On Malta’s independence, the fight for green spaces, and collective agency
As Malta marks 60 years of independence today, I finished reading “Kissirtu Kullimkien” (loosely translated: ‘You’ve All Destroyed Everything’) by Lara Calleja — a powerful collection of short stories that poignantly speaks to the island’s ongoing tragedy of overdevelopment.
Written in 2020, it took me until 2024 to finally sit down with it. It’s no coincidence that my delay reflects my personal experience of living in and eventually moving away from Malta, mirroring the realities faced by some of Calleja’s fictional characters who yearn for spaces that enable rest and reflection.
Calleja’s stories reflect not only the destruction of Malta’s natural landscape but also the erosion of our collective mental health, our treatment of migrants and asylum seekers, and the greed that seems to have replaced the island’s moral compass.
Yet, amid the sorrow, the author breathes hope into her narratives, often by activating her characters and reminding us of the agency for change that exists within us.
Those characters, whom I presume were inspired by the many Maltese who still believe in justice, challenge the divisive “us vs. them” rhetoric that often dominates public debate.
In the final story, Melissa sits in her late father’s field, finding peace away from the destruction. As she blocks out the bulldozers and reclaims her own voice, which allows her to play a role in putting an end to the madness, she becomes a metaphor for the wider battle to protect Malta’s last green spaces. This reminds us that we all have a choice in shaping the future of our island.
I read the story from a park/forest in Rotterdam, just a short cycle from my apartment — a space not so different from the shoeboxes masquerading as homes that Calleja describes — but surrounded by nature, birdsong, and the mental clarity to reflect on my relationship with Malta and how I can use my own voice to contribute to a better future.
Progress? Yes, but the responsible kind.
The challenges of our times are daunting, which is why celebrating independence, to me, goes beyond celebrating political sovereignty. It’s essential to recognise that it is us who bear the responsibility for the Malta we will leave behind, and for what that Malta looks, feels and sounds like a hundred years from now. In more ways than one, it is a question of the culture that we choose to foster.
I dream of a culture of young critical thinkers, unafraid to challenge those who deny others their dignity. A culture where clean air and restful spaces are not limited to the privileged few. A culture where we all take responsibility for our villages and towns, regardless of what the authorities do, while still ensuring we hold them accountable.
In the same week that Malta’s EU Commissioner-designate Glenn Micallef was assigned the portfolio for Intergenerational Fairness, Youth, Culture, and Sport, I also dream that our Prime Minister’s position on these areas being “essential for societal development” at the European level, will also be reflected in national policies and their implementation.
Collective action exists and is embodied by many individuals, activists, writers, and artists.
This dream is already alive, kept burning by individuals, activist, writers, and artists who courageously dedicate themselves to saving our last green spaces and advocating for sustainable futures for all communities. People like:
- Lara Calleja, the author of the book I described, and an activist with Moviment Graffitti — whom I consider Malta’s superheroes.
- Theatremakers Jimmy Grima and Ira Melkonyan (the rubberbodies collective), whose School of Winds and Waves is the latest in a series of works that bring light to the theme of eco-heritage through community dialogue and artistic intervention.
- Steve Zammit Lupi, whom I knew as a fellow member of the Junior College Student Council from a decade ago, and who has since become an environmental activist and named European Young Leader. As one of Malta’s first independent local councillors (now: Mayor), his politics are driven by a deep commitment to community well-being.
- Poet and writer Immanuel Mifsud, whose “Aqta’ Fjuri u Ibni Kamra” (‘Cut a Flower, Build a Room’) captures the sorrow (or better yet, in Maltese: ‘id-dieqa’) felt by those witnessing environmental destruction.
- My brother-in-law Conrad D’Amato, and the members of Għaqda Storja u Kultura Birżebbuġa, who fearlessly defend the village’s cultural and environmental heritage.
- Isabelle Bonnici, to whom I am unrelated despite our shared surname, but whose fight for higher construction standards after losing her 20-year-old son Jean Paul Sofia is nothing short of heroic.
These individuals — and many others — remind me that the fight for Malta’s future continues even 60 years after independence.
The dream I described is not merely a dream; it is a responsibility we all share. Despite the challenges posed by larger political and economic structures and systems that can stifle the voices of ordinary people, the power of coming together as a united voice cannot be underestimated.
This milestone should not merely celebrate our political sovereignty but serve as a call to action. Independence carries the obligation to confront the realities that threaten societal cohesion. We must ask ourselves:
Are we truly living up to the values of independence? Are we fostering a Malta where every voice is listened to, every green space is protected, and every individual has the chance to thrive responsibly?
It is a reminder that freedom is not just about self-governance; it is about ensuring justice, equity, and sustainable futures for all.
