It’s been a year of years. A year of tears. A year to delete from our memory. A year of record highs in all that is low.

We’ve had such misery and sad deaths that it’s hard to imagine anything worse than this year.

Even if with your mask on, tearful and uncomfortable, take a deep breath. And off we go on a trail of goodness, hope and fancy stuff.

In pandemic time, most of us learnt that life is truly worth preserving. We learnt that no one is dispensable. Even if there were calls for some form of herd immunity – thus inferring the culling of the old and infirm – the world mainly responded in a way to try saving all lives.

The biggest discovery was that little things count. That little things make a true difference in our life.

A microscopic virus unleashed mayhem in a world which was going at top speed, thinking there is no tomorrow. We hardly noticed that the speed we were going at could mean that we ourselves were threatening that tomorrow.

Instead of global wars or climate crisis, what hit us hardest and caused most damage was a minuscule virus spreading from continent to continent at breathtaking speed.

Yet, closed in lockdown, in strange, isolated modes, we also learnt to appreciate the smallest things. We learnt that hugs and human contact are indispensable, that love and solidarity need nurturing.

That is all good in the airy-fairy sphere. Yet, closer to home, our situation sometimes still seems to be desperate. Crooks are free, free to roam and influence all things Maltese.

Is the situation as desperate as it was three years or so ago, when Daphne Caruana Galizia prophetically typed those last words of hers?

Joseph Muscat in front of those three judges acted as if he was an emperor

Go back in time. Just over a year ago. Pre-COVID and pre-revelations, which caused so many resignations. Resignations that were all tied and directly linked to what Daphne worked on, what Daphne died for and what Daphne’s murder unleashed on this little isle. An isle supposedly golden, idyllic, a standard-bearer.

Before the spate of resignations of Joseph Muscat and his close associates, we thought Muscat and Co. would never be forced out. We thought they had it so good, they had fixed the system so well that nothing – no revelation, no monstrous events – would force them to resign. But they did. Not one or two but a whole gang of them. All the ones most intimately tied to Muscat resigned.

Well before COVID and its ravages, we all thought Keith Schembri and his actions would never force him out of office. Anyone who dreamed it was considered insane. All the other resignations after Schembri fell were pluses in our life which we had not even contemplated. We might have prayed for them but miracles, as everyone knows, are few. This year, with its continuation of resignations, revelations and a slice of justice means that not all was terrible in nightmarish 2020. 

These are not perfect times. Far from it. The more time passes the more cynical we are getting about the political landscape. We recently got a glimpse of how terrifying – and infinitely worse – life was under Muscat.

Muscat, in front of those three judges, acted as if he was an emperor. An arrogant man feeling high and mighty even when he should have been humbled. His posture and presence did what few witnesses at the inquiry had done. He and his lawyer managed to shoot down every question that might potentially embarrass him or catch him off guard and state incriminating falsehoods.

That spectacle was a terrifying throwback to what we had then and what we could still have had now.

The times aren’t good. Robert Abela is not a star choice and, as time passes, he shows more and more clearly that he is still in Muscat’s shadow and tied to his leash. We are still far from achieving full closure or justice for Daphne.

But 2020 does have a few things to cheer. It was the year Muscat finally resigned as prime minister and as an MP. Adrian Delia was ousted and,  on the world stage, Donald Trump was defeated in the presidential election.

We also have a vaccine that should give us hope, courage and the dream of partying once again. Here’s hoping for a better 2021 when we can really cheer our slow return to normality.

vc@victorcalleja.com

Victor Calleja, former publisher