Malta Eurovision fans reel as Dutch threaten 2026 Israel boycott

Valletta’s Eurovision watch-parties have always been a kaleidoscope of Maltese flags, glitter cannons and pastizzi crumbs, but the 2026 edition could feel eerily empty if Dutch broadcaster AVROTROS makes good on its threat to boycott should Israel be allowed to compete. The announcement, made late Tuesday evening on the Netherlands’ flagship current-affairs show Nieuwsuur, has already ricocheted through Malta’s tight-knit Eurovision community, where the song contest is less a TV show and more a national ritual.

“For us it’s like cancelling Christmas,” says Etienne Bezzina, president of the Malta Eurovision Fan Club, whose 1,200 members organise viewing marathons in Valletta’s Strait Street bars. “We dress up, we vote in blocs, we even fly flags for countries we’ve never visited. A Dutch withdrawal would leave a hole you can’t fill with extra ħobż biż-żejt.”

Malta has never missed a single contest since 1971, and our island holds the per-capita record for most Eurovision viewing parties. Dutch withdrawals matter here because the Netherlands is one of the few countries whose delegations regularly holiday in Malta pre-contest, scouting singers for promotional gigs at the Malta International Arts Festival. Dutch singer Duncan Laurence’s 2019 victory parade even included a stop at Café du Brazil in Spinola, where he toasted local fans with Kinnie. If the Dutch stay home, Maltese tourism operators stand to lose an estimated €250,000 in low-season bookings, according to the Malta Hotels and Restaurants Association.

The boycott call stems from mounting Dutch public anger over Israel’s military actions in Gaza. AVROTROS director Eric van der Stappen told MPs that “continued participation would make the Netherlands complicit in art-washing.” Israeli broadcaster KAN has not yet responded, but the European Broadcasting Union (EBU) reiterated that Eurovision is a “non-political event” and that all member broadcasters are welcome. The same statement was issued in 2019 when Iceland’s Hatari flashed Palestinian flags, a stunt that still triggers heated debates in Maltese Facebook group “Eurovision Malta – The Real One”.

Local reactions are split along surprisingly generational lines. Older viewers, who remember Malta’s own diplomatic tight-rope during the 1980s Libya embargo, tend to back the EBU’s neutrality stance. “We competed against Yugoslavia during the Balkan wars,” says 68-year-old Ħamrun taxi driver Tony Camilleri. “Music should unite; politics can wait three minutes.” Younger fans, especially university students who last month staged a pro-Palestine sit-in at UM’s Valletta campus, are lobbying PBS to endorse the Dutch position. An online petition titled “Malta Stand With The Netherlands” has gathered 3,400 signatures in 48 hours, demanding that Maltese broadcaster PBS “suspend participation unless Israel is excluded”.

PBS CEO Charles Dalli remains cautious. “Malta is bound by EBU rules, but we are monitoring sentiment,” he told Hot Malta, adding that any final decision rests with the government. Culture Minister Owen Bonnici’s office refused to comment, yet insiders say Malta is unlikely to pull out unilaterally, fearing EBU fines that could slash PBS’s annual €1.2 million Eurovision budget—money that largely funds local productions like the Malta Song Festival.

Still, the mere possibility of a Dutch-shaped gap is already reshaping island culture. Sliema karaoke bar O’Reilly’s has cancelled its planned “Orange Night” tribute to Dutch classics, replacing it with a charity fundraiser for Gaza relief. Meanwhile, Gozitan boutique hotel Ta’ Cenc has scrapped a €15,000 package marketed to Dutch Eurovision tourists, repurposing rooms for domestic spa weekends.

Whether or not the boycott materialises, the debate has cracked open a wider conversation about Malta’s role on the European stage. “We’re a tiny island, but Eurovision is our megaphone,” reflects chorister and two-time Maltese backing vocalist Pamela Bezzina. “If we stay silent now, what does that say about our own identity—are we neutral, or just neutered?”

As Valletta’s bar owners stock up on orange streamers they may never use, Maltese fans are left to wrestle with a question bigger than any power ballad: can glitter survive geopolitics, or will the lights dim on the continent’s most beloved camp spectacle? The answer, for now, is stuck somewhere between the EBU’s rulebook and the conscience of a generation that grew up believing music could transcend borders—even if those borders are drawn in sand and blood.