Malta Speaks: How Letters to the Editor Are Shaping the Islands’ Future

Letters to the Editor – September 5, 2025
Hot Malta readers have once again filled our inbox with the raw, unfiltered pulse of the islands. From the scent of ħobż biż-żejt cooling on a Sliema balcony to the roar of motorbikes zipping through Valletta’s silent streets at 3 a.m., these letters capture a Malta in motion—sometimes stumbling, often soaring, always unmistakably ours.

The first letter comes from 72-year-old Maria Pace of Żebbuġ, who remembers when the village festa meant a single brass band and a crate of Kinnie shared between neighbours. “Today,” she writes, “our streets drown in plastic confetti and €10-a-head ‘street food’ stalls run by pop-up companies from nowhere.” Maria isn’t asking for nostalgia-ridden museums; she wants a return to community-run kiosks staffed by scouts and band clubs, profits funnelled back into the local orchestra’s instrument fund. Her plea has already sparked a Facebook group—Żebbuġ Re-Festa—1,300 members strong and planning a sustainable festa pilot next June.

From Gozo, 19-year-old IT student Luke Briffa writes about the Gozo fast-ferry fiasco. “We were promised a 25-minute crossing,” he fumes, “but the catamaran still sits idle at Mġarr because someone forgot to file the right EU noise-emission paperwork.” Luke’s frustration is more than commuter rage; it’s about identity. “Every extra minute on that rusting old Gozo Channel ferry is another minute Gozo feels like Malta’s afterthought.” His letter has been shared 4,000 times on TikTok, soundtracked by a sped-up version of ‘Għana’ that’s now charting on Spotify Malta.

Then there’s the anonymous postcard—postmarked St Julian’s, written in purple ink—that simply says: “Stop building glass cages for people who don’t live here.” The cryptic line has become a rallying cry for Moviment Graffitti, who projected those very words onto the façade of a newly announced 40-storey tower in Tigné last night. Police stood by; tourists applauded. For a moment, the phrase felt less like graffiti and more like prophecy.

In a lighter vein, 10-year-old twins Martina and Kyle Xerri from Marsaskala sent us a joint letter illustrated with crayon dolphins. They want the authorities to rename the derelict “Tal-Fanal” kiosk “The Happy Seal Shack” and turn it into a marine-education drop-in centre run by kids. The mayor has already tweeted a heart-eyes emoji; an NGO is scouting the site.

The cultural significance of these letters lies not only in their content but in their form. In an age of 280-character rants, Maltese readers still sit down with pen, paper, and a glass of local wine to craft epistles that run half a page. The language oscillates effortlessly between English and Maltese, sometimes mid-sentence—mirroring the bilingual reality of our WhatsApp groups and Sunday dinner tables. Editors at Hot Malta have even received letters written on the backs of festa programmes, complete with wine stains from the previous night’s pika rivalry. These artefacts are Malta’s modern għana: oral histories trapped in ink.

Community impact? Already tangible. After last week’s letter from a Marsaxlokk fisherman worried about plastic pellets washing into the bay, volunteers organised a dawn clean-up and filled 120 sacks in two hours. One reader donated a drone to map the currents; a university lab is now analysing the data. The chain reaction from words on a page to policy nudges is becoming shorter, faster, louder.

We close with a letter that arrived yesterday at 11:59 p.m.—a single sentence from someone signing off as “A hopeful Maltese”: “Let us keep writing until the islands listen, then keep listening until the islands write back.”

We’re printing that on the newsroom wall.