By the whisper of days, a poem is bequeathed that bears the weight, a story passed from one generation to the next, reflecting the universal human yearning for autonomy, justice, and the right to self-determination.

What is it about William Wallace, the legendary Scottish warrior who led a courageous uprising against English rule in the late 13th century, that captivates audiences worldwide, particularly as portrayed in the iconic film Braveheart? More than 700 years after he spearheaded the Scottish resistance to liberate Scotland from English domination, the movie, released at the turn of the 20th century, vividly depicts Wallace’s passionate quest for freedom. It highlights profound themes of courage, sacrifice, and the relentless struggle against oppression.

The film is as much about the emotional journey as it is about military conquest. His rallying cry, immortalised by stirring speeches and breathtaking battle scenes, resonates with the universal human yearning for self-determination. Audiences see not only a warrior but also a tragic hero whose personal losses and sacrifices mirror the cost of freedom—a price that, though steep, is worth paying for the higher ideals of justice and independence. Such themes transcend time, connecting the gritty reality of historical strife with modern struggles for human rights and personal dignity.

Wallace’s enduring appeal lies in his embodiment of courage, sacrifice, and a passion for freedom against tyranny. This message continues to inspire and mobilise individuals across cultures and ages. His story is a poignant reminder that while historical details may fade or be repackaged for cinematic effect, the core ideals of human dignity and the quest for justice remain as vital and resonant as ever.

Interpreting a leader’s message is deeply subjective and influenced by an individual’s values, experiences, societal position, and vested interests. Leaders who tap into fundamental human desires for justice, betterment, or security will always find fervent supporters. However, suppose their vision necessitates a significant reordering of the present or a reinterpretation of the past that invalidates the worldview or threatens the standing of others. In that case, they will inevitably be met with resistance and be perceived as a danger. The power of their narratives to mobilise and inspire is intrinsically linked to their potential to alienate and provoke fear.

Dramatic licence or otherwise, the narratives that surround us—whether they come as epic films, historical accounts, or personal anecdotes—are not static relics of the past but active forces in the present that shape our future. Regardless of how a story is told, its impact is measured by the emotions it stirs, our choices, and subsequent actions that follow. Every dramatic retelling, be it in a film like Braveheart or the everyday tales we share, provides a moment of truth where we confront our values and aspirations. Who says past repercussions do not bind our present-day values?

It’s 2025. I’m in Gozo, thinking about the film I watched last night and how it resonated. Suddenly, the Maltese man I’m working with accidentally hits his thumb with a hammer and curses aloud—something about “ruddy Turks!” A colloquialism, I guessed, something akin to “bloody hell.”

Curious about his outburst, I dig a little deeper. It turns out that the man isn’t just a stone mason; he’s a repository of history, filled with knowledge and stories.

When a Maltese person exclaims “Ruddy Turks!” or, more accurately in Maltese, something like “Ħaqq it-Torok!” (roughly translating to “Damn the Turks!”). A seemingly anachronistic curse that happens to be a linguistic relic deeply embedded in Malta’s collective psyche, stemming from centuries of conflict with the Ottoman Empire.

The historical animosity between Malta and the Ottoman Empire, primarily the Turks, is a defining element of Maltese history and identity. The most significant event in this long and often brutal relationship was the Great Siege of Malta in 1565. During this pivotal siege, the Knights of St. John and the Maltese population fiercely defended the islands against a massive Ottoman invasion force. The victory for Malta was hard-won, with immense bloodshed on both sides, and it became a celebrated event in European history, seen as a crucial halt to Ottoman expansion in the Mediterranean.

Some narratives emphasise Ottoman achievements, while others highlight conflicts and struggles. But here, Malta and its sister island, Gozo, were beaten and ravaged by raids, sieges, and the constant threat of invasion. I think it’s safe to say that the Ottoman Turks left an indelible mark on Maltese culture and language. Terms associated with the historical adversary, the Turks, naturally found their way into colloquial speech as expressions of intense emotion.

