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Issue 4
February 2016 |
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Contents
Welcome to The Insiter Monthly! Whilst hoping that February is being kind to you after the stress of exams, here at Insite we have brewed up the next issue of The Insiter Monthly. We sure know how frustrating it gets refreshing e-sims every two minutes, hoping and praying that you get one of your results in! Therefore, we are providing you with three new articles to help you take a break from refreshing e-sims and have some fun instead. In this magazine you can get a sweet throwback to last month’s stress, by reading Daniel Galea St John’s short story about a student and his all-nighter. Congratulations Daniel for being one of our winners! Go on to read all about Rajaa Gacem’s opinion on Casey’s Bar and don’t forget to read Matthew Charles Zammit’s article on journalism, blogs and Daphne Caruana Galizia.
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Wishing you all the best of luck on your results!
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Nicole Borg Publications Officer
Contents 3
The Night Before
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Casey’s Bar: Vinyl and Chill
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An Affair, the Blogger, and Pandora’s Box
8 Executive Committee
Writers
Matthew Charles Zammit Johann Agius Kristina Saliba Nicole Borg
Daniel Galea St John Rajaa Gacem Matthew Charles Zammit
Administrative Team
Federico Barbaro-Sant Siobhan Vassallo Elisa Calleja Cyrielle Delmas
Deborah Faye Mercieca Jessica Arena Matthew Debattista Dionne Taryn Gatt Melissa McElhatton Sara Ezabe 2
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Media Team
Magazine Design Elisa Calleja Siobhan Vassallo
Cover Photo © Siobhan Vassallo 2016
Short Story
Photo: Siobhan Vassallo
The night before daniel galea st john My index finger traces over the ink stained edges of my file paper. The previously pure white surface of paper is now stained with words written in my awfully untidy handwriting. Smudge marks pepper the sides of the pages, and small doodles are scrawled in the corners. I cannot focus. Sweat is oozing down my brow, curving along my right cheek, hanging for a second on the edge of my bristly chin, before plummeting down. It lands with a silent splash onto the thick pile of disorganised notes, blotting one of the words on the topmost paper. A disgruntled sound automatically escapes my mouth. I run my clammy hands over my forehead and knead the moist skin, tugging at the tips of my fringe. How am I even supposed to concentrate anyway? I am deprived of sleep; the heat is unbearable; to say that my eating routine is abysmal is to flatter my diet; and I am a social hermit feeding off the scraps of knowledge that flicker in front of my eyes. Not that ink flickers, but my eyes are now so bloodshot, that every word on my never-ending sheaf of notes seems to bounce off the surface of paper like a hazy dust mote spinning in the glare of
my desk lamp’s light. My room is set in almost complete darkness. The density of blackness is only tainted by a small basin of grey light that encircles my clattered desk. Its source, the old rickety desk lamp that is coated in dust, perches at the edge of my desk. I dare to chance a quick glance away from my notes. My eyes squint at the clock hanging on the wall. It is far too dark to see clearly, but it is well past two o’clock in the morning. I turn my fickle attention back to my notes, but I cannot concentrate for more than two seconds at a time. The silence that envelops me is oppressive, an embodiment of the stress I constantly experience during examination time. I reach down for a drawer on the side of my desk, feeling my lower back protest at the movement after becoming overly-accustomed to being in the same hunched position for hours previously. I pull open the drawer slowly, unwilling to wake up the rest of my family with any avoidable sound, and grope around in the dark until my fingers feel the stringy, sticky feel of my earwax-coated earphones. February 2016 |
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Short Story
How are we supposed to grow into successful people if we cannot be thought the most basic concept: how to study?
