Endings and beginnings

I have discovered that blogger will not allow me to write beyond a certain number of words so I am unable to edit the ending of my last blog. This is a pity because the post ends in the middle of a sentence and it is the ending that I intended to bring me back to the personal. So here I am, starting with the ending of my previous post. If you want a theoretical perspective, read 'The politics of growing things.'

I told the story of my friend in Brisbane, Australia, who grows endemic plants on the verges of the footpath outside her home. Further north on the Sunshine Coast, local people have joined together to grow food in public spaces. Local authorities worry about loss of control, about public liability, about registering these personal initiatives. Instead of working with communities to determine the boundaries of projects that seek a pathway linking care for people with care for ecological parameters, the authorities have stepped in to bulldoze those gardens that are not registered. It is a sad example of the tension between government and citizen even in democratic systems. The rule of law is not always the best way to determine boundaries.

Which brings me to my personal ending of seven weeks in Brussels as a citizen journalist with the Maltese Presidency of EU. Yesterday I packed up the household that has nurtured me during my stay in this fascinating and contradictory city. I gathered my herbs, flowering plants bought on a whim, ferns saved from death in the foyer of Justus Lipsius, which has been my workplace across town in the European quarter. I carried them through the backstreets of my local community where men sat in cafes on the footpath or hurried in their robes to the local prayer room. I left them with Juliette in her atelier, Orbany (see previous posts), so that she can pass them on to the Start Up in Les Tanneurs who are planting a community garden in the park across the road. Juliette is interested in visiting Malta, perhaps after the birth of her baby and sometime during 2018 when Valletta is European Capital of Culture. She would have a lot to contribute. My plants perhaps won't survive long in the robust environment of communal space but I like to imagine that my action is part of a wider pathway that helps to maintain safe pathways through our troubled world.

Last night was also the final cultural event of the Maltese Presidency. It was a concert of high culture held on the other side of town in pleasant suburbs. I walked, grappled with the metro, took a bus for eight winding stops and arrived at the huge community hall with time to spare before we were expected to be in our places. I spoke to no-one as the foyer filled with women in evening dresses and men in suits. The foyer continued to fill long after the time we were due to be seated. Outside, the driveway filled with large, black cars. In the end, I decided that my job was done and I got back on the bus. I have learned a lot about Malta whilst I have been in Brussels but that will need some reflection and perhaps another blog.