“Maa how brave you are” people told me when I resigned my post on the Manoel Theatre Board and publicly voiced my reasons why.
“Maa how brave you are” they said again when I ranted on Facebook about the awfulness that is our public transport system.
“Maaa how brave you are” they declared once more when I started this blog and complained about things on this island that make me seethe.
The thing is, none of the things I did are particularly brave in and of themselves, are they?
I hardly parachuted into a burning building to rescue a kitten. I didn’t, to my knowledge (unless I’ve started sleep-walking again – in which case, DO let me know), pull a kid out of the clutches of a hungry angry runaway tiger. And I certainly didn’t steal a spaceship and go off to rescue Princess Leia (RIP We ❤ U).
No one called me brave when I publicly disagreed with the then Prime Minister, Dr Lawrence Gonzi, about his plans for the roofless theatre.
No one dubbed me courageous when I, as part of the Stitching Team, took the ‘powers that be’ to court to fight against Censorship in Theatre.
No one declared that I am avec de gros œufs when I wittered on about the brand-new Arriva system that wasn’t doing much arriva-ing.
So what’s changed? Why am I suddenly ‘brave’ for doing what I have always done – i.e. voicing my opinion?
‘Back to the 80s’ is such a hackneyed phrase that it’s now annoying even me. But … if the cap fits …
1. Ready to face and endure danger or pain; showing courage.