Over time, phrases like “Ħaqq it-Torok” have evolved. While its literal translation carries a derogatory tone towards Turkish people, its contemporary usage in Malta is generally not intended as a direct insult to modern-day Turks. Instead, it has blended into a tone of phrase, an exclamation of surprise, annoyance, pain, or frustration, similar to how other cultures might use blasphemous or scatological terms without literal intent.

Linguistically, Maltese is a Semitic language with substantial influences from Romance languages (particularly Sicilian and Italian) and, more recently, English. This rich linguistic tapestry readily absorbs and adapts phrases, and historical experiences often provide fertile ground for creating such idiomatic expressions.

Therefore, when a Maltese man curses “ruddy Turks” after a mishap, he does not typically express a present-day animosity but instead employs a deeply ingrained cultural idiom. The phrase has shed some of its literal historical meaning to become a versatile exclamation, a linguistic echo of a past that profoundly shaped the Maltese nation.

What we mash out on our doorstep today, the lament and curse are carried forward like echoes on the wind.

In 1048, Italian merchants bravely established the Order of St. John of Jerusalem to care for sick travellers on their sacred pilgrimages to Jerusalem. As the Crusades unfolded, the Order embraced a noble military role, becoming known as the Knights of St. John, standing firm in their faith.

After being driven from the Holy Land by Muslims in 1291, the Knights resiliently moved to Cyprus and then Rhodes in 1310. Even when they lost Rhodes to the Turks in 1523, their spirit remained unbroken.

In 1530, King Charles V of Spain, whose vast reign covered Spain, the Holy Roman Empire, and territories across Europe and the Americas, bestowed Malta upon the Knights, redeemed by an annual payment of one Maltese Falcon. This was more of a symbolic chesture Charles required when he granted Malta, Gozo, and Tripoli to the Knights of St. John. As part of this feudal agreement, the Knights had to present a single peregrine falcon each year on All Saints’ Day (November 1st) to the Viceroy of Sicily, representing the emperor.

More than a token gesture, the prized Bird signified the Knights’ loyalty and service to the King/Holy Roman Emperor. Falcons were highly valued in medieval Europe, particularly among the nobility who practised falconry, making this an appropriate and prestigious form of homage, almost cinematic in its symbolism!

The recognition and praise we give to individuals, whether they are an emperor, a deity, a king, a queen, or figures from ancient empires, and those who rule or govern us today, are influenced by various factors. These factors include our cultural and religious affiliations, personal beliefs, political views, familial or tribal acclimatisation and orientation. These influences shape our perceptions and judgments, leading to significant differences in how accolades are expressed and distributed across different communities. Ultimately, the context in which a person exists is crucial in determining how history measures and remembers them and the esteem, disdain, or indifference with which they are regarded.

The Ottoman Turks, who had driven the Knights from Rhodes in 1523 and captured Tripoli from the Hospitallers, were responsible for the 1551 attack on Gozo, when the Knights of St. John were the rulers of the Maltese islands. It proved to be one of the most catastrophic events in the island’s history, and its repercussions are still palpable today.

The invasion of Malta by the Ottoman dynasty led to the enslavement of almost the entire population of Gozo, estimated to be between 5,000 and 7,000 people.

The brutality of the invasion and the loss of a significant portion of its people became deeply embedded in the Gozitan collective memory. As denoted, curses and lamentations are like a beacon, reflecting a pain passed down through generations. Folklore and legends surrounding Turkish raids and abductions remain part of the island’s oral traditions, acting as a continuous reminder of this dark chapter. The history of Gozo is often starkly divided into pre- and post-1551, underscoring the event’s significance as a fundamental turning point.

The ensuing repopulation of Gozo with settlers from Malta and Sicily, as well as the significant role the Church played in its recovery, all occurred under the governance of the Knights of St. John. Their administration shaped the island’s path to recovery and its future development.

