Valletta Court Fines 15 Homeless People in 42-Minute Blitz, Sparks National Soul-Searching

Valletta’s courthouse felt more like a packed bus terminus yesterday morning when 15 homeless men and women—some clutching plastic bags of belongings, others barefoot—were herded before Magistrate Joseph Mifsud in a single, chaotic sitting that lasted just 42 minutes. All faced the same charge: “voluntary homelessness” under a dusty 2017 city-bylaw that criminalises sleeping rough within Valletta’s Unesco-listed walls. By lunchtime, eight had pleaded guilty, six were granted legal aid to return next month, and one collapsed in the corridor; the fine, €465 each, is more than most scrape together in three months.

Outside, NGOs called the spectacle “a medieval pageant”. Inside, the court clerk ran out of forms and started scribbling names on the back of old festa flyers. “We’ve never seen a drag-net like this,” admitted lawyer Carla Camilleri, volunteering pro-bono after spotting the procession near the Triton Fountain. “Police rounded them up at 5 a.m. from City Gate to the new Renzo Piano steps—basically every bench that tourists photograph.”

Malta is the only EU country that still lists “homelessness by choice” as a petty offence. The law was originally pushed by boutique-hotel lobbyists who argued that sleeping bags “clashed with baroque aesthetics”. Since then, Valletta’s property prices have doubled, social housing lists have trebled, and the nightly head-count of rough-sleepers has quietly hit 120, according to the YMCA’s last outreach. Yet yesterday’s mass arraignment is the first time police have enforced the by-law en bloc, fuelling suspicion that council leaders want the capital squeaky-clean before Pope Francis’s expected visit in May.

Cultural fault-lines were impossible to miss. One accused, 68-year-old former dock-worker Ċikku Sant, told the court he once helped build the very cruise-liner terminals whose passengers now step over him. “I laid the concrete for the Valletta Waterfront, and now I’m fined for lying on it,” he shrugged, still dusting off saw-dry plaster from his hair. Another, a 19-year-old Nigerian woman who gave her name only as Blessing, said she fled Libya by boat, was trafficked to Balluta, and now “just wants a roof before the baby kicks”. The magistrate, visibly rattled, asked whether the state shelters were full; a social-worker replied that three had closed for “renovation” during the festive season, classic timing when charitable donations dry up.

Local reaction has been swift. By dusk, someone had spray-painted “TURISTI DUR MIJNA” (Tourists, beware of us) on the Parliament railing. Café owners are split: “Customers don’t want to sip €6 cappuccinos next to human misery,” admitted one barista near Strait Street, while a neighbouring shopkeeper argued, “Evicting them won’t sell more fridge magnets.” Online, the hashtag #ħobżaNotHandcuffs trended as activists posted receipts—€465 could cover 70 daily bread loaves from Qormi, or one politician’s wine allowance for a week.

The Archbishop’s curate offered the church’s basement as emergency refuge, but NGOs say charity band-aids dodge the bigger wound: Malta has 40,000 vacant properties, more than its homeless population by magnitudes. “We’re criminalising poverty while applauding foreign investors who buy passports and leave flats empty,” noted Stephania Dimech Sant, president of Moviment Graffitti. Meanwhile, tourists stepping off the hop-on bus asked guides whether the courtroom drama was “some kind of performance art”.

Will fines solve anything? Data from the last five years shows 82% of homeless convictions go unpaid, morphing into arrest warrants that bar access to jobs, bank accounts and even EU travel—essentially cementing the cycle the law claims to break. “It’s a conveyor belt from pavement to prison,” warned Camilleri, clutching a folder of client stories that already read like a Dickens novel set in the sun.

As the gavel fell, the eight who admitted guilt were given one month to pay or face 20 days in Corradino. They shuffled out past a group of Korean tourists filming the “authentic Mediterranean experience”. As night fell over the silent city, cardboard nests re-appeared behind the Law Courts—proof that for all Valletta’s polished limestone, its shadow side is still very much alive.