I am not religious, have not been for ages. But every time I see that ‘Malta is 98% Catholic’ figure emblazoned on British newspapers, as happened yesterday, I want to get out. I want that statistic to stop representing and including me.

 

On Saturday night we were at a wedding in this enchanting and beautiful building in the north of the island. It was really chilly; so chilly that I actually considered leaving. Then, while TW went to get me some cognac, I checked into Twitter.

 

And there it was: at 9pm, Malta Today Managing Editor Saviour Balzan had decided to make public a declaration of sorrow, an apology no less, by the Maltese Archbishop and the Gozitan Bishop, just in case the Malta Catholic Church had, in this heinous run-up to the divorce referendum, ‘hurt’ anybody.

 

I did not see the detail there and then but if I have to believe anybody in this country, if I have a choice between a bishop or two and Saviour Balzan, I’ll take Saviour Balzan’s word any time.

 

I was incensed. By the time TW returned, innocently, bearing drinks, I had lit up a fag (that is, a cigarette; I did not set a gay man on fire) and was absolutely boiling inside. ‘This week’ I told him ‘I am excommunicating myself. I do not want to be one of those 98% just because I was baptized: the bastards use that number as their power base.’

 

This apology, when I finally got around to reading it was more heinous and sickening than I had originally thought. Even worse was the methodology of how it was distributed: a couple of hours before 10pm, exactly when they knew, from the exit polls, that the Yes vote had won, embargoed for the moment when the polling booths would be closed. Moreover the church went ballistic and ‘reported’ Saviour Balzan and Malta Today to the Electoral Commission which, days before, had refused to allow access to the European Greens in the counting process. They had the temerity to cry foul.

 

That, to me, is akin to the behavior of a man who plans, very thoroughly, to beat up his girlfriend, starts the beating and while she is lying there black, blue and red on the floor and he can hear the  sirens screaming, says ‘sorry’, then continues to beat her some more.  The sickening thing is that even before he started beating he knew he would say sorry. He expected her to come crawling back. What kind of self-righteous, sick and twisted mind does that?

 

Every revolution starts with many people thinking the same thing in various locations. They do not even know, most of the time, that others feel exactly like them. Today, unlike the days of the pigeon, we are united through twitter and facebook and online news portals which act like a dry forest next to a tiny flame in the height of summer.

 

‘I want out’ I tweeted. Within minutes, people were pouring in with their comments and believe me: nobody disagreed. The reaction was swift and immediate and this on a Saturday at 10pm during a Champions League final.

 

On Sunday morning at 6am the church bells were pealing. They continued until 9am. The physical and aural imposition screeching ‘victory’ was akin to the same guy who, having showered after that beating, got into his car, opened its roof and started parading around the village with his horns blaring. ‘Look at ME!’.

 

On Friday, during the day of reflection, I reflected. When I realised that the fallout of a ‘no’ result would be huge, the domino and snowball effect on the government, politicians, the mullahs placed in every top position in every single financial institution in this land and this behemoth of a business enterprise called the Maltese Curia, I wanted to vote no. I wanted to sit back and watch while their house of gold-edged cards fell down and set itself on fire.

 

On Saturday morning when I saw all those nuns and priests outside the polling booth, when I saw the staff of the old people’s homes dragging 90-somethings, obviously decrepit and demented (as in, suffering from dementia, not just a little nuts), when I got to know that a politician’s wife was asking old people ‘if they wanted to get divorced’ so that they would vote ‘no’, I wanted to vote no. I wanted this earthquake in Maltese politics, in Malta, to happen.

 

Of course I could not bring myself to do it and I voted Yes.

 

Whichever the result is this afternoon or evening, the ‘no’ vote has lost in a tremendous way and the biggest loser will be the same group of highly-placed priests who, many many years ago, completely forgot what Christ’s teachings are about and set their stalls up in those temples of power.