A Laurel Branch

My tattoo is a laurel branch. Laurel branches are a symbol of victory and triumph. In my country, laurel trees have become a symbol for Daphne Caruana Galizia, a Maltese investigative journalist who was assassinated almost three years ago.

She had just left her home to go out for an errand, when a powerful car bomb was detonated by assassins who had been watching her for weeks. Her eldest son, Matthew rushed out of the house barefoot. Hoping against hope that it wasn’t his mother in the fireball now rolling down the hill.

Daphne Caruana Galizia was arguably Malta’s foremost investigative journalist. At the time of her death, she had been investigating corruption at high levels in the Maltese government. Even as people reeled in shock and disbelief that this could happen, the consensus was that this was an assassination, at the behest of someone who obviously stood to lose from what she could reveal.

Malta is no stranger to car bombs; however, this was different.

It was different because never before had a journalist been killed.

It was different because for years, Caruana Galizia had been the target of relentless hate online and harassment as she went about her life.

It was different because the bomb was not meant to merely silence Caruana Galizia herself; it was meant to silence the rest of us too. Beyond the obvious getting rid of someone who had figured out too much, it was meant to intimidate anyone who believed her.

And sadly, far too many, chose to be silent in the face of this terrible crime. I remember the disbelief I felt seeing people I knew well, act like this was an inconsequential happening in Malta’s chequered history. The disappointment when family members chose to keep filling their social media pages with pictures of their dinners or their cats.

Maybe I should not be surprised - this ‘see no evil’ philosophy is part of the Maltese DNA, our own endemic brand of omerta’. Keep your head down, stay below the parapet - ideas that were as much part of my upbringing as Maltese bread.

This time round, I knew I could not do that.

For me, life is split into two segments. Before Daphne’s murder. And after. After the assassination, I knew I had to do something. I chose to write. Regularly. To remind people that yet another day has passed without justice.

The 16th of October 2017 became a defining moment for me, for my friendships, for for my activism. And for my tattoo.

In Greek mythology, there is the story of a wood nymph named Daphne who is relentlessly pursued by the god Apollo; Daphne calls to the river god for help and is transformed into a laurel tree.

In the aftermath of her assassination, bay leaves and laurel trees became a symbol for Daphne Caruana Galizia.

My tattoo is there to commemorate her. And the fact, that with the passing of time, many of the things she had revealed are now being confirmed as true.

It is there because in a democratic country, no journalist should be harassed, much less killed for doing their job.

It is an acknowledgement that freedom of expression, and other basic freedoms are not to be taken for granted. And that unless we actively do something to prevent it from happening, we can lose them without even realising it.

It is a reminder that if something is important, speaking up is the only option. Even if it means leaving behind ideas, people and places you’ve known all your life.