The tiny Mediterranean island of Malta, shorn of natural resources except for good natural harbours, served as a helpful cog in the grand mechanics of the British Empire.
In the early 20th century, that same Empire encouraged an Anglicisation of Maltese culture to lure the Maltese elites—broadly consisting of professionals such as lawyers, doctors, and clergymen—away from the Latin culture of Italy. The relationship with the Maltese language was more ambivalent. On the one hand, Maltese was the language spoken by the vast majority of the population, and its Semitic roots provided a balance to the Latin element. On the other hand, the Semitic factor grated some nationalists who viewed it as an inferior creole.
These opposing opinions on the language split the population into two broad camps; one supporting Anglicisation and another wanting to buttress the existing pro-Italian sentiments. Nonetheless, each language fulfilled a different function. English was the most recent language introduced in Malta, offering job opportunities locally and internationally. In essence, the language of the Empire offered a myriad of options reflecting the global and varied nature of this entity. Italian was established as the language of culture since it was also the oldest written language in Malta, with a body of literature reflecting this. As the oldest spoken language, Maltese was important in daily communication. It also had the most untapped potential as both a language of culture and, eventually, a language of power.
The so-called ‘Language Question’ dominated the political scene for approximately sixty years, between 1880 and 1940. This duality provided the proper rudiments for establishing one of the most near-perfect two-party systems—one which still thrives today. However, it also proves an excellent example of how high and mass cultures can affect the political process and vice-versa. Herein, I propose to look at how this cultural-political process kickstarted the debates on decolonisation in Malta. As with all similar phenomena, politics and culture cannot be separated.
1919: A critical juncture?
The Armistice signed on 11th of November 1918 brought a brief respite from fighting in the European continent. It did not, however, bring any peace. This was true not only for the belligerent parties in Europe but also for the colonial empires themselves. At the time, the imperial powers could not see their end was nigh. The British Empire was at its most impressive—and at its largest—between the 10th of January 1920 and the 28th of February 1922. The former marks the entry into force of the Treaty of Versailles and the latter Egypt’s nominal independence. Yet, this period was a rude awakening for the British Empire. In 1919, from Palestine to Egypt to India, the colonial peoples erupted in a mass wave of protest against colonial rule. Malta was no exception.
The primary reasons were economic. As an island, Malta’s food supply depends primarily on imports. With the requisitioning of merchant ships for military use and fewer journeys to supply Malta with food, prices rose exponentially. Yet, there was an expectation that prices would stabilise and decrease once the war ended. This did not happen. To add insult to injury, the colonial government introduced various taxes in 1918. These included a duty on tobacco and alcohol, an “entertainment tax” on cinemas and the theatre, an increase in the duties on purchasing and selling property and an inheritance tax. The latter caused a considerable uproar, reigniting the concept of “no taxation without representation.”
Towards the end of 1918, barely a week after the signing of the Armistice, on the 23rd of November, a popular retired doctor Filippo Sceberras called for an assembly to debate Malta’s constitutional future. Sceberras was not an anti-colonial rabble-rouser; he was known for his moderate views and, for a while, served as a member of the Council of Government. However, he called on different representative bodies to nominate delegates who could draft and formulate a petition for constitutional reform. Political and non-political groups responded positively to this initiative, and the first meeting was held on the 25th of February 1919.
The antagonism between the colonial authorities, the general public, and the cultural elites grew further as the year went on. On the 29th of April 1919, Governor Field-Marshal Methuen left his post, signalling the start of an interregnum where General Hunter-Blair served as Acting Governor. The new governor, Lord Plumer, was expected to arrive on the 9th of June.
The general population was incensed by the increase in the price of bread. Its price increased threefold, but its quality decreased considerably. The cost of potatoes also markedly increased. Both were considered staple foods, and both price increases negatively affected the most vulnerable in society—some of whom would have naturally gravitated towards the British position due to their dependence on the colonial presence in Malta.
The cultural elites, less sympathetic to Malta’s colonial presence, were further angered over proposed reforms. These reforms posited that the University courses leading to degrees in Theology, Law, and Medicine should be reformed and their studies lengthened by two years. On the 9th of May 1919, the students took to the streets to make their voices heard.