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I tug them out of the drawer from underneath the book that was dumped unceremoniously over them, and stuff them into my ears. I cannot decide what kind of song will best combat my lack of motivation and appease my stress. Something loud? Something peaceful? My indecisiveness is typical at this time of year. I choose to randomly shuffle the myriad of songs I have stored on my mobile phone. The first song to play is a theme song from one of my favourite films. The nostalgic sound of the beat in my ear causes adrenaline
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to course through me. But, despite this new thrill of motivation that the beat sends rushing through me, I still feel utterly uninclined to study. Instead, I feel like flying, taking on the world, or doing the impossible. And contrary to all this, sitting on my desk in the shadowy realm of two o’clock in the morning whilst reading the laws of Malta, the ultimate ennui, is hardly a feeble attempt at this fearless stance I have envisaged in my head. I quickly change the song. A deep low sound rumbles in my ears. This loud – though not too crudely raucous – song is a perfect blend of motivation and relaxation. But now, the effects of my lack of sleep are beginning to take their toll on my vulnerable state. This dramatically dragging piece of music only aids to precipitate the end of my all-nighter session. I change the song again, this time stumbling on a small rap track. I am hardly a fan of this genre of music, but in the case of this song, there is something that touches me on a more profound level than I can explain. I lift my hands over my head, meshing my fingers together. A long yawn escapes my mouth, stretching the corners of my lips, creasing my cheeks. Music did not help me. I am exhausted, depleted of any strength. I twist my neck round and plant my eyes eagerly on the dark spot where I can just about make out the outline of my bed, engulfed in the shadows. I am seriously contemplating leaving my studies unfinished, and heading for a well-needed sleep, when my mobile phone rings. I turn my weary eyes’ attention to the flashing screen: a message from my best friend telling me that he, too, cannot seem to get any work done. I reply to his message in an equally bleak tone, adding my sympathies by means of some sad smiley faces. Nobody will ever learn really. How are we supposed to grow into successful people, with a happy family,
Short Story from a month before my finals until that blessed day when I will be temporarily released of my fetters. How I long for that day. I will be free. That last word sounds alien to me right now, so I dare not dwell on its meaning for too long, lest it fogs my brain of the information that I am supposedly training it to remember.
Photo: Siobhan Vassallo and flourishing career if we cannot be thought the most basic concept: how to study? We are not being educated; we are merely being fed information. Information that we are somehow supposed to process. Only, I cannot make sense of anything, not even the simplest of things. The life of a student is daunting. I abandon my notes and stand up to stretch. My room is so dark that I feel disoriented: my desk is suffused in this pearly grey glow from my old desk lamp, but the rest of the room is plunged in this inky blackness that masks everything around me in a murky shadow. I pluck the earphones out of my ears and shudder as I take in the unearthly silence. My heart tells me to sit down and study, to get the job done. My head tells me to go to sleep. Actually, my head begs me to go to sleep. It is this constant conflict that besieges me – and every student passing through this pre-exam trauma – that I have to put up with every single day
Instead of listening to my heart or head, I yield to the loud cries of stomach and make for the kitchen, tiptoeing down the stairs and using my mobile phone as a torch to guide me silently. The bright white light from the device paints the walls with billowing, distorted shadows of the banisters, causing a slight shiver to run down my back. The joints in my ankles crack loudly as I hit the last step, the sound echoing unwelcomely around the quiet house. I bite my lip, but do not break my stride. I sidle into the kitchen and open the fridge. Light spills out into the darkness, causing me to blink. When my eyes recover, I grab a yoghurt and throw myself onto the sofa. My stomach lets out another involuntary sound as I am about to take the first scoop of strawberryinfused cream. What am I doing? I ask myself in bewilderment. It is half past two at night and I am eating yoghurt downstairs alone. I do not feel like I have been studying for hours. I do not feel any more intelligent than I did before this all-nighter. On the contrary, I feel even worse than I did before. And my first exam is tomorrow. I lick the last scoop of yoghurt off my spoon with a satisfying slurp. And with reckless abandonment and supreme indifference to the consequences, I trudge back up the stairs and go to sleep. I guess I’ll be sitting for this exam again in September.
February 2016 |
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Review
casey’s bar: vinyl and chill Rajaa Gacem Casey’s Bar, run by a couple from the UK, Rich and Nathalie, is a cosy small bar located in Gzira, on 306 Rue d’Argens. The casual ambiance with vinyls on the wall and good music – with a touch of rock’n’roll – makes you feel as if you’re at home. Indeed, people who go there usually describe the bar as “my home, away from home, where you can just be yourself”. It’s easy to see the love Richard and his girlfriend put into running the bar: serving every drink – which are very cheap - with a smile. One thing they love to do is speak to their customers. Said people are often regulars. As much as anyone likes to meet new people – which you are definitely going to do at Casey’s – seeing familiar faces of regular customers, gives you some kind of security which makes you easily relax. Casey’s Bar is also a cosmopolitan bar where you can meet people from all around the world. “The first time that I went there, I met people from 15 different nationalities and they’re now my friends” said Laura, a University student.
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Steffen is an Erasmus student who used to go to Casey’s Bar, and for him “The appeal of Casey’s Bar is a mix of things. There are obvious reasons, reasons you would probably put on an advertisement: The prices are fair, the service is good and live music on Tuesdays and Saturdays improves the entertainment value. It was for these reasons that I decided to stay for more than one beer on my first visit there”.
