How ‘Doing Democracy’ Is Reinventing Maltese Politics, One Kinnie at a Time

On a humid Thursday evening, the courtyard of Valletta’s old University building is buzzing—not with students cramming for exams, but with grandmothers, taxi drivers, tattooed artists and suited accountants balancing on plastic chairs. They are here for “Doing Democracy,” a monthly citizens’ forum that has quietly become Malta’s most influential political experiment since the 2011 divorce referendum. No party flags, no television cameras, just a fold-up whiteboard, lukewarm Kinnie and a shared conviction that the island’s future should be written by the people who actually live on it.

The concept is disarmingly simple: 120 Maltese residents, chosen by lottery to mirror age, gender and regional demographics, meet for three evenings to debate one pressing issue. Tonight’s theme is “affordable housing in 2030.” Facilitators from the University’s Faculty of Social Well-being hand out bilingual briefing packs—Maltese up front, English at the back—then retreat to the edges. The microphone belongs to whoever raises the numbered paddle first. In the first hour, a Qormi butcher suggests taxing vacant holiday flats, a Gozitan teenager proposes a “rent-to-own” scheme for creatives, and an elderly Sliema resident warns against turning Malta into “Monaco with rabbit stew.” By 9 p.m. the group has drafted a five-point resolution that will be delivered to Parliament’s housing committee, which has pledged to respond in writing within 60 days.

Local context matters. Malta’s voter turnout—once the highest in Europe—has slipped below 86 %, and trust in institutions plummeted after the 2019 political crisis. Yet turnout for “Doing Democracy” sessions is 94 % among those selected, higher than the village festa in Żejtun. Organisers credit the island’s stubborn village-club culture: if you can argue about band march order or whether the priest should allow pet blessings, you can haggle over urban planning. The format also taps into Malta’s “kafè bil-ħbieb” ritual—problem-solving over thick coffee—just scaled up and given official teeth.

Culturally, the gatherings are redefining “politics” itself. In the past, Maltese civic life was binary: Labour or Nationalist, Band Club A or Band Club B. Doing Democracy introduces a third space where allegiance is to locality, not party. Participants wear colour-coded lanyards (red for first-timers, green for returnees, gold for “alumni” who now mentor newcomers), creating a visible gradient of engagement that rivals festa robes for symbolism. Former president Marie-Louise Coleiro Preca, a patron of the initiative, describes it as “festa tal-ideat”—a feast of ideas—where the only fireworks are rhetorical.

The community impact is already tangible. After a 2022 session on waste, attendees recommended deposit-return schemes for glass; within six months, 30 % of Marsa’s restaurants had signed up, diverting an estimated 12 tonnes of bottles from landfill. A 2023 panel on elderly loneliness spawned “Klabb tat-Tfajla,” pairing sixth-formers with pensioners for weekly walks along the Sliema front; loneliness scores among participants dropped 18 %, according to a University of Malta study. Most dramatically, a citizens’ assembly on over-tourism last spring produced a moratorium on new hotel permits in St Julian’s—an outcome Environment Minister Miriam Dalli admitted “would have triggered riots” if imposed top-down.

Not everyone is cheering. Some MPs privately grumble that “random citizens” lack technical expertise, while developers fret that emotional anecdotes trump economic data. Yet the model’s transparency neutralises criticism: every session is live-streamed on Facebook, and the raw footage is archived at the National Library in Floriana. Meanwhile, political parties are quietly poaching facilitators to train campaign volunteers in “deliberative techniques,” signalling mainstream adoption.

As the Valletta evening winds down, a facilitator collects the numbered paddles. One woman lingers: 73-year-old Dolores Cassar from Birkirkara, who hasn’t voted since 1998. “Tonight I felt my voice shake the walls,” she says, eyes shining. “Not because I shouted, but because someone finally listened.” She tucks a gold alumni lanyard into her handbag—next month she will co-facilitate the youth session on climate resilience. Outside, the city’s new pedestrian lights blink green, a small reminder that streets can change when citizens do democracy, rather than simply watch it happen.