Charity where you can get it

When PS chairman Claire Thake Vassallo defended the lottery-style format of the last L-Istrina edition, she attracted many adverse comments. She was explaining how the last-minute decision to change the charity television show's format had come about.

Originally, L-Istrina was to feature a mixed set of appeals for donations interspersed with entertainment clips and local personalities disporting themselves in a number of ways for viewers' delectation. However, the entertainment clips were scrapped when the monitoring equipment showed that viewers were phoning in only when the prizes were rolled out and not at other times.

Apparently, the prospect of seeing Eileen Montesin and Grace Borg flail around in mud was not as attractive as the prospect of winning an i-Phone. People could live without watching personalities sweat away in a sauna (hopefully fully-clothed and not wearing tiny-towels or eye-patch bikinis) but wanted to try their luck at winning a gadget give-away.

The PBS board, which was keeping tabs on the number of incoming phonecalls, noted them nose-diving when the entertainment clips were being aired, and decided to drop them in favour of the more profitable prize-winning bits. This was done to maximize generosity - or - as delightfully put by Thake, "Our interest is not to have great television but to make as much money as possible. If we have to choose between seeing a striptease by Miriam Dalli and Francis Zammit Dimech, or €500, we will choose €500."

Many viewers expressed their disagreement with this decision on the online comments-board of the papers. While there was general agreement that people would pay good money to stop the former minister from shedding a single item of clothing, many felt that the programme no longer embodied the spirit of charity. The concept of selfless giving was no longer in evidence, they wrote. L-Istrina had degenerated into a lottery, with callers hanging on to their cash in Scrooge-like fashion until a prize telephone (not Tiny Tim) caught their eye.

They are right on all counts, of course, but they're missing the point. L-Istrina is not about selflessness, it's about raising as much money as possible in the short time of its duration. If it takes the promise of prizes to melt the stony hearts of viewers and prod them into making a donation, then so be it. It's a practical measure intended to achieve the maximum benefit.

There is nothing cynical in adopting this approach. It is a purely pragmatic decision. Even though I have always shunned the show, finding it a tacky platform for certain people and establishments to grab some publicity for themselves under the guise of giving to charity - I can see that the PBS board decision was justified.

The viewers who came away from watching L-Istrina feeling slightly grubby are reacting to the display of what they perceive as greed by those who phoned in to try their luck, and to the 'publicity masquerading as charity' aspect of the show.

This is not a new phenomenon. The Bible and other texts make reference to the conspicuous way in which Jews used to perform charitable deeds. Whenever possible, their almsgiving was done in public and was heralded by a proclamation lauding their generosity. So when they're announcing the names of the big-prize donors, Peppi and Valerie are only acting as latter-day heralds for those who like to make an ostentatious display of their generosity.

Even here, there are two ways of considering the issue. Viewers can condemn the exchange of a few pieces of white goods for a promotional puff on prime-time television, or else they can consider the benefits resulting from the donation. If the gift attracts enough callers and raises more funds than it is worth, then the resultant benefit would have been positive.

As for those who decry the soullessness of the whole L-Istrina shebang, they can turn off and make donations discretely to a charity of their choice next Christmas. They'll probably come away feeling much better.

The French Justice Minister, Rachida Dati, is no stranger to controversy. The rags-to-riches story of the daughter of north African immigrants has enthralled the French for some time now. Her love of bling, gaffes and unspectacular showing have dimmed the light of Sarkozy's once-bright star.

Dati has given birth to a daughter, but has refused to disclose the name of the father, insisting that her love-life is "complicated".

Now she's raising eyebrows by striding back to work, a mere five days after the delivery by caesarean section. Opinion is divided about Dati's move. Many insist that she's doing a disservice to women's cause by dismissing the hard-won 16-week maternity leave available in France. Sophie de Menthon, a feminist businesswoman, told Metro newspaper, "She is driving herself to a point that women who have children know is superhuman. Instinctively and not rationally, I abhor this."

Other people view the minister's return as a sign of her dogged determination and professionalism. In the debate that ensued, few people remarked on the fact that although Dati had managed to carve out a stellar career for herself, she had not managed (or had not wanted) to carve out a few more days with her newborn child.

cl.bon@nextgen.net.mt