Veteran kingmaker urges Malta to ban corporate party donations in seismic reform call

**‘Ban donations from big business’, Richard Cachia Caruana says**

In a rare public intervention, veteran strategist Richard Cachia Caruana has called for an outright ban on corporate donations to Maltese political parties, warning that the island’s “kitchen-table democracy” is being quietly suffocated by board-room money.

Speaking to students at the University of Malta’s Valletta campus last night, the former prime-ministerial chief-of-staff and ex-NATO ambassador argued that party coffers swollen with construction, gaming and banking cash have “distorted the national conversation” and left ordinary voters feeling their vote is worth less than a €50,000 cheque.

“Gozo should not be rezoned because a cement company paid for a mass meeting,” Cachia Caruana said, his voice echoing in the Aula Magna where Dom Mintoff once rallied Labour’s youth wing. “Sliema’s skyline should not be decided by a tower-crane syndicate that underwrites a party’s summer festival.”

The comments sent instant shockwaves through the cosy ecosystem of party fundraisers, village festa sponsors and five-star gala dinners that have bank-rolled Maltese elections since the 1990s. Labour and the Nationalist Party together raised more than €6 million in declared donations in the last electoral cycle, almost 60 % of it from companies, according to the Electoral Commission’s own figures. Undeclared cash in brown envelopes is still whispered about in Valletta cafés.

Cachia Caruana, 73, is no anti-establishment firebrand. He has been at the apex of every major strategic decision since Malta’s EU bid, a man whose Rolodex opens doors in Brussels, Washington and, crucially, the PN headquarters he still advises informally. When he speaks, the establishment listens—then usually changes the subject.

Not this time. Within minutes, Times of Malta’s live blog exploded with 1,200 comments; by midnight “#BanBizDonations” was trending island-wide, jostling for space with Eurovision memes and rabbit-recipe videos. A snap MaltaToday poll showed 71 % support for a ban, cutting across party lines and age groups. Even hunters, traditionally allergic to NGO-style reform, backed the idea by 58 %.

The proposal is disarmingly simple: amend the party-financing law so that only individuals on the electoral register can donate, capped at €1,000 every five years. State funding, currently a modest €2 per vote, would rise to €4 and be indexed to inflation. The extra cost—roughly €1.2 million a year—equals what the government spends on flags for village feasts, Cachia Caruana noted drily.

Critics warn the ban could simply drive money underground. “You’ll get €999 cheques from every employee of a construction magnate,” one PN treasurer told Hot Malta off the record. But the former ambassador insists transparency tech—real-time online declarations verified by Malta’s new digital-ID system—can close loopholes faster than developers can open them.

The cultural stakes are high. Maltese politics is still a family affair: posters of party leaders hang beside crucifixes in living rooms; festa marches double as voter-canvassing; arguments break out over kinnie in front of band clubs. When money enters the room, that intimacy curdles. “My grandmother used to bake imqaret for Labour volunteers,” said student Maria Grech, 19, after the debate. “Now the volunteers arrive in a BMW paid for by a Dubai-registered shell company. It doesn’t feel like ours any more.”

Environmental NGOs were quick to endorse the ban. “We’ve seen ODZ applications approved weeks after mega-donations,” said Astrid Vella of Flimkien għal Ambjent Aħjar. “If politicians stop begging for cash, they might start listening to residents instead of developers.”

The government reacted cautiously. A spokesperson for Justice Minister Jonathan Attard said the administration “is always open to constructive proposals that strengthen democracy,” but pointed to existing transparency obligations introduced after the Daphne Caruana Galizia murder. The PN’s Bernard Grech welcomed the “spirit” of the initiative, yet warned against “starving parties of resources and letting social-media giants fill the vacuum.”

Back in the Aula Magna, Cachia Caruana ended with a Maltese proverb: “Min jaqla’ l-ħobż minn ħalqek, jgħidlek x’tiekol.” (He who feeds you will tell you what to eat.) The applause lasted 42 seconds—long enough, perhaps, to make even the brown-envelope brigade blink.

Whether Malta’s parliament, itself stuffed with lawyers, contractors and consultancies, will bite the hand that has fed it for decades remains uncertain. But for one October evening, the smell of change wafted stronger than the frying pastizzi outside. And in a country where politics is the unofficial national sport, that is no small feat.