So much art today is an expression of indignation – a response to the current cataclysm befalling our built environment. The play Taralalla, staged at Spazju Kreattiv between October 30 and November 7, held a mirror to the malaises within the construction industry and how these extend like tendrils into our lives and minds.

The play opened Spazju Kreattiv’s theatre season for 2021-2022 after being commissioned to be written by Lara Calleja, winner of the 2021 European Prize for Literature. Directed by Lee-N Abela, Calleja’s script reverberated throughout the scaffold-laden theatre, designed by Romualdo Moretti, with painful familiarity.

Taralalla explored the political conspiracies surrounding construction, migration and the degradation of our daily lives. It centred on a group of residents congregating at the neighbourhood grocer, chatting, as we all do, about what this new reality means for each of their lives.

Ċali (Christopher Spiteri), the grocer, is miffed at the incessant noise emanating through the walls of his shop, but, unlike his friend Marju (Toni Busuttil), sees this as a repercussion of the common man’s newfound capacity to rise up the ladder and become one of the “new little rich” (sinjuri żgħar). Karmni (Lilian Pace Vassallo) finds the noise flooding her house deeply distressing.

Ċali’s daughter, Martha, is taking on the task of converting her grandmother’s house into a block of flats. Ċali explains that restoring it would have been too expensive and there were already several such developments sprouting along that road. She is seeking the advice of a developer to help her through the process.

Their conversation is replete with the usual phrasings concerning this topic, from the justification “m’għandna xejn inqas minn ħaddieħor” (we have nothing less than other people) to the denouncement of greed and the lust for money – the abstract scapegoat we name the culprit.

Lilian Pace Vassallo and Toni Busuttil

The conversation soon turns to migrants, who are closely linked to the construction sector. The usual phrasings ensue here as well – “hawn wisq minnhom mas-saqajn” (there are too many of them running amok); “inħenn għalihom, imsieken” (I take pity on them, poor things).

Calleja’s script does a good job here of showing how we sport two tongues when it comes to migrants – we are at once critical of their infiltration and guilty of our unbecoming hostility towards them, resulting in the obligatory display of compassion after every lashing, humanising them as though to remind ourselves, but especially those whom we want to convince, that we (of course!) regard ‘them’ as people.

Martha’s (Sarah Camilleri) meeting with Stephan (Clive Piscopo) the developer featured the contemptuous line “jien naf minn fejn għandi ngħaddi” (I know from which channels to wriggle).

Displaying the full spectrum of sleaze and arrogance stereotypically attributed to developers and their ilk, Stephan declares migrants to be the best workers “għax m’hemmx ħdud u festi” (because they work every day without fail), for which he pays them the lavish sum of €4.50 per hour.

Who is responsible?

Karmni’s piercing soliloquy against noise and pollution left a ringing in my ears – “il-pjanti juruk li mdejqin, aħseb u ara l-bnedmin” (plants show you they’re miserable; imagine how people feel).

When she reaches out for help, the usual rebuttal ensues – “ħu paċenzja, sinjura; qed jagħmlu kollox skont il-liġi” (be patient, madam; they’re doing everything in accordance with the law). Soon she finds herself at a dreaded old people’s home, her mind rotting away before Marju’s eyes.

And then, a tragedy. In direct reference to the house collapse that killed Miriam Pace in March 2020, Martha and a migrant worker lose their lives when the house she’s developing crumbles on top of them.

Then ensues the cycle of outrage, discourse, amnesia that typically besets such tragedies here. Ċali is left to fight the battle alone, shouting into a void – “Min hu responsabbli? Binti mietet u ma nbidel xejn” (Who is responsible? My daughter is dead and nothing has changed).

We see first-hand the dilemma of the everyday man and his family trying to get by, or audaciously get ahead. Those who wield the power of meaning have decided that a house is no longer an abode, a place to raise a family, a place to rest and reside, but a ‘rental investment’, a ‘development opportunity’.

Given this, do we blame those people whose houses can be developed for taking that step? Do we blame the developer for “making hay while the sun shines?” Like Ċali, we should all ask: min hu responsabbli?

It is not apathy that we suffer from – apathetic people do not care. Rather, we suffer from the belief that what we do with respect to the issue of rampant development is enough, after which we bow our heads in resignation at the way things are, all of which, we say, out of our control.

The crux of Taralalla was the moment the audience was confronted with the question: “Mela għaliex jibqgħu jixtru?” (Why do people keep buying?)

Sarah Camilleri and Clive Piscopo

Whenever we are foolish enough to go for a walk in the concrete tombs our neighbourhoods have become, or open a window to let noise and dust into our ugly, overpriced apartments, or read about the latest death of a worker deemed disposable, we speak and think about these in platitudes.

This play was disturbing not only because the subject is infuriating and we, like Ċali, feel as though we can only shout into a void, but because the play spoke of issues I expected in a way that was foreseeable. Taralalla reflects the fact that we seem to have exhausted the ways we can speak about this ever-present condition, except by repeating ad nauseam the same phrasings of discontent.

There is complacency in our discourse on the topic of construction and the degradation of our surroundings, from the phrasings we use to the logic behind our justifications and resignations. We bow our heads to the way things are between bouts of grumbling, like Graffitti posts on Facebook, and call it a day.

We are not to blame for selling our houses or buying ugly apartments we can barely afford. We are to blame for not demanding anything better.

Taralalla was a depiction of the Malta we despise. May more art help us process our feelings of discontent and urge us to reclaim our home.