This devastating event underscores Malta’s and Gozo’s precarious position in the 16th century, when they were caught in the ongoing conflict between Christian Europe and the expanding Ottoman Empire.

In the aftermath of the Ottoman invasion, the Church played a crucial role in Gozo’s recovery and repopulation efforts. It became an even more powerful institution, possessing significant land and influence, which shaped the socio-religious landscape of the island, which is still apparent today; it’s widely recognised that developers and individuals seeking land for construction discover that tracts they are interested in are Church property.

Some of the Gozitans, enslaved by the Ottoman forces in the 1551 siege, were ransomed or freed en route, while others are known to have died in slavery or converted to Islam. Most of them never returned to the Maltese Islands, and it took about a century of resettlement for Gozo’s population to recover. This demographic shift undoubtedly affected the island’s social structure, genetic makeup, and local customs. The Hospitallers’ efforts to improve the defences of Malta after the attack on Gozo and the fortifications they built played a key role in the Great Siege of Malta of 1565. One of the most significant conflicts in Mediterranean history was more than just a military battle; it was a clash of empires, ideologies, and perseverance.

Under the courageous leadership of Grand Master Jean de Valette, Malta fortified its defences and triumphed over the Ottoman siege. The construction of Valletta in the aftermath was a brilliant strategic move—not just a fortified city but a testament to strength and beauty, showcasing magnificent architecture, formidable fortifications, and a cultural centre that would thrive for centuries.

The tradition of sending one Maltese Falcon annually to the kings of France and Naples as a gesture of fealty and acknowledgement continued under the rule of the Knights of St. John for around 250 years until 1798, when Napoleon’s forces expelled the Knights.

Although Valletta was strong enough to hold out against a lengthy siege, Bonaparte negotiated a surrender with Hompesch, the 71st Grand Master of the Knights, who agreed to turn Malta and all its resources over to the French in exchange for estates and pensions in France for himself and his knights. Delete

The French Invasion of 1798: A Catalyst for Change and Resistance

The French invasion of Malta and Gozo, led by Napoleon Bonaparte in June 1798, lasted only two years. Yet it was to become a pivotal event that dismantled an old order and sowed seeds for future transformations.

Our French cousins’ abrupt assault on Malta and Gozo ended the 268-year rule of the Order of St. John, fundamentally altering the islands’ governance and international standing.

Napoleon implemented radical reforms based on French Revolutionary ideals. These included the abolition of feudalism, slavery, and the Inquisition, the introduction of secular education, a new legal code, civil marriage, and changes to the administrative structure. While some of these reforms were progressive, their imposition was sudden, forceful, and often insensitive to deeply ingrained local customs and traditions, particularly the strong Catholic faith of the Maltese.

The French administration’s seizure of church property, the melting down of religious artefacts to fund military campaigns, and the imposition of heavy taxes caused widespread outrage and economic hardship. These actions were perceived not just as economic exploitation but as a sacrilegious attack on Maltese faith and identity.

The harshness of French rule and the perceived assault on their way of life ignited a powerful sense of Maltese national consciousness. A widespread insurrection erupted, leading to a two-year blockade of the French garrison by Maltese insurgents, crucially aided by the British. This period of resistance was formative in shaping a collective Maltese identity.

The Maltese uprising and French surrender to the British in 1800 marked the beginning of 164 years of British colonial rule. Thus, the French interlude, while brief, was a direct catalyst for another significant era in Maltese history.

While some reforms laid the groundwork for aspects of modern Maltese society, the collective memory of oppression, particularly the attacks on the Church and the plundering of cultural heritage, endured. Either way, the French occupation left a mixed but significant legacy. The end of French occupation is commemorated annually, as part of Victory Day (8th September), highlighting its importance in the national narrative.

In conclusion, a past that profoundly shapes our present is clearly illustrated by the experiences of Malta and Gozo. The traumatic enslavement of Gozitans in 1551 reverberated through generations, reshaping the islands’ demographics and becoming ingrained in their cultural psyche. Similarly, the French invasion of 1798 introduced some modernising reforms but also sparked a national uprising driven by a desire to defend faith and tradition, ultimately leading to a new colonial era.

