Russia-Belarus War Games Stir Maltese Memories of 1979 Crisis: Wheat, Weddings and Worried Parents

# Russia-Belarus War Games Send Shivers Through Valletta Cafés: “It’s 1979 All Over Again,” Say Veterans

Valletta’s morning espresso ritual felt different today. Outside Café Cordina, pensioners who once huddled through the 1979 Soviet arms-ship crisis glanced at their phones and saw the same two flags—Russia’s white-blue-red and Belarus’s red-green—snaking across European newsfeeds. Moscow and Minsk have launched massive joint drills, code-named “Union Resolve 2025,” moving 30,000 troops, Iskander missiles and S-400 batteries within striking distance of NATO’s eastern flank. For neutral Malta, 2,000 kilometres away, the tremor is psychological rather than tactical, yet it is rattling kitchens from Birkirkara to Marsaxlokk.

“First thing I did was check the wheat price on the Malta Grain Terminal website,” reveals Raymond Zahra, 68, who ships animal feed from the Black Sea. “If Odessa ports sneeze, Maltese rabbit farmers catch a cold.” His worry is grounded: 60 % of Malta’s grain imports transit through the same Russian-dominated sea lanes now clogged with naval exercises. The Malta Chamber of Commerce has already warned bakeries that flour could jump €0.12 per kilo if insurance underwriters slap a “war-risk premium” on cargoes after Sunday.

Across the Grand Harbour, the Armed Forces of Malta (AFM) is officially “monitoring developments” but privately playing down any direct threat. “We are not increasing patrol hours,” a senior official told *Hot Malta*, requesting anonymity. “Our radar picture is quiet; the nearest Russian vessel is off Crete.” Still, the AFM’s new €60-million offshore patrol vessel, *P71*, cut short a training sortie on Tuesday and returned to Hay Wharf—standard practice, sources insist, yet enough to set tongues wagging in dockside bars.

## “My daughter asks, ‘Will we be invaded?’”

In classrooms, teachers are fielding harder questions. “My daughter asked, ‘Will we be invaded?’” says Maria Camilleri, a St Julian’s primary teacher. “We had to improvise a lesson on neutrality after 1980, showing them clips of Dom Mintoff closing the NATO bases.” The comparison is not lost on older Maltese who recall how the 1979 arms embargo turned the island into a geopolitical pawn. Social-media groups such as “Malta Parents for Peace” have organised a candle-lit vigil in front of the Russian Cultural Centre in San Ġwann for Friday night, expecting hundreds to attend.

Tourism operators—still wooing back post-COVID visitors—fear collateral damage. Russian arrivals plunged 41 % after the Ukraine war began; Belarusian numbers are tiny but high-spending. “We just restored a 17th-century palazzo for €2 million, targeting niche Slavic weddings,” sighs hotelier Rebecca Vella. “Every headline about tanks near Minsk pushes brides toward Dubai instead.” The Malta Tourism Authority has quietly paused digital ads in Russian and Belarusian markets this week, though no official embargo exists.

Meanwhile, the local Russian community—about 1,200 passport-holders, plus another 300 on residency schemes—feels the chill. “Clients ask if they must remove Cyrillic signs from their shops,” says lawyer Ivan Gromov, who helps nationals with citizenship applications. “We remind them Malta distinguishes between state and citizen, but nerves are raw.” One Gzira supermarket that imports Belarusian dairy has taped over the “Product of Belarus” stickers after a spate of angry Facebook comments.

## Political ripples in an election year

Politically, the timing is awkward. With a European Parliament election looming, both major parties are treading carefully. Foreign Minister Ian Borg reiterated Malta’s “principled neutrality” in a tweet, condemning “all foreign military posturing” without naming Russia. PN candidate David Casa went further, calling for stronger EU sanctions on Belarus’s potassium exports, a move that could raise fertiliser prices for Maltese farmers. “We cannot garden in peace if dictators trample European soil,” Casa told *Hot Malta* between campaign stops in Paola.

Back in Valletta, the evening crowd at Strait Street’s wine bars is trying to keep the vibe local. A jazz trio swings into “Blue Moon,” but the chatter drifts eastward. “We survived the Cold War by playing both sides,” shrugs 72-year-old veteran Joe Saliba. “We’ll survive this by keeping our doors open and our powder dry—though hopefully we won’t need either.”

For an island whose fortress walls have seen Phoenicians, Romans and Luftwaffe bombers come and go, the latest Russian-Belarusian choreography feels both ancient and alarmingly new. The coffee may be Arabica, but the aftertaste is distinctly Soviet—and Maltese tongues can’t decide whether it’s bitter or just bold.