Review
Indeed, the particularity of this bar is certainly the “open mic session” which are held every Tuesday and Saturday. Starting at 8 pm til 11pm, singers and musicians are given the opportunity to showcase their talents; everyone can join in. It is a place where you can discover talented people who are able to create a good vibe and help your night to become a memorable one. Each music night is different, with a variation of genres and styles coming together. Singers, guitarist, ukuleleists, acoustic, bassists, cajon players, violinist, and bongo players, all turn up to share their passions. In fact, Steffen goes on to say that “there’s nothing more fun than to loudly sing along to a chorus with your friends and everyone else at the bar. Or to just enjoy three minutes of singing without talking, everyone lost in their own thoughts or memories, triggered by a slow and emotional song performed beautifully by one of the talented musicians.” So if you want to have fun or unwind after a hard day, Casey’s Bar is the place for you! In a way, it’s a bar where everyone can find his place.
Casey’s Bar 306 Rue d’Argens
Open: Monday-Thursday: 6pm-1am Friday-Sunday: 2pm-1am For further information, visit https://www.facebook.com/caseysbarmalta February 2016 |
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Opinion
An affair, the blogger, and pandora’s box matthew charles zammit Magistrate Francesco Depasquale is facing one of the most important court decisions up till now. A prima facie, a libel suit between a well-known blogger and an angry Energy minister might not seem too different from any other case of its type, but the repercussions of his decisions in this situation may actually reverberate for years to come with anyone seeking to find an answer to the question – What is a Journalist? Delving in detail about the case would make for a good soap opera, but that’s for another time. As a general summing up, however, Mr Mizzi’s legal team is asking the Court to force Mrs Caruana Galizia to publicly divulge her sources with regards to an alleged infidelity 8
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by Mr Mizzi, as reported on her blog. The request was rejected by the defendant, with the blogger referencing Article 46 of the Press Act (which gives journalists the freedom from being forced to publicly express the identities of their sources) as a defence. Lawyer Pawlu Lia, acting on behalf of the minister’s legal team, commented that Mrs Caruana Galizia does not enjoy such a protection because “her blog was not a news website but a site she used to write about people.” Mr Lia also commented that since said online blog was not registered under the Press Act, and since Mrs Caruana Galizia does not possess any form of journalistic identification (notably, the famous Press Card), she doesn’t qualify as a journalist under Maltese Law.
Opinion Mr Depasquale, although not having reached a decision during the previous sittings, will certainly come to a conclusion on the 17th of March, when the case continues to be heard in court. It hasn’t stopped a number of people, including Judge Emeritus Giovanni Bonello, to weigh in their two cents on the matter.
(yet hardly beneficial) to ignore the bigger picture of such a pertinently legal question. Why should we worry about such a decision? It’s more about the repercussions. If Mr. Depasquale takes Judge Bonello’s comment to heart and agrees with Mrs Caruana Galizia, it for the first time affirms the concept that all blogs and online outlets are all journalism platforms, with the same obligations and protections as other outlets. Hence, the current system of issuing Press Cards would be, in substance, irrelevant and useless. Many of Caruana Galizia’s critics would definitely look at such a decision as being derogatory for the whole profession, and they may be right (Saviour Balzan would have nightmares about ‘The Queen Of Bile’ for days). However, somewhat more importantly, such a decision would extend such a profession to whole new levels, most of them being insufficiently regulated by the current legislative set-up.
Mrs Caruana Galizia’s writings are very often not to everyone’s liking, there’s no disputing that. Having personally suffered a number of attacks by the aforementioned blogger, this author is mostly inclined to dismiss her blog as simply Malta’s answer to Bill O’Reilly for a highlypoliticised, sometimes incredulouslybiased, source of gossiping, aiming to publicly shame and attack anyone even remotely considered a threat. And the question of whether such a divisive figure should be classified as a journalist or not will certainly be contested among a plethora of journalists themselves (looking at you, MediaToday). Admittedly, with such a politically divisive figure, it’s very easy
If Mr Depasquale, on the contrary, rejects Caruana Galizia’s argument, then it affirms the important (if not supreme) status of the Press Card. Considering that such a card is actually issued by a Government branch, we’d end up with a de facto situation that the only legally-accepted version of a journalist is, for one way or another, state sanctioned. Such a state control of the media would be a defecation on any notions of the freedom of expression of the members of the press, and the freedom from state interference by the state in an independent, unbiased civil society. Whatever the decision taken by Mr Depasquale, one of the common conclusions agreed upon is the current shortcomings of the Maltese legal system when it comes to media personnel. The Mizzi – Caruana Galizia case is not the first one to highlight such limitations, and it will certainly not be the last. Time will only tell what’s in store for our future journalists, we can only wait and see the next decision with abated breath. February 2016 |
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