Delia’s Delegate Drama: Over 100 PN Voters Face Axe in Leadership Showdown

Delia campaign questions eligibility of more than 100 PN leadership voters

In a move that is already being dubbed “the carnival before the storm”, the campaign team backing veteran Nationalist Party stalwart Adrian Delia has formally challenged the voting eligibility of more than 100 delegates due to cast ballots in the upcoming PN leadership election. The list, quietly slipped to the party’s electoral commission yesterday evening, has sent shockwaves from the bastions of Valletta to the village band clubs of Żebbuġ and Għargħur, where political gossip is as cherished as the village festa itself.

At the heart of the dispute lies a clause buried in the party statute – a clause every Maltese political aficionado swears they have read but few can quote verbatim – that requires delegates to have been “financially and morally” up-to-date for at least 24 consecutive months before the close of nominations. Delia’s scrutineers argue that at least 104 names on the provisional electoral roll fall short, either because their €25 annual membership fee arrived late, or because they missed the cut-off after switching from Labour to Nationalist ranks during the pandemic. The Delia camp is adamant: rules are rules, and ignoring them would be “an insult to every elderly kazin member who still pins his hopes on a clean contest”.

Yet this is Malta, where political allegiances are stitched into lace tablecloths and Sunday-morning kafċa rituals. For many, the PN leadership race is not merely a party affair; it is a national soap opera set against the honey-coloured limestone of our capital. In the shadow of the Triton Fountain, elderly men swapping pastizzi argue that the country’s soul is once again at stake. “If they start disqualifying voters now, what will they do at the next general election—ask for our DNA?” quips 72-year-old Toni from Birkirkara, who has voted PN since Mintoff’s day.

The Bernard Grech campaign, sensing a potential coup, has labelled the challenge “an attempt to gerrymander a village feasts’ committee election, not a modern European party”. Grech supporters point out that 37 of the disputed delegates come from the party’s youth wing, MŻPN, which has grown explosively thanks to TikTok activism and rooftop aperitivo events in Sliema. “These kids bought their memberships online at 2 a.m. during lockdown,” says MŻPN president Carla Galea. “Disqualifying them is like telling a whole generation that the door to the auberge is bolted.”

Local cultural observers see the clash as the latest chapter in Malta’s eternal tug-of-war between tradition and change. Sociologist Dr Maria Bezzina, sipping a cappuccino at Café Cordina, explains: “For decades, the PN drew its strength from the professional middle classes of Valletta and the devout villagers of Gozo. Today the party is courting remote-game developers in St Julian’s and eco-activists in Marsaskala. The eligibility row is a proxy battle over who really owns il-Partit Nazzjonalista.”

Meanwhile, village band clubs are caught in the crossfire. In Qormi, the St Sebastian fireworks enthusiasts postponed their weekly rehearsal to debate whether the party should reimburse members who paid fees late because the bank closed early on a festa public holiday. “We’re talking about €25,” sighs band president Etienne Briffa, “but for some pensioners that’s a week’s worth of ħobż biż-żejt.”

The electoral commission has until Friday to rule, leaving the country in delicious suspense. If the 104 names are struck off, Delia – who lost the 2020 leadership race by just 6 percentage points – could narrow Grech’s current lead to a sliver. Bookmakers in Ta’ Xbiex have slashed odds on a second-round run-off, something the PN has not seen since Eddie Fenech Adami’s era.

Yet beyond the spreadsheets and statutes, the episode underscores a deeper truth: in Malta, politics is family. Every delegate disqualified is someone’s cousin, ex-teacher, or fellow altar-boy. Whatever the commission decides, the bruises will linger longer than the orange-peel scent of a village festa at midnight. As one Gozitan mayor summed it up over a glass of local Ġellewża wine: “F’Malta, kulħadd jaf lil xulxin – u kulħadd jitkellem.” In Malta, everybody knows everybody – and everybody talks.