The disgruntlement against the authorities culminated on the 7th of June 1919 as Sceberras’ assembly was scheduled to meet in Valletta. The political milieu was extremely tense. Many workers from the Naval Dockyard—then the only industrial complex with a growing working-class consciousness—turned up in Valletta to show their support for the meeting. In the highly charged atmosphere, the workers targeted the offices of the Malta Chronicle, a newspaper which was sympathetic to the imperial cause, and which did not support the Dockyard workers’ right to strike in 1917. Its offices were gutted entirely, and the paper could not go to print for a considerable time thereafter. Although ostensibly labelled as “bread riots,” there was much more to these protests than the name suggests. The burning of the Union Jack and targeting of establishments that supported colonial rule meant that these riots also had a political aspect.
Four men were killed in the skirmishes between the authorities and the protestors and were later given a heroes’ funeral. The events of the 7th of June 1919 entered the national consciousness, and the day is marked as a national holiday—the Sette Giugno.
The Prelude to a Constitution
The sad postscript to this event is that colonial records indicate that the British authorities had intended to give some measure of self-government to the Maltese. Some of these records suggest there was reluctance to grant a new constitution lest it be interpreted as some capitulation to widespread protests. Nonetheless, on the 20th of November 1919, the Governor, Lord Plumer, presided over a special sitting of the Council of Government where he read a telegram from the Secretary of State in London announcing a new Constitution for Malta.
This Constitution created a diarchic system whereby two separate governments operated side by side; matters of Imperial interests remained firmly in the hands of colonial authorities, while issues pertaining to the management of internal affairs were in the hands of the Maltese Government, which was to be chosen from an elected bi-cameral chamber consisting of a 32-member Legislative Assembly and a 17-member Senate.
Whilst there was now some solution to the political problem, the cultural problem remained unsolved. Four parties were returned in the 1921 election. Many of their platforms were similar. All believed Roman Catholicism should be declared the official religion; all thought that properties not in military use should be handed over for civilian purposes, and all wanted to tackle the problem of unemployment. However, there were bitter divisions over questions of language—and, therefore, culture.
The Unresolved Cultural Question
The parties remained divided over whether the Italian or the English language should gain supremacy. The 1921 constitution recognised both languages as “equal languages of culture.” By then, more people could speak English than Italian, though some could speak both. Everyone could speak the indigenous Maltese language, and more than one-third could write in the language too. Yet, it remained unstandardised and underappreciated. Beyond religious tracts, its literature was still in its infancy.
One political party, the pro-British Constitutional Party, led by the colourful Lord Gerald Strickland, encouraged the use of the Maltese language. However, Strickland purposely ignored the Arabic origins of the Maltese language and posited (wrongly) that this language linked the Maltese with “the main section of the British race” through a “common Phoenician ancestry.” Though Italian was the cultural elite’s language and an essential reference point to the Maltese nationalistic cause, English was linked to the British Empire, providing employment opportunities and prospects beyond Maltese shores. Cultural choices were, thus, also political choices and economic choices. Yet, the choice between English and Italian often came at the expense of the Maltese language.
It was only in 1934 that Maltese was recognised as the language of the people of Malta; it replaced Italian as the official language of the Law Courts, and its grammar was standardised. Thus, once side-lined and regarded as an ordinary vernacular, the language slowly began to assume the trappings of a language of power. English retained its official role as the language of the British Empire. The study of Italian, however, was controversially removed and downgraded to a subsidiary subject in secondary schools and the University. This incensed those who supported the idea of Italianità.
When the first bombs fell, Malta’s historical trajectory was radically re-interpreted. Italy—the reference point of the nationalist cause—suddenly became the aggressor. Britain—the colonial power—became the defender. With survival hanging in the balance, Britain and its Empire seemed to be the only obvious choice.
