I’ve lived in Malta all my life, so I can remember a time when, as a little girl, I’d peer out of a car rear window at a very different island. Equipped with only my curiosity and five senses, I developed early on, just as other children do, a strong sense of those surroundings; and by the time I was five or six had acquired a special location – indeed a landmark. And that landmark always told me that we had almost reached Valletta and ‘journey’s end’.
Until recently, I could not have named that spot, and I suspect only a few could (without, that is, Google coming to the rescue, as it did for me). Because, for all its beauty and centrality, the ‘spot’ is probably one of Malta’s most overlooked places. I have driven past it thousands of times and never stopped. But three or four weeks ago, and just as many decades too late, I finally got there: I drove to Guardamangia Hill, parked close to the villa, walked down towards Pietà, ran (dangerously) across the road, and finally entered the magical grove.
Jubilee Grove sits on a hill, opposite Sa Maison and the Ta’ Braxia cemetery, and runs all the way up to Floriana. Most striking – indeed unexpected – is the place’s ‘foreignness’. You forget you’re actually in Malta, which perhaps is not a bad thing given that travelling is right now off limits. I have since been back three times and on each occasion have been amazed at how unfrequented it is. Perhaps there’s a cultural reason for this. Malta does not really have a park culture, unlike the UK and the US, where national parks are tightly woven into the fabric of everyday life.
In America, parks are akin to open-air museums and enjoy the protection of the law. In 1916, for example, the US National Park Service was legally constituted to “conserve the scenery and the natural and historic objects and the wildlife therein and… leave them unimpaired for the enjoyment of future generations”. Today, the NPS is charged with the protection of more than 400 historical and heritage sites.
I have no idea whether politics undermines the goals of the NPS in America but I do know that the closest equivalent in Malta – the Environment and Resources Authority (established only as recently as 2016) – can’t always be counted on to conserve and protect what remains of our natural environment.
A short while ago, that same authority authorised the pruning and uprooting of 300-year-old carob trees in Dingli and gave its blessing to the Central Link project whose road widening led to the uprooting of at least 450 mature trees, including several protected species.
If, therefore, we cannot rely on the ERA to fight its own turf and protect our environment at a basic level, then surely it’s redundant.
We are trees’ custodians only, not their masters or asset strippers- Michela Spiteri
Stories like these are not in short supply. The Environmental Planning Review Tribunal recently gave its blessing to the demolition of a 200-year-old historic farmhouse in Fgura. And I was recently told that there are plans for a concert area in Malta’s national park at Ta’ Qali, a project that could see the removal of one of the site’s oldest and most beautiful trees. I’m afraid I have not managed to verify this, so I am hoping it’s not true; but it won’t be anything we’ve not seen before.
That said, I was pleasantly surprised to hear about the ERA’s recent objection to the relocation of the old Marsaxlokk watchtower (to facilitate yet another new road). Bizarrely, the government has not, as yet, withdrawn its application and is ploughing ahead. If approved, such vandalism will set a very dangerous precedent and completely undermine the autonomy (and hence effectiveness) of the ERA.
Overruling by political entities simply negates every good intention and well-reasoned objection, leaving only a pointless charade of ‘tokenistic’ consultation. But rather than allow the ERA to keel over and die, there is right now, and more than ever, a crying need for a truly independent regulator.
A body whose members, like the judiciary, would not be appointed by a minister but enjoy instead absolute independence and security of tenure, and be protected against the ‘instructions’ of Infrastructure Malta or similar.
I actually toyed with whether or not to mention Jubilee Grove in this article. I am terrified, you see, that this little piece of heaven, which for years has existed under the radar of successive governments, will suddenly attract the attention of an ‘embellishing’ ministry, or minister, whose bad taste and poor science will ensure that the trees will pay the ultimate price.
I love the anonymity of Jubilee Grove, I love its overarching trees – every one of them a survivor – and the way they each lean at a different angle, wholly oblivious to that boxy ‘designer regularity’ so favoured by modern planners. I love too the way these trees, and the ones across the road and even beyond, all come together like a huge umbrella. And tempted as I am to make some suggestions – wooden bins and benches maybe? – I don’t really trust any government or authority to make them into improvements. That’s because once the meddling starts, the place will lose its raw natural charm and suddenly become soulless and sterile, following the same route as the rest of our island.
We need to understand once and for all that trees, just like historic places, have a story to tell. We need also to acquire humility – yes humility.
For these trees were there before us and, with luck, will see us out. They command our respect, our admiration and even our love. They are beautiful and beneficial, especially on a Mediterranean island increasingly known for its concrete and CO₂.
We are their custodians only, not their masters or asset strippers. They exist in time beyond us, yet connect us to our island’s past and point us to its future.
How then will we be judged by later generations if we destroy them?