Over their long tenure, the British significantly influenced the island by infiltrating their colonial ways, governance, and rule of law.

The port of Valletta, also known as the Grand Harbour, gained particular value to the British after the opening of the Suez Canal.

During World War II in 1942, Malta’s strategic location near German and Italian shipping lanes, which transported supplies and reinforcements to North Africa, resulted in an unprecedented number of bombs being dropped on the islands. In just two months, more bombs fell on this small area than during the entire London Blitz. The Axis powers aimed to annihilate Malta and starve its population into submission, pushing the people of Malta and Gozo to the brink of extinction. Facing economic devastation and starvation, the Maltese and Gozitan people were awarded the George Cross for their remarkable resilience and heroic spirit. Honoured, or fobbed off, depends on perspective. Regardless of the interpretations surrounding the George Cross, the Maltese and Gozitans’ unwavering courage, sacrifice, and resilience during those dark days are undisputed facts and a source of immense national pride. Their story continues to be a powerful testament to human endurance in extreme adversity.

Following their independence from British rule in 1964, Malta became a republic within the British Commonwealth. Demonstrating their strategic foresight, Malta joined the European Union in 2004.

Maltese, or Malti, is the only Semitic language based on Arabic vernacular spoken in Europe. In addition to their native language, most Maltese people speak English and Italian fluently.

I first came to Gozo in 1977, reporting for work on a film. The roads were primarily rough and broken back then. Donkeys helped farmers tow the carts and plough in the quiet lane. Along with a few cherished cars tackling the make-do highways, there were some vintage buses and lorries, a customised variety, unique, eye-catching works of art, refurbished from the ground up, polished, paraded and proudly maintained by their owners. The clear turquoise sea seemed to bloom, full of marine life. When we moved here in 2003, the changes were and continue to be loud and clear.

By the turn 20th century, uniform buses and lorries replaced the once-artistic vehicles, and donkeys had all but disappeared from daily life. Locals were now tilling the fields using small motorised ploughs. After working the land, they replaced the blades of the plough with wheels, then attached the machine to the cart, propelling your man from field to home for greater efficiency and speed.

A growing hill of trash, Qortin landfill in the village of Xagħra, is getting so big it seems to loom over the island. Fierce winds, burning sun, and heavy rains batter away, lifting and tearing at metals, paper, chemicals, plastics, and other accumulated waste until it is unleashed to the elements. A rich gravy hewed from the rubbish filters through the soil, funnels down roads and streams by rocky nooks and crannies, and sweeps into the sea, out of sight and out of mind.

Once vibrant, the sea and its bed now appear dull and fall short of the abundance I remember. They serve as a sombre reminder that it’s time to revitalise the land.

Old farmhouses and similar buildings are being renovated and spruced up to accommodate a new wave of development. Heavy limestone blocks, once carried by a single mason one at a time, are now being lifted en masse by cranes, which are multiplying across the skyline like mechanical beasts. Potholed roads are increasingly being repaved and tarmacked to handle the growing traffic volume, marking a shift toward concrete modernisation. Meanwhile, locals and the government are embroiled in debates over constructing a tunnel under the sea to shorten the journey between Malta and Gozo, aiming to reap the economic benefits.

With a painter’s light, Gozo tells tales in landscapes and ancient weather-hewn shorelines… biting cold for a few months and warm to baking hot for the remaining year. I’m not complaining… and it’s no big deal… unless… people, particularly the gallant cohorts I’ve hung with, ask why. Why choose such a cultural backwater? Swallowing a flush of resentment to the polite, I’d mumble something about a disillusioned actor needing a quiet place to write and the financial equation making sense. I found that question abrupt and somewhat offensive, not just to my pride but to the complexities and intrigues of a significant community that has lived here forever. Defensive? Maybe? Nowadays, I realise the question says more about me and my friends than Gozo, with its thirty-something thousand inhabitants.