Some exceptions
Before the Second World War, the Church and the Nationalist Party were broadly sympathetic to Italianità—Italy being the heir to a ancient Latin tradition and Rome being its capital. Nonetheless, some within both ranks took a more nuanced view; they understood that, perhaps, both the British and the Italian cultures could enrich the Maltese cultural milieu.
For example, Carmelo Mifsud Bonnici, affectionately known as Il-Gross for his generous girth, was a renowned politician, lawyer, professor, and orator who also cultivated interests in literature, not least in poetry and literary criticism. In 2012, his two sons President Emeritus Ugo Mifsud Bonnici and the late Chief Justice Emeritus Giuseppe Mifsud Bonnici, published the book Il-Gross: Il-Kontribut Letterarju—a collection of his literary works in both Italian and English.
This anthology demonstrates his breadth of learning and broad literary interests sensitive to the period’s political situation. For example, Mifsud Bonnici wrote a poetic drama—Giuditta di Betulia—based on biblical and patriotic themes. Interestingly, this remained unpublished for twenty years until it finally saw the light of day in 1939, with an author’s note stating that it was being published as a reaction against the racial laws imposed in Italy and Germany.
His collection of poetry is equally charged with patriotic and political fervour. In I Canti della Patria he includes various poems that are critical of the colonial administration in Malta and pay tribute to those who perished in the events of the 7th of June 1919. In addition, there are several references to various ‘heroes’ of the young, nascent Maltese nation. These poems have literary and historical value, giving the reader a glimpse into the mindset of one of Malta’s most distinguished legislators.
The patriotic sentiments which were best expressed in the Italian language did not, in any way, preclude Mifsud Bonnici from exploring other literary topics in the English language. As a member of the self-government administration led by the Nationalist Party (1932—33), Mifsud Bonnici was frequently asked to speak at inauguration ceremonies commemorating various literary persons—some of which had travelled to or lived in Malta. This demonstrates an appreciation for the language and culture of the Imperial master. Indeed, Mifsud Bonnici’s literary tastes were varied and eclectic, and his essays explore authors such as Coleridge, Byron, Disraeli and Thackery. These essays were eventually published in the Malta Chronicle and Imperial Services Gazette.
The National Poet, Mgr Carmelo Psaila (1871-1961), was equally nuanced in his views. Psaila’s long life coincided with the most formative period before Malta’s independence when its collective consciousness was slowly being built. Though he initially wrote solely in Italian—the language of culture and the clergy—he eventually morphed to writing exclusively in Maltese. The second period of his literary life can be divided into two additional periods; the first coincides with the denigration of the Maltese language by the Maltese themselves, and the second coincides with a period where the Maltese language is recognised as a national language. Though apolitical, Mgr. Psaila suffered considerably for his choice of language. He was accused of not being much of a patriot, and his loyalty to the Catholic church was questioned.
Nevertheless, he never replied to criticism; instead, he continued to write in Maltese, thus contributing to a growing corpus of Maltese literature. In addition to penning the National Anthem, this persistence led him to be recognised as Malta’s national poet. As the literary critic Oliver Friggieri noted:
It signified that the traditionally uncultivated language had finally won the attention of a serious writer who had already gained sufficient prestige as to be able to influence other colleagues to take the same step. It also means that the poet truly understood one of the basic principles of romanticism: namely, that literature is bound to reflect the aspirations and the sentiments of the people and to establish a direct, effective rapport with them. The ideals of democracy, both political and cultural, could not be realised except through the adoption of Maltese as the principal medium of communication and instruction.
One priest-poet preceded Mgr. Psaila in expressing himself in the Maltese language. Fr Anastasius Cuschieri—a Carmelite friar, philosopher and contemporary of Eugenio Pacelli and Titus Brandsma at the Pontifical Gregorian University—was much more politically vocal. Like others of his background and education, he was firmly attached to Malta’s Italian and Latin culture. This attachment was reflected in much of his work. His pro-Italian sympathies were strongly challenged when Italian bomber planes bombarded the island on the 10th of June 1940. In Fr Cuschieri’s poetry, however, we can see an appreciation of the local language, which was not clouded by his pro-Italian leanings. Indeed, one of his most famous poems, Ilsien Pajjiżi (My mother tongue), was written in 1917. It is an ode to the Maltese language—its simplicity, hidden treasures, and ability to take its speaker back to the glories of the past. Language, in his poem, is deeply tied with land—so much so that the poem concludes by paying tribute to the Maltese flag.
