Malta Armed Forces Catch Gozitan Scuba Spearfisher Red-Handed in Dawn Raid

**Armed Forces Nab Scuba Spearfisher in Midnight Sting Off Qawra Point**

The unmistakable silhouette of a P21 patrol boat cut through the pre-dawn darkness off Qawra Point just after 03:00 on Tuesday, its deck floodlights suddenly illuminating a lone figure finning frantically towards shore. In a scene reminiscent of the 1980s “qalliet” smuggling chases that once dominated local newsreels, Armed Forces of Malta divers leapt into the glass-calm June water and hauled 42-year-old Gozitan Joseph Camilleri aboard, complete with camouflage wetsuit, carbon-finned speargun and a mesh bag bulging with four illegally harpooned dusky groupers—each specimen worth upwards of €120 on the black market.

The arrest, captured on AFM helmet-cams and released to Lovin Malta overnight, marks the fourth scuba spearfishing interception this year and the first since Fisheries lifted the spring amberjack moratorium on 1 June. While recreational pole spearfishing while breath-holding is still legal, Malta’s 2016 revision to the Fisheries Conservation Act expressly bans the use of underwater breathing apparatus for spearing—a measure introduced after a 2014 stock assessment showed grouper biomass had collapsed to 17 % of 1990 levels. offenders risk seizure of gear, €2,300–€11,000 fines and up to six months imprisonment.

Yet for many Maltese, the footage stings deeper than any penalty. “My nonno taught me to freedive at 12, holding his hand over my mouth so I’d learn patience,” says 68-year-old St Julian’s fisherman Ċikku Farrugia, watching the clip on a café television in Marsaxlokk. “Scuba spearing is like shooting rabbits with night-vision—there’s no honour, no level playing field.” That cultural code, woven into parish feasts that still crown a “King Fisherman” each August, has frayed as Facebook marketplace ads openly tout “fresh lampuka today, grouper tomorrow” and restaurant chefs whisper about WhatsApp menus featuring speared dentex.

Environmental NGOs say the black market is now worth an estimated €1.2 million annually, much of it driven by tourists who equate grouper with Mediterranean luxury. “We’ve recorded 73 suspicious listings since January—half in English, priced in sterling,” explains Camilla Appelgren, co-founder of Malta Clean Up who trawls marketplace groups. “Each illegal catch undermines the 450 licensed artisanal fishers who play by the rules and the 200 dive centres marketing Malta as a eco-destination.”

The timing is particularly sensitive. This week, the Malta Tourism Authority launches its €4 million “Summer Like No Other” campaign pitching the islands as a blue-safari haven where visitors can snorkel with seahorses in Għar Lapsi. “If iconic species disappear from shallow reefs, we lose the very product we’re selling,” warns MTA board member and veteran diver Andréa Debono. Operators already report TripAdvisor reviews complaining that “there’s nothing big left to see”.

AFM spokesman Lt. Clifford Pace told Hot Malta the patrol was tipped off by a real