If you step off any main road on the Maltese islands, you won’t have to walk far to discover remains of prehistoric settlements. These findings suggest that small, cultured communities engaged in farming and worship existed here as early as the Bronze Age. On a clear day, it’s possible to see Sicily from Gozo, indicating that Sicilians were among the first migrants to settle and cultivate the land. Small, cultured communities engaged in farming and worship. Indeed, the Bronze Age (roughly 2350-700 BC in Malta) saw the emergence of new peoples and cultural traits, including fortified settlements and different burial customs.

However, the first settlers on Gozo, believed to have arrived around 5900 BC, likely laid the groundwork for the later Neolithic temple builders. Over thousands of years, their descendants developed more advanced stone-working techniques, leading to the beloved structures we see today. However, they were not the direct architects of the Ġgantija Temples. These temples were constructed much later, between 3600 and 2500 BC, in what is known as the Temple Period.

If you go by lay lines and Earth energy, the Ġgantija Temples lie at the very heart of Gozo. Older than the pyramids of Egypt and Stonehenge, making them some of the oldest free-standing monumental structures in the world. Built with impressive precision and artistry, the name “Ġgantija” comes from the Maltese word for “giant,” as local folklore suggests that these massive limestone blocks (some weighing over 50 tons) were put in place by a race of giants. The Neolithic builders used different types of limestone for the main structure and finer details, such as altars and decorative slabs. Given that they had no metal tools or wheels, it suggests that the people who built these temples possessed advanced stone-working techniques akin to what we call stonemasonry.

Traces of red ochre on the inner walls suggest they were once plastered and painted. Archaeological findings, including animal bones, hearths, libation holes, and statuettes (often depicting corpulent figures known as “fat ladies”), strongly imply that Ġgantija was a significant ceremonial site. These elements indicate that rituals were likely centred around the fertility of the land, animals, and people, connecting the community’s survival and prosperity with divine forces or a goddess of nature. The architecture, often featuring curved apses, is interpreted by some as echoing the form of a mother goddess or the Earth itself.

The temple builders lived closely with their environment, and their survival depended on respect and awe of nature’s force. Their elaborate structures and rituals can be seen as profound expressions of this dependency and a desire to maintain a harmonious relationship with the natural world, honouring fertility and symbolising a connection between the mysterious cosmos and our Earth, viewed as a nurturing mother. This serves as a precursor to contemporary efforts to respect and nurture the environment, presenting a significant challenge to a society prioritising relentless progress over the art of living.

The silent, imposing stones of Ġgantija and other prehistoric sites serve as a reminder of a people who, despite having limited resources, created extraordinary monuments and developed a thriving civilisation deeply connected to their understanding of life, death, and the natural world. These sites encourage us to reflect on the enduring wisdom we can derive from their story, particularly respect for the unquestionable skill and artistry of the stonemason in our contemporary age of rapid progress and quick-fix development.

In light of such a negative ground point, the Basilica of Ta’Pinu exemplifies this skill in a modern context. Regardless of your faith or beliefs, I defy anyone not to be awed by the tranquil silence created by the careful consideration and placement of the limestone blocks in this building.

Overshadowed by its older brother, Gozo, with its apparent lack of a slick doorway to Malta, the outside world is inhabited by a population of Maltese and Gozitans torn from old ways, doubting they will ever catch up with the new. Seeking work, they hope, watch, wait, pray, rush forward, lining up to catch a ride, leaving a vision to fix a dream with the other crowd.

Of course, like any sibling relationship, the dynamic between Malta and Gozo is multifaceted. While Malta’s central position helps shape policies and provides services that benefit Gozo, there are ongoing debates and efforts from Gozitans calling for recognition of their distinct needs and heritage. This tension has manifested in discussions about infrastructure, like proposals for a connecting tunnel, and broader cultural debates about maintaining a unique Gozitan identity in a rapidly modernising world.

