ADPD Accuses Abela of Neglecting Good Governance: A Wake-Up Call from Valletta’s Orange-Tree Shadows

**Good governance is not a priority for Robert Abela: ADPD says**

In the shadow of Valletta’s honey-coloured bastions, where the Knights once etched their code of honour into limestone, Malta’s youngest political party has thrown down a gauntlet that echoes across the narrow streets of the capital. ADPD, the Green party forged from the merger of Alternattiva Demokratika and Partit Demokratiku, has accused Prime Minister Robert Abela of treating good governance like a Sunday-morning pastizz—nice to nibble on, but hardly the main meal.

Speaking beneath the orange trees of the Upper Barrakka Gardens on Monday afternoon, ADPD chairperson Sandra Gauci told a small but vocal crowd that Abela’s Labour government has “systematically sidelined transparency, accountability and rule of law to protect the party’s inner circle.” The backdrop was deliberate: the same gardens where British governors once surveyed the Grand Harbour, now a stage for Maltese citizens demanding that their own leaders look inward rather than outward.

The charge sheet is familiar to anyone who has followed Maltese politics since 2013: uncollected resignations after the hospitals concession scandal, the continued employment of Konrad Mizzi and Keith Schembri on government payrolls, the opaque allocation of public land for high-rise towers, and the latest revelation that a €40 million direct order for new passports was channelled to a company whose ownership remains shrouded in secrecy. “These are not isolated incidents,” Gauci insisted, waving a sheaf of leaked emails. “They are symptoms of a culture where loyalty to the party outweighs loyalty to the republic.”

For ADPD, the timing is everything. With European elections looming and Valletta’s streets already filling with campaign posters, the Greens hope to peel away disillusioned Labour voters—particularly those who once marched in 2019 after the assassination of Daphne Caruana Galizia but now feel that the promised clean-up has stalled. “The Maltese are tired of choosing between blue and red,” deputy chairperson Ralph Cassar told *Hot Malta*, referring to the Nationalist and Labour colours that have dominated the islands since Independence. “They want a third voice that speaks the language of good governance in Maltese, English and, above all, action.”

Yet the cultural resonance of ADPD’s message runs deeper than slogans. In a country where village festa committees still police their own streets and parish priests double as moral arbiters, the concept of *governanza tajba*—good governance—carries the weight of centuries of communal self-regulation. The traditional *kazin* bar may have given way to Facebook groups, but the expectation that leaders should be *miftuħin* (open) and *onesti* (honest) remains etched into the Maltese psyche like a limestone cross on a farmhouse façade.

Local impact is already visible. In Gżira, residents have revived the dormant neighbourhood forum to scrutinise a new petrol station permit. In Rabat, volunteers are mapping public land leases to see who benefits from sweetheart deals. Even in Labour’s heartland of Żabbar, a Facebook page titled “Żabbar Jistaqsi” (Żabbar Asks) has gained 3,000 members in a week, sharing documents and demanding answers from their Labour mayor. “People realise that if we don’t watch, they will sell the air we breathe,” one moderator told *Hot Malta*, quoting a Maltese proverb as seagulls wheeled overhead.

The Labour Party’s reaction has been swift, if dismissive. In a press conference at Castille, spokesperson Glenn Bedingfield accused ADPD of “playing holier-than-thou while offering no constructive solutions.” Yet the rebuttal felt rote, delivered to a half-empty room as ministers rushed to catch the last ferry to Gozo for a Cabinet retreat. Abela himself has remained silent, perhaps calculating that silence is safer than engaging a party that polls at 2% but commands disproportionate moral weight on social media.

As the sun set over Marsamxett Harbour, painting the water the colour of ripe blood oranges, Gauci offered a closing thought that sounded almost like a prayer. “We are not asking for miracles,” she said. “Just the basic dignity of knowing that our taxes build hospitals, not private fortunes; that our votes elect servants, not masters; that our children inherit islands, not debts.” The crowd applauded, small but determined, their voices carrying across the water like church bells on a still evening—reminding Malta that, in these limestone streets, the past is never truly past, and the future is still up for grabs.