I met someone the other day who told me he knew a great many Laburisti ġenwini who were genuinely (what else?) shocked at you-know-what. I found the adjective intriguing enough for me to write a little divertissement about it.

In this usage, ġenwini can mean three things. First, a bona fide supporter of a party who is not in it for personal gain. The diagnostic feature of this species of ġenwini is that they are not involved in networks of political patronage, preferably because they are not interested in that sort of deal anyway.

Thus, for example, Marco Gaffarena doesn’t qualify as a ġenwin Labourite. (I doubt this will cause him to feed himself to his lions – I’m just saying.) Nor do the people who support Alternattiva Demokratika, simply because there can never be a non-ġenwin AD supporter, i.e. one who canvassed for, say, Arnold Cassola, and went on to make millions in government contracts as a result.

Second, ġenwini can mean the rank and file. The typical ġenwin in this class is someone who is an ordinary supporter or member of one of the two main parties. They may or may not be involved in things like party coffee mornings or tombola nights. That kind of activity is seen as grassroots, organic, and non attention-seeking, and therefore still makes the grade. By definition, I cannot name any notable examples of this second kind of ġenwini.

There is a third usage which is somewhat less straightforward. In this sense, ġenwin means someone who is vaguely loyal to a party but is also rational, free-thinking, and likely to speak their mind. The reason why this class is problematic is that its occupants are seen by other members of their party as misguided in the best instance and turncoats in the worst. Marlene Farrugia is a good example of this kind of ġenwini, and that’s also why she is now a political dodo.

These three are analytical types, and it is perfectly possible for any one individual to qualify, or be disqualified, on more than one count. Cyrus Engerer, for example, is not rank and file, and his vociferous support of The Movement also landed him a plum job in Brussels. He is therefore doubly disqualified as ġenwin.

When I heard that Konrad Mizzi had interests in Panama, my only surprise was that he didn’t actually own the country

That’s as far as the typology goes. The point, however, is to look at what the use and meanings of ġenwini tell us about politics in Malta.

First, political personas have built into them some kind of association with the notion. Take Michael Falzon. Politically, he is defined primarily in terms of the kind of party supporter he represents, specifically the ġenwin Labourite who is loyal, works backstage for the party night and day, and does so for no reason other than their love of the party.

He is also by his own account a raġel (honourable man); which dovetails, because ġenwini are thought to have more honour than the average person. Falzon is the very essence of ġenwin personified. That meant a bigger shock when events turned out the way they did, and it also meant he could play the part of the sacrificial fall guy.

The political persona of Konrad Mizzi, on the other hand, is not based on ġenwin. Rather, he came to power in a top-down way on the strength of his supposed intelligence, slick manner and penchant for big talk. When I heard he had interests in Panama, my only surprise was that he didn’t actually own the country.

The second thing about ġenwini is that they seem to congregate within the ranks of the party in power; which is why all of examples so far are drawn from the Labour side. It is also consonant with my typology, because supporters of the party in Opposition have little access to patronage networks. Unless they think in the long-term, they can only be ġenwini – at least as far as the first usage is concerned.

Third, ġenwini is for the most part a rhetorical device, and one of the oldest in the book at that. It appears to strengthen an argument by association with an unspecified person. Mintoff, for example, rarely made faceless points in his speeches. He was always lucky enough to have ‘met a man the other day’ (‘iltqajt ma’ wieħed’) who told him exactly what he wanted to hear.

Fourth, and this is where it gets really telling, the use of this device is deceptive. At first glance, and because it refers to internal criticism, it appears to overcome the bipartisan model.

Only it does nothing of the sort. On the contrary, it ascribes strength to an argument simply because that argument is made by people to whom it doesn’t properly belong. Thus the Laburisti ġenwini who complain are always right, because theirs is not to complain when Labour is in government.

It’s the old cliché about the exception and the rule. If the rightful place of a dog that can play the piano is in the circus, that’s because dogs generally do not play the piano. Likewise, the fact that internal criticism is exoticised and twinned with a special adjective (ġenwini) only serves to reproduce the bipartisan mould.

Laburisti and Nazzjonalisti ġenwini who complain about their party are the special performers, the circus animals if you will, of Maltese politics.

Because they will never openly criticise (they are, after all, loyal), they invariably need spokesmen. Franco Debono is the apotheosis of the type. There was a time when he couldn’t walk two paces without meeting a Nazzjonalist ġenwin who told him how nasty Lawrence Gonzi was. Post-2013, he seems to spend his days bumping into Laburisti ġenwini who tell him how nasty Labour (and especially Owen Bonnici) are.

I’ve a feeling these ġenwini do not really exist. Like Mintoff’s ‘wieħed’, they are simply a fictional type, in this case invented as part of a rhetorical device that betrays the mindset of the speaker, and the bipartisan context they operate within.

mafalzon@hotmail.com