Malta is the archipelago’s central hub, with significant political, economic, and infrastructural strength. In contrast, Gozo, which is smaller in size and population, is often measured by Malta’s bustling modernity and faster pace of life. This contrast is not merely about statistics; it also reflects cultural and social narratives. For instance, I might have expressed this sentiment by depicting Gozo as a rugged and timeless place in the shadow of the more dominant Malta.

Today, Gozo proudly showcases two vibrant theatres, where diverse local productions take centre stage. Here, the enchanting strains of opera resonate through the air, performed by world-class singers before captivated audiences. The island buzzes with life, alive with exhilarating street festivals, spirited concerts, dance performances, films, and plays, each infused with an undeniable energy that draws locals and visitors into a shared celebration of culture.

Gozitan civic pride is essential and vibrant!

There’s ongoing maintenance and irrigation through controlling gas emissions and drainage, reducing rainfall infiltration and leachate production, and controlling surface water run-off using a drainage system with attenuation ponds. And with the planting of thousands of Indigenous shrubs, the visual impact and reduced odour generation have transformed the hill of rubbish in Xagħra into a welcoming space for the public, opened to visitation in 2022.

After navigating periods of indecision and confusion, experiencing highs and lows—being wealthy and impoverished, accepted and rejected—I came to understand that it didn’t matter which way life was leaning or how appealing my surroundings were; those inner demons would always be lurking wherever I rested my head.

Like Gozo, realising the mess and just getting on with it. I understood that if I didn’t clean up my act and curb the volatility in my life, I would continue to be a liability to my family, my company, and my role in life’s journey. Maybe I deceived myself into believing I was responsible and mature enough for the challenges ahead. Should I blossom or perish? Through heartbreak and pain, I discovered the power of thought and how emotional and intellectual reasoning, shaped by human experiences, can lead even the strongest individuals to their breaking points. On the flip side, the mind can also elevate perspectives, turning life into an extraordinary adventure, a remarkable gift to be recognised, just as it has always been and will continue to be.

With its distinct cultural identity, unique history, and geographical separation from Malta, Gozo has long been a beacon of resilience and self-determination. For decades, Gozitans have argued that their island deserves a governance model that reflects its individuality and allows it to address its specific challenges independently. This is not unlike Scotland’s desire for an autonomous relationship with England.

Gozo’s Case for Distinct Governance:

• Gozo possesses a unique cultural fabric, often characterised by different traditions, a particular dialect or dialects depending on your village, an easy-going, more tranquil pace, and a strong sense of local community.
• While sharing a broad historical trajectory with Malta, Gozo has its specific historical milestones, periods of distinct administration (like the “Università Gaudisii” in medieval times, or its status as an independent Roman municipium), and particular experiences, such as the devastating 1551 Ottoman siege, which profoundly shaped its collective memory.
• The physical separation by the Gozo Channel is not just a geographical fact but also contributes to a sense of separateness and necessitates distinct logistical and economic considerations.
• Gozitans have often demonstrated remarkable resilience. A recurring theme is the desire for a governance model that allows for more independent problem-solving and reflects the island’s specific needs and challenges. This includes calls for more control over local affairs, economic development strategies tailored to Gozo, and a stronger voice in national decision-making that directly impacts the island.

The Parallel with Scotland:

