Christmas, in three Maltese movements

Now that the Christmas excesses have been duly consummated, three unrelated stories that had caught my eye can be reflected on.

They arrived at that time of year when we had been told, as we were every Christmas, to slow down, reflect, and reconnect with our better selves. They served more to remind me that in Malta, we excel in contradiction than to slow me down.

Here’s the executive summary of: An abuse of power dressed up as opinion; a quiet act of generosity that puts the rest of us to shame; and a rain‑soaked spectacle that let its audience drift into oblivion, lulled by good tunes.

Together, they reveal far more about who we are than any nativity scene ever could. In concerto terms, here they are.

Movement I: The ugly mood, forte ma non bello

A journalist does her job. She reports on a publicly funded project, raises legitimate questions, and documents what anyone with functioning eyesight can see. The response from a politically appointed public official is not explanation, accountability, or even rebuttal, but a personal Facebook tirade, posted in the small hours, complete with photographs, mockery, and insinuations.

The trade body representing journalists called Jason Micallef what he is: a crass bully. It was a reminder that in Malta, those close to power still feel entitled to punch down – loudly, heavily fisted – and expect applause or silence in return.

PEN and others echoed the criticism, and the reminder (eight years after the cold‑blooded murder of Daphne Caruana Galizia) was even starker.

This was not an isolated lapse. It is a familiar reflex: scrutiny framed as persecution, reporting recast as hysteria, journalists portrayed as enemies rather than watchdogs.

Christmas did not soften this instinct. If anything, it emboldened it because outrage can be dismissed as seasonal noise, and accountability postponed until the decorations come down.

If this is festive goodwill, it leaves a nasty aftertaste.

Movement II: The quiet counterpoint, adagio con amore

Away from Facebook rants and institutional defensiveness, something else was happening – quietly, without press conferences or self‑congratulation.

A butcher in Rabat continued a Falzon family tradition started decades ago: preparing free meat parcels for families struggling to make ends meet. No speeches. No hashtags. Just food, dignity, and the unspoken understanding that hunger does not take holidays.

This year, demand increased. That detail matters. It punctured the official narrative of resilience and recovery more effectively than any opposition speech ever could.

While ministers boast and boards posture (and pay themselves handsomely), too many ordinary people are slipping further behind. And it is left to private citizens to fill the gaps. The stories after Christmas Day about the equally decent people providing hundreds of meals to the hungry echoed the story.

This is what a genuine Christmas spirit should look like in Malta: not virtue signalling, not curated outrage, but practical solidarity carried out without expecting applause.

Everything else is theatre. Hullabaloo.

Movement III: The rain‑soaked refrain, allegro con vacuita’

And then there was a concert.

Thousands had gathered in the rain to watch Joseph Calleja and Marco Mengoni perform. We are told the downpour added romance, that soggy coats and flooded walkways became part of the experience. Christmas magic, apparently, works best when professionally amplified.

Rain falling on a concert became poetic, the assembled throngs blissful in their enjoyment of the moment.

But the immortal words of one Lennon play the counter-refrain.

“So this is Christmas

And what have you done?

Another year over

And a new one just begun.”

We haven’t done unity, because dissent is still treated as disloyalty. We haven’t done generosity from the State, because we rely on Slais Butchers and volunteers to do what the State does not, unless there’s a photo‑op involved.

We haven’t done having a good think about the meaning of Christmas, except to echo the Pogues and ask Santa to pass us that bottle, will ya?

The real spirit of Christmas in Malta is found far from concerts or curated statements. It lives in those who give quietly, those who keep asking difficult questions, and those who refuse to forget, even when forgetting would be far more convenient. Everything else is seasonal decoration.

And decorations, as we all know, come down very quickly.