Beyond their political leanings—or lack thereof—many literary figures in this period unconsciously engaged in exercises of nation-building, not through institutions or political reform on their own, but through cultural activities. Both processes fed each other. Fr (later Cardinal) Prosper Grech OSA and the great A.J. Arberry—who introduced Mgr Psaila to an English-speaking audience—made an acute observation on this ongoing nation-building:
A people do not become a nation—however tiny and insignificant a nation—until they possess a literature; just as a man becomes a man only when he reveals his personality through speech. On the other hand, for a literature to flourish, certain social and political prerequisites must be fulfilled. It is no mere coincidence, therefore, that the crescendo of the Maltese literary movement overlaps the struggle for self-government, for better education, and for a higher standard of living.
Culture, Politics and Identity
There is much to be said about the interplay of culture, politics, and identity in the prelude to decolonisation.
All three are interrelated processes. Cultural, political, and social identity are often a pre-condition to fostering solidarity in any society. And such solidarity is a pre-requisite for what is necessary for a polity to function—trust, caring for a shared living space, economic exchange, and economic redistribution. Thus, culture and identity are also profoundly political and necessary for any polity to flourish.
Both culture and identity, however, are notoriously contested concepts. Culture gives a certain degree of meaning and involves both aesthetic expressions and long-held customs and practices. It can be egalitarian—celebrating the masses living in a particular territory while highlighting their differences from other cultures or peoples. However, it can also manifest itself as a high culture—often misinterpreted as an exclusivist concept rather than the adherence to cultural aesthetics and norms shared with other countries transcending borders and national attachments. In many ways, globalisation has undermined both, producing a mass culture less tolerant of regional sensibilities and aesthetics.
The colonial influence allowed ‘high culture’ to proliferate, with London and Rome as the great centres of culture and learning. The Maltese predisposition to looking at these centres of learning, perhaps, stunted indigenous culture and led to an underappreciation of what had developed within the Maltese islands throughout the preceding centuries, not least in art and architecture. The Maltese language, though without official grammar and no literature to speak of, was also a living testament to the historical development of these islands. Unfortunately, both sides realised somewhat belatedly that both Italian and Anglophile strands of culture could serve as building blocks to enhance this cultural element rather than undermine it.
The divisiveness of the ‘Language Question’ in Malta is a microcosm of other tensions that pervaded several colonial polities and which still, in some ways, affect these territories long after their sovereignty has been established.
In his book Party Politics in a Fortress Colony, the eminent Maltese historian Professor Henry Frendo argued that the language question was caused and sustained by stresses in Maltese society. They include the tension between the cosmopolitan nature of the political arguments played out in an insular setting, the lack of resources other than labour (thus allowing employment to become the ‘be all and the end all’), and the smallness which led to some degree of weakness.
Other characteristics that continued to exacerbate these tensions included the economic dependence on Britain and the Empire, literary ties with Italy, and the very nature of the Maltese language itself—a testament to the island’s ancient history, which, however, did not have its own literature.
These tensions meant language was not merely a matter of culture and identity. It also affected the job prospects individuals could aspire to; English was key to job opportunities across the British Empire. Italian was crucial for joining one of the established professions and the clergy. Language also shaped one’s political and cultural worldview. It was the most critical tool in terms of identity; for maintaining or promoting tradition, resisting imposition and defending a particular way of life or worldview.
The language question was resolved abruptly and dramatically a quarter of a century before the British sojourn in Malta ended. Nonetheless, there are some residual elements of it in the fierce divisions of Maltese politics. In some ways, the language question remains unsolved. Nevertheless, the competing arguments between both sides led to a general weakening of the Maltese polity since, whether intended or not, the debate on language led to a discussion of culture and identity. This, in itself, was one of the factors which began to fuel the demand for greater political autonomy.