• Scotland has a long history as an independent kingdom before the Act of Union in 1707. This history fuels a strong national identity distinct from Englishness, underpinning calls for greater autonomy or independence. While Gozo’s historical separateness is different in nature and scale (not being a separate kingdom in the same way), the feeling of a distinct Gozitan identity driving calls for more self-governance is a comparable principle.
• As depicted, both Gozitans and many Scots argue that decisions affecting their specific territories should be made locally, by people who understand the unique context, rather than being overly centralised. The Scottish Parliament manifests this desire with its devolved powers and continues to call for further powers or complete independence.
• Both regions face unique socio-economic and demographic challenges that proponents of autonomy argue could be better addressed with more tailored governance. For Gozo, this might relate to its “double insularity,” economic diversification, connectivity, and retaining its youth. For Scotland, it involves different economic, social, and resource-management issues.
• Scotland has well-established political parties like the Scottish National Party (SNP), whose primary objective is Scottish independence or significantly enhanced autonomy. While perhaps not always as formally structured or dominant as the SNP, there have been and continue to be voices, groups, and political discussions in Gozo advocating for various forms of increased regional authority or a special status. The existence of a Ministry for Gozo and a Gozo Regional Development Authority acknowledges Gozo’s specific needs, though debates continue about the extent of their powers and genuine autonomy.

Points of Difference and Nuance:

While the aspiration for self-determination and tailored governance provides a strong parallel, there are also differences in scale, historical context, and the nature of the autonomy sought:

• Historical Trajectory: Scotland’s history as a sovereign kingdom with its monarchy, legal system, and international relations before the Union is a fundamental difference from Gozo’s history, which has primarily been intertwined with Malta’s under successive larger powers, albeit with periods of local administration.
• Scale and Political Weight: Scotland’s demographic, economic, and political scale within the UK is significantly larger than Gozo’s within Malta. This impacts the nature of political leverage and the scope of potential autonomy.
• Constitutional Framework: The UK is a union of distinct nations with a constitutional framework allowing significant devolution. Malta is a smaller, unitary state, though it has made provisions for Gozo’s specific circumstances. The pathways and constitutional implications for achieving greater autonomy differ.
• Nature of “Autonomy”: For Scotland, this has ranged from devolution (achieved) to “devomax” (maximum devolution short of independence) to complete sovereign independence. For Gozo, discussions around autonomy often revolve around greater regional powers, fiscal independence, more dedicated administrative structures, or ensuring that Gozo’s voice is more effectively represented and its distinct needs are directly addressed within the Maltese state. Compared to Scotland, full separatism is a much rarer, if ever seriously mainstream, proposition for Gozo. Nevertheless, Gozitans are proud of their heritage and are shrewd instigators, especially regarding money, and for the most part, cherish and farm the land as if it were a work of art.

Conclusion:

The underlying sentiment—that a distinct region with its own identity, history, and challenges deserves a governance structure that respects and addresses this individuality—is a powerful common thread.

The union between Scotland and England was not a straightforward case of oppression or forced assimilation, but rather a complex political and economic process. The Acts of Union in 1707 united Scotland and England into the Kingdom of Great Britain. While some Scots opposed the union, others saw it as beneficial for trade and economic stability.

However, tensions remained, and Scotland experienced periods of suppression, particularly after the Jacobite uprisings in the 18th century. Following the defeat at Culloden in 1746, the British government imposed harsh measures to dismantle Highland culture, including banning tartan, Gaelic, and traditional clan systems. This attempted to integrate Scotland more fully into British rule and prevent further rebellion.

While the historical precedents and the scale of the political entities differ significantly, the core aspiration for greater control over local affairs and recognition of unique identity connects the Gozitan situation to the broader principles seen in Scotland’s relationship with England and the UK. This highlights that the desire for self-governance and recognition is not limited to large nations but is a vital concern for distinct regions and islands like Gozo.

Acknowledging this perspective enriches understanding of the Malta-Gozo relationship beyond simple administrative arrangements, pointing to deeper currents of identity and aspiration.

In my late fifties, still running fast, I dropped my career as a working actor in the UK to set up a home with my family on Gozo. Over many years of highs and lows, in relationships and work, I continued, as ever, to live in the hope of a life with less angst, less grief, a life where irrational and compulsive fear didn’t rule the roost. Never mind the repercussions. Following an age-old pattern, the persuasive power of thought continued to drive a wedge between me and my artistry.

