Malta’s Letters to the Editor Ignite National Debates: Sunsets, Festa Roofs and Flat-White Fights

Letters to the editor – September 12, 2025
By Hot Malta staff

The traditional “letters to the editor” page has always been Malta’s most democratic square metre of newsprint, but this morning’s bundle in the Times of Malta, Malta Today and L-Orizzont feels less like a polite column and more like a national group-chat that has spilled onto the breakfast table. From Għarb to Għaxaq, readers are using the space to talk about everything from the price of ftira to the future of the Azure Window shards, and the volume is cranked up to “festa firework” level.

First up, a hand-written note that arrived yesterday by bicycle courier (yes, really) from 82-year-old Karmenu Pace of Żebbuġ. Karmenu wants the Planning Authority to know that the new “glass box” café planned for the Upper Barrakka Gardens will “block the same sunset that Nelson watched in 1800”. He encloses a 1974 black-and-white photo of his wife posing at the railing as proof. Within minutes of publication, #SaveOurSunset is trending, and PA Chairman Vince Cassar has promised a walk-through “with residents and historians” next week. Expect a crowd; someone is already selling pastizzi at the door.

Over in Malta Today, a 19-year-old MCAST student, Daphne Xuereb, has fired the first salvo in what will surely be September’s most Maltese culture war: should the village festa fireworks budget be diverted to climate-proof the church dome? Daphne’s letter is polite but lethal: “While we burn €70,000 in ten minutes, the statue of St Joseph perspires under plastic sheeting because the roof still leaks.” The parish priest of Żurrieq replies—also in the letters page—that “joy is part of resilience”. By 11 a.m., Bay Radio’s phone-in is 80 % in Daphne’s favour, and a Kickstarter called “Festa-proof the Roof” has hit €4,200.

The environment theme continues in The Malta Independent, where divers Michaela and Ryan Grech from Xemxija publish a joint letter illustrated with an underwater Go-Pro still: a single-use coffee cup wedged between Neptune grass shoots. They propose a 50c levy on disposable cups at beach kiosks, with proceeds going to the Malta Aquaculture Research Centre. Tourism Minister Clayton Bartolo tweets a selfie holding a ceramic “KeepCup” within the hour, pledging a pilot scheme in St Julian’s before the end of October. Expect souvenir cups printed with “I ♥ Gozo” by next festa season.

Not every letter is green. L-Orizzont devotes half a page to a bilingual spat about language purity. Toni Sant of Victoria writes that hearing teenagers order “a double-shot oat-milk flat white” in Sliema “hurts more than stepping on an urchin”. Linguist Dr Lara Briffa replies that English code-switching is “as Maltese as imqaret”, and quotes 19th-century sailor diaries to prove it. By lunchtime, Facebook groups are posting memes of a knight in armour yelling “Flat white? I fought the Turks for this?”

Perhaps the most moving entry comes from 11-year-old Jake Vella, who asks why Valletta’s new playground has ramps for wheelchairs but the historic catapult replica does not. “I want to siege the Turks too,” he writes, in crayon that the editor faithfully scans. The letter is picked up by the National Commission for Persons with Disability; Infrastructure Malta promises tactile models and inclusive signage by Christmas. Jake is invited to switch on the seasonal lights—expect a miniature cannon that shoots foam balls instead of stone.

Why do these pages still matter in the age of TikTok? Because Malta is small enough that a letter can still move a minister faster than a TikTok dance. The newsroom intern who opens the envelopes knows the handwriting of half the island’s grandmothers; the sub-editor has fielded phone calls from parish priests demanding the Latin spelling of “San Pawl Nawfragu”. In a country where everyone is theoretically a cousin, the letters page is the safe space for civil disagreement—our national sofa where we argue, apologise, and share a bag of Twistees.

By sunset—Karmenu’s threatened sunset—today’s crop has already changed policy, launched two crowdfunding campaigns and inspired a child. Tomorrow the cycle will restart, because the pen (or crayon) is still Maltese, even if the ink smells of espresso.