London far-right riots: Maltese expats on edge as violence hits home

Valletta watches London burn: Maltese diaspora holds breath as far-right violence erupts across the capital

By late afternoon on the Strand, the scent of tear-gas drifted as far as the Maltese kiosk outside St Mary’s church, where 73-year-old Ġorġ Zammit had queued for his weekly ftira. Instead of the usual chatter in Maltese, the queue was glued to phone-screens showing live footage: balaclava-clad English Defence League supporters lobbing bottles at Metropolitan Police officers, a Union Jack catching fire beneath Nelson’s Column. Within minutes, sirens echoed from Westminster to Ħamrun’s WhatsApp groups; within hours, three Maltese nationals were among the 126 arrests confirmed by Scotland Yard.

For Malta’s 30,000-strong community in the UK—stretching from Chelsea’s antique-restorers to Manchester’s NHS nurses—the images felt eerily familiar. “We grew up hearing how our parents rebuilt post-war London,” says Sliema-born lawyer Maria Camilleri, who has practised immigration law in Holborn for 18 years. “Suddenly the same streets look like the 1958 Notting Hill riots our nannas warned us about.” Camilleri spent Saturday night fielding panicked calls from Maltese care-workers locked inside Wembley Park flats, frightened to wear their Maltese-cross pendants on the night bus.

The trigger, British analysts agree, was a TikTok rumour—since debunked—claiming the Southport knife attacker was a Muslim asylum-seeker. Within 24 hours, Telegram channels run by splinter groups of the now-outlawed National Action party redirected anger toward hotels housing newly-arrived migrants. One target was the Streatham Hill Premier Inn, where 14 Maltese kitchen staff sleep four to a room while saving for property back in Rabat. “We heard chanting: ‘Get the foreigners out,’” recounts 22-year-old line-cook Luke Pace from Żurrieq, still trembling. “Our supervisor—born in Birkirkara—yelled back in perfect Cockney: ‘I’m more British than you, mate.’ That’s when the bricks started flying.”

Back home, Prime Minister Robert Abela’s office issued a terse statement urging “calm and respect for rule of law”, but the grassroots reaction was swifter. By Sunday morning, the Facebook group “Maltese in London” had mobilised a rota of volunteer drivers ferrying stranded compatriots from flash-points to safer suburbs. A Knightsbridge café famous for its pastizzi delivery turned its basement into an impromptu bunk-room, laying out blankets in the colours of both flags—Maltese red-white and British Union Jack—side by side. “It’s the 1942 convoy spirit,” says owner Charles Azzopardi, whose grandfather dodged U-boats to bring food to wartime Valletta. “When hospitals are asking staff not to wear lanyards outside, we step up.”

Culturally, the violence collides with a week when Malta itself is wrestling with migration narratives. Just last Tuesday, a government press conference celebrated the 15th anniversary of the 2009 migrant regularisation programme; on Thursday, Opposition MPs warned of “boatloads” arriving from Libya. Watching London burn, Maltese commentators see a cautionary tale. “We’re only 315 square kilometres—one Tottenham riot could engulf us in an afternoon,” notes sociologist Dr Anna Baldacchino. “Yet our village feasts teach us crowds can be managed with brass bands and rabbit stew, not riot shields.”

The economic ripple is already being felt. Air Malta (now KM Malta Airlines) reports a 20 % spike in Monday bookings from parents recalling children working summer jobs in pubs. Conversely, English language schools in Sliema predict a windfall: anxious British teenagers whose parents no longer fancy gap-year London are eyeing St Julian’s instead. “Safety sells,” shrugs EF executive Clara Vella, already rebranding packages as “Study English, Mediterranean style—zero far-right risk”.

By Monday evening, the Met had drafted extra officers from Wales, but Maltese community leaders aren’t taking chances. A Zoom meeting chaired by High Commissioner Ray Azzopardi agreed three measures: a 24-hour helpline, legal-aid fund for any Maltese charged, and a candle-lit vigil outside Westminster Cathedral next Saturday—part prayer, part photo-op to remind Brits that Maltese workers keep their hospitals, hotels and (ironically) police canteens running. “We came here to build, not break,” Maria Camilleri tells Hot Malta. “If London forgets that, we’ll remind them—in Maltese, English, and the universal language of pastizzi shared with a tired bobby at 3 a.m.”