Homing in, as much as one can, given an alien status, I let my guard down, unwind among local life and customs and came to see a theme, something familiar about the people of Gozo, that I recognised as a conflicting struggle within myself. Aside from being an actor in a chaotic transition, I couldn’t pinpoint why this struggle had become so overwhelming. Then, one fine day, conversing with a neighbour, it hit me between the eyes! This isn’t a dress rehearsal. Look carefully; Gozo is a microcosm of what humans do to each other when pushed to survive through human circumstances, enlarged in every way as if this sister island were under a microscope. Here in Gozo, the mirror is held up to me.

A small island used, abused, maimed, scarred, overtaken, pillaged, measured and put in place by those hellbent on stamping their seal of authority on the world. The repercussions may seem clichéd, patriotic, and normalised, but they are masking a raging inevitability. We learn by example. One over the other. Increasing the need for speed. Like some communally accepted sociopathic ADHD, our global village seems well short of tying in with its natural and native habitat. If nothing else, reflecting our inherent economic, ecological and personal legacy, Gozo can be big, loud, and brash like other countries hellbent on the wheeler-dealer’s domain.

Gozitans have a reputation for being financially prudent, and studies suggest that Gozo is one of the wealthiest regions in Malta, with high homeownership rates and low debt levels. Historically, Gozitans have had to be resourceful due to economic challenges, leading to a culture of careful spending and financial resilience. While some stereotypes exist, the reality is that Gozitans tend to manage their finances wisely, balancing tradition with modern economic opportunities.

I’m not claiming that time is not of the essence for one minute or that an extraordinary landscape and the comfort of a lovely home don’t make a difference when they do. Feeling a sense of civic and legal pride is reassuring, especially when the social and cultural policies are there to help you. But suppose the frame doesn’t fit the picture, and you’re trapped in a succeeding rush, severed from that main artery. In that case, it becomes difficult to engage in political and social discourse, to notice, or even care, about toxic waste, our carbon footprint stomping the earth, poisoning the air on the wings of progress.

What are we striving for? Is success the sole purpose of existence? Is climbing a socioeconomic scale the be-all and end-all of our existence? Do fame and fortune serve any harmony with the universe? Unless I’m someone who sits above, or below, another in their class, do I cease to exist? Have I held it together, only to fragment at the last hurdle? Is death a commanding focus for putting these life-size conundrums into perspective? Questions, questions, questions, running down the clock. However it comes, whatever challenges lay ahead, drawn to the abyss, teetering on the brink; I’d reached the threshold of the human shield, and there was no turning back.

Thrown from pillar to post, a stage-drawn vagabond, trying to make a living the best way he could, pinning his hopes on a dream. Lost in the classroom, missing a link on the studio floor, humiliated down the exchange, stealing refuge from broken relationships, avoidance, running, with a decent job. Pigeonhole me as some adversary, in fear and trepidation of getting caught, I don’t remember when that boy wasn’t in the outside lane, sprinting in the opposite direction.

Feeling cranky and out of sorts, I often see myself as a down-and-out misfit, redundant and frequently lacking a crucial connection. My mind sparks with whimsical thoughts, yet I still grapple with the stark realities of existence. In many ways, I resemble a fugitive or an impatient monk, exhausted from searching for a place to belong. Driven by an insatiable need for success, I keep my head down and work hard for my art and financial stability. Fueled by adrenaline and determination, I relentlessly pursue every lead.

Chained to the desire for cultural and social approval, I often feel an overwhelming sense of powerlessness, which gives rise to anger, grief, and profound depression. This metaphysical prison can push even the most resilient souls to the brink. With unwavering focus, I become so absorbed in my pursuits that I nearly lose touch with the ever-mysterious world around me, until I am jolted back to reality by the tolling of a bell.

And yet it’s here, flatlined in the valley, backed into a corner, brought down to size, where the seed of reason turns and the majesty of existence becomes clear. Those imposed ramifications, such as being enslaved, only became apparent when we minister the reprise and embrace the space to breathe. By your light, I befriend the one with flight, embodying empathy and understanding, fully aware, on this day of the dove’s release.