From Valletta to Gaza: How Malta’s Wartime Memory Shapes Solidarity Today

Valletta, Malta – As dawn broke over the Grand Harbour on Wednesday, Maltese commuters scrolling through their phones were confronted with a chilling video: a 14-storey tower in Gaza City collapsing into grey dust after an Israeli airstrike. Within minutes, the same footage was looping on ONE Radio’s breakfast show and filling parish WhatsApp groups from Birkirkara to Birżebbuġa. For a country whose own skyline still bears the scars of World War II, the spectacle hit home with uncomfortable familiarity.

Israel’s military issued evacuation orders for entire districts of Gaza City early Tuesday, warning residents to move south “for their own safety” ahead of an expected ground offensive. Hours later, warplanes struck the Al-Rashid tower—home to 100 families, several media outlets and, according to the IDF, a Hamas operations room. The building pancaked in seconds, sending a plume of pulverised concrete high above the Mediterranean coast that reminded elderly Maltese of the April 1942 raids that levelled parts of Valletta and Floriana.

“Every Maltese family has a story about running to catacombs or Mdina’s bastions while sirens wailed,” said Professor Maria Camilleri, who lectures in post-colonial history at the University of Malta. “Watching Gaza live on Facebook resurrects that inter-generational trauma. It’s why solidarity protests outside the Parliament building last night drew grandparents, students and even scouts in uniform.”

Indeed, by 7 p.m. Tuesday, roughly 400 people had gathered on Castille Square, waving Palestinian flags alongside Maltese banners. Speaker after speaker drew parallels between the 1940–43 siege that starved the islands and the humanitarian crisis now unfolding 1,800 kilometres away. “We know what it means to be trapped on a small strip of land with nowhere to run,” Labour MP Rebecca Buttigieg told the crowd, prompting cheers and the rhythmic clack of traditional Maltese żaqq bagpipes—an unusual soundtrack for a Middle-East rally, but one that underscored the cultural mash-up that characterises modern Malta.

Local NGOs moved quickly. The Maltese humanitarian charity MOAS (Migrant Offshore Aid Station) announced it is re-tasking its fast-response vessel Phoenix from central-Mediterranean rescue missions to carry emergency medical supplies from Larnaca to El-Arish, pending Egyptian clearance. Meanwhile, the Dar tal-Providenza disability home in Siġġiewi launched an online fundraiser with the slogan “Solidarity Knows No Border”, raising €22,000 in its first six hours—enough, organisers say, to finance two field hospitals in southern Gaza.

Malta’s government issued a carefully worded statement calling for “an immediate cessation of hostilities and respect for international humanitarian law”, while Foreign Minister Ian Borg confirmed he had spoken to both the Israeli ambassador and the Palestinian delegate accredited to Malta. Opposition leader Bernard Grech urged the EU to “use every diplomatic lever”, adding that Malta’s own experience of neutrality should make it a natural mediator. The archbishop’s Curia, for its part, rang the bells of the Co-Cathedral of St John at noon Wednesday in a gesture of prayer for all civilians caught in the conflict.

On the streets, reactions remain visceral. At the Is-Suq tal-Belt food market, vendors swapped couscous recipes with customers debating whether boycotting Israeli produce would pressure Tel Aviv. Sixth-form student Leanne Micallef, who volunteers with the Maltese-Palestinian Friendship Society, said her classmates are re-sharing infographics comparing the size of Gaza (365 km²) to Malta (316 km²) to highlight population density. “When you realise 2.3 million people live in an area smaller than Gozo, the evacuation orders sound impossible,” she remarked.

Tourism operators fear repercussions too. Charter companies offering Christian pilgrimages to Bethlehem and Jerusalem have seen a 30 % spike in cancellations this week, with travelers citing safety concerns. Conversely, solidarity trips—“witness visits” combining humanitarian aid with cultural tours—are being hastily arranged by local NGOs for early 2025, promising travellers a chance to “see history through Maltese eyes”.

As the sun set behind the honey-coloured bastions of Valletta, the Palestinian flag continued to flutter beside the Maltese cross on many balconies. From the silent city of Mdina to the fishing hamlet of Marsaxlokk, conversations over ftira and pastizzi kept circling back to the same question: how does a tiny island nation, itself once the most bombed place on earth, best respond to distant yet achingly familiar images of rubble and refuge?

The answer, many here say, lies in turning memory into action—whether that means packing medical crates in Marsa warehouses, lobbying in Brussels corridors, or simply keeping a candle lit in a parish chapel. In Malta, where limestone walls still whisper of wartime resilience, solidarity is not just political; it is personal.