Knowing that we have a problem is not the same as knowing what the problem is. And some problems need time to be properly understood. So how do we deal with a problem we don’t yet understand?
Ideally, we take the necessary steps to contain it. We proceed carefully, making sure we don’t make things worse.
Our national problem of political polarisation and increasingly vitriolic public discourse might seem to be a problem we know well. But do we really? The combination of three factors make it more complex than it’s usually presented.
First, both major political parties are facing problems of internal division and less reliable support from their usual base. But can we be sure this is unusual and not a cyclical matter?
When parties enter their eighth year of government, like Labour, they often experience flaking support. It’s why two-term governments are usually the democratic norm. Political parties in opposition after a long period in government often enter a downward spiral of factionalism, as the Nationalist Party has.
Both political parties have also had changes of leadership in divisive circumstances. Such changes usually leave wounds that take long to heal.
Second, it’s true that there is increasing disenchantment with both political parties of government. But we’re hardly exceptional. The challenges of the 21st-century are realigning political parties whose alliances and convictions were formed in response to those of the 20th. That’s bound to cause internal fragmentation and realignments.
It’s also bound to make the political parties look hapless and floundering and to lead to denunciations of leaders who are hacks rather than men and women of conviction. It’s happening here but it’s also happening elsewhere.
Third, social media have been weaponised everywhere – although more so in authoritarian political systems – to intimidate opponents, particularly women and members of minority groups.
The evidence is clear: online intimidation is not just about words. Studies have shown that online intimidation has been linked to greater instances of physical threats and violence against their target. It’s particularly true when the targets are women, whether journalists or politicians.
The fact that these are international trends doesn’t mean we can’t take any action to curb them in Malta. It does mean, though, that the processes are complex, the variables multiple. We have to make sure we don’t make the problem worse.
For example, would it be better or worse if we embarked on a campaign to persuade people to become more indifferent to political parties?
It depends.
It’s often assumed that Malta’s problem is that the general population is made up largely of blind followers of the political parties. The voting evidence suggests, however, that more voters are ready to switch between parties and the votes of particular demographics (especially youth) are increasingly difficult to predict.
Less reliable voting habits help explain the more strident political rhetoric by political parties and lobby groups who correctly realise there is more to play for. Asking ordinary people to become more indifferent to politics may well exacerbate the dysfunction and polarisation of public discourse as the politicians seek to mobilise those who care.
I suggest a voluntary code of minimal respect to which political parties are invited to subscribe- Ranier Fsadni
So what can be done? Realism suggests a minimalist approach that recognises that debates about corruption and accountability, the venality (or otherwise) of Maltese culture or elitism and ideological purity should be allowed to continue. They can’t be stopped and, in any case, it’s the substance of democratic, pluralistic politics.
But minimalist realism also recognises that talk of unity, which remains a fog of good intentions and wily electioneering, will only breed more distrust. A concern with unity needs to lead to action. But what?
I suggest a voluntary code of minimal respect to which political parties and other organisations are invited to subscribe to – publicly. A four-point code would be enough.
First, keep accusations of ‘hate’ out of ‘culture wars’. In a democracy, it’s legitimate to inveigh against elites, real or imagined. It’s legitimate to criticise Maltese culture for native sins, whether real or based on bubble-gum anthropology. Critique is not hate. Neither is contempt, which belongs to head, whereas hate is of the heart.
Second, public officials and politicians should only use the term ‘hate speech’ (or ‘hate blogger’, etc.) in its legal sense – to mean incitement to action against a particular social group.
It’s all very well for ordinary people to use the term ‘hate’ more loosely. But when an opinion leader uses the term ‘hate’ outside its legal sense, there is a strong risk that very usage serves to legitimise, if not incite, action against the person accused of ‘hate speech’.
By blurring the line between moral opprobrium and law-breaking, it’s easier for hotheads to feel justified in taking action against someone who, after all, has practically been described as operating outside the boundaries of the law.
Third, whatever the law says, political party media organisations should be invited to report contrary points of view in their coverage. The point is not to become the BBC, or even to be completely fair. It is to acknowledge the other – as a sign of minimal respect.
Finally, political parties and other organisations should be invited to renounce orchestrated online attacks. Adoption won’t stop all such attacks. But it will serve to contain the problem.
Such a voluntary code is worth drawing up even if the prospects of its wholesale adoption are dim. The code in itself would enshrine norms of acceptable behaviour.
It becomes easier to demand explanations for violations, less easy to claim an alibi in ‘Maltese political culture’. Above all, it serves to liberate our own politicians from feeling trapped by strategies of persuasion that are not felt as evil but rather as necessity, even a duty.