invited empathy carried with them some element of misplaced glamour; and with the tabloidish attraction of the sordid, the serious stuff started passing for a series of brief, infotainment slots.

When everyone learnt the format, when Malta itself became accustomed to the performativeness that Xarabank inspired, even the show itself became aware that simple voices could give spectacle to the masses

At some point, Xarabank’s audiences changed too. Like many who shared Azzopardi’s controversial and sometimes shocking opinions (very much rooted from his days as an activist in the 1980s), the Maltese audience replied with a negative response. Azzopardi himself seemed only intent on serving his progressive views with incoherent soundbites, or patronising concern, genuine though he was. But by shunning a profound analysis of important issues for the sake of the ‘Xarabankian’, he ended up doing a disservice for the causes he championed.

And controversy soon entered a feedback loop that was powered by entertainment. For Peppi’s own controversial opinions of prisoner rights, for example, or even on migration, were perceived by audiences as being just a part of the show, a sort of provocation to make the programme more popular. And even if this was not the case, for Azzopardi’s history proves that much, the popularity of Xarabank itself started to unravel the Joe, and instead gave Maltese audiences the Peppi. And Peppi was of Xarabank, not the Joe Azzopardi that created it; and even when he started giving more space to protegé Mark Lawrence, the tousle-haired and excitable presenter was simply a cartoonish product of Xarabank, animated into television just as in The Truman Show.

The popularity of Xarabank itself started to unravel the Joe, and instead gave Maltese audiences the Peppi. And Peppi was of Xarabank, not the Joe Azzopardi that created it

Xarabank’s reality was such that its collective space was a heavily commercialised one. Debate was inserted in between slots of adverts. Public talk was privatised. Even Azzopardi’s favourite catchphrase, ‘fil-qosor’ (be concise), was part of a degeneration of popular discussion into soundbites, and in this battle only overtly emotional arguments could win the day, especially for loudmouths who deftly humiliated their adversaries.

And because Xarabank prided on giving everyone a voice, it anticipated the social media ivy with a false equivalence of expert views and views based on belief and prejudice. This populist formula rewarded everyone with their 15 minutes of fame, making the show even more popular, but exposing many others to ridicule and the scrutiny of a mass audience. And even the spontaneity of the early audiences that clamoured for their point to be made, was eventually lost to scripted interviews, held before and inserted to prop up the discussion.

As Xarabank grew into the media behemoth it was, its tentacles spread its value thin. Xarabank became a bit of everything. It dabbled with reality TV. The EU membership debate generated a spin-off known as Iva, Le, Ma Nafx (Yes, No, Don’t Know), and introduced none other as one of its participants, Sandro Chetcuti, an unknown property developer who would rise to become the most influential property lobbyist in the last decade. In this luna-park of television Azzopardi introduced a showcase for personalities, politicians, charity telethons and exuberant fund-raisers, as well as journalism and investigations that went beyond the ability of its peers.

But because Xarabank enmeshed itself easily into the demands of television, its guests also learnt how to manipulate the audiences that watched it. The powers that be learnt that Xarabank was useful to humanise politicians, for Azzopardi’s court was a large one, and politicians could count on being made likeable, especially those who could give its audience a family and a life that people could relate to. They used it to make PR through charity donations, even those from the IIP passport-selling programme, and they could weaponise the power of conviction by marshalling enough supporters to enter the Xarabank audience and applaud them.

In the end, the audience that Xarabank helped create, with its need to make its voice heard, with its need to have politicians testify before them, became its main driver, with programmes dealing with sensational themes such as sex and prostitution tantalisingly dangled at times meant to coincide with BA audience ratings.

It is hard to confine Xarabank to history’s refuse box of spent TV formats. It certainly was a mirror of its audience. But at some point the mirror was turned on itself, and everyone was lost in the sight of their reflection. Whether or not Xarabank returns, its deposition from the prestigious Friday night spot is a reminder that all things must pass.