Sometimes I, too, like to daydream that the big and the powerful have a poster of me, or my colleagues, hanging somewhere in their boardrooms, dotted with holes evidently caused by frequently-sharpened darts.
There would be quite a few candidates for this particular hobby: developers, private sector bigwigs, a handful of cabinet ministers, and, of course, a score of government-appointed CEOs.
But, alas, the reality is different. That train bullet’s faster than a Shinkansen and has no scheduled stops; there’s no time, or space, to feel “special”.
This was ably demonstrated by Joseph Portelli a couple of Sundays ago when he climbed to the very top of the (unfinished) Mercury Tower for a filmed interview; the perfect setting to show everyone who’s King. And that’s regal as well, so that we taxpaying commoners (some of us, at least) can gaze in awe and recognise our own status as the proverbial dubbien (flies).
What followed was one of the most incredible interviews I’ve ever had the gut to watch. It was a bit like the Kraken rising after months of low growling, intent on lashing out with his tail at everything around him, flattening towns and communities in the process.
Portelli may not have the polish to speak in an articulate manner despite the number of storeys upon which he sat, yet, he spoke eloquently. His words would echo far and wide, to places as distant and removed as cabinet.
He waltzed in by thanking Mark Laurence Zammit for the airtime, pointing out that too many times many bad things have been said about him in the press. How disrespectful of the populace!
His daughter was also “given names, like Chloe the farmer”. And here’s his first twitch of the tail, which he followed up with a massive lash at Qala mayor Paul Buttigieg (PL), who represented the residents’ objections to Portelli’s infamous ODZ farmhouse.
Defence as the best form of attack: watch the Mourinho of developers weave his narrative past a weary, static defence. But there were bouts of amnesia. The Qala permit was approved thanks to and in spite of false declarations submitted to the PA. It had also ruffled feathers within Labour, with Alfred Sant making his views on the matter crystal clear.
But perhaps Buttigieg was a more convenient target to attack, seeing this particular mayor is also dealing with the pressures of Portelli’s piecemeal applications in his town and then there’s the thorny issue of Ħondoq ir-Rummien too.
I also wonder why he thinks “farmer” is an insult, seeing his own daughter had declared she is a “part-time farmer” in order to obtain yet another generous PA permit for yet another ODZ room. Shall we call that a fatherly Freudian slip?
But that was just him warming up.
Over the course of the interview, the self-anointed Special One proceeded to: impose his own vision for Malta, that made of another 100 years of incessant construction; make a pitch for the marina in Marsascala; and confirm his rumoured takeover of Jerma for “redevelopment”. But it won’t be just a hotel – there will obviously be apartments, a Trojan Horse which he’ll ride all the way to the marina.
The fun isn’t over: Ħamrun Spartans will have a new stadium and, eventually, it should start to turn a profit, even though football is an expensive toy. Despite “not knowing how much money he has”, he then proceeded to talk about acquiring a club in the English or Italian leagues.
Joseph Portelli is indeed a phenomenon, a sudden one who came out of nowhere, a bit like a Richter scale-8 on a sunny Sunday afternoon- Wayne Flask
For some reason, it all reminds me of Silvio Berlusconi’s rise to fame, then power. Incidentally, after all this talk of millions, JP would go on to say he “doesn’t like money”, which sounded like the same Berlusconi claiming not to be a womaniser.
I admired the “innocent” tone he struck when he said that he “visits the PA once or twice a week, arguing about this or that”, that he meets politicians “every day” and that he runs projects by ministers to get their green light (instead of following the standard permit application procedure; but that doesn’t really slow him down either).
These statements can hardly be classified as chilling, not to those who have been smelling the foul air for years. That Portelli, and many other developers like him, have been flouting the planning process for years is hardly surprising; he was only braver, or simply cockier, in admitting it. Residents across Malta can now set their minds at rest: the planning process is as useless as they suspected and decisions are taken behind their backs, possibly in those very boardrooms.
He then tugged at people’s heartstrings: despite not being “cash rich” he donates a lot to charities and clubs because “he believes in them”. One such sponsorship is that of the regatta club in Cospicua, where he has reportedly set his sights on the Rialto theatre, a stone’s throw away from a comatose AUM. Charity begins at somebody else’s home, until you take it over.
Portelli is indeed a phenomenon, a sudden one who came out of nowhere, a bit like a Richter scale-8 on a sunny Sunday afternoon. His grandiose interview will be remembered for the imposing arrogance displayed towards thousands of citizens in Malta, who sat in disbelief, wondering who elected this guy, who gave him all this power and where his money comes from.
There are certainly no answers to this, much like there’s no dartboard in his boardroom. The latter is a relatively tiny disappointment I’ll have to carry; there are always special disappointments which are bigger, closer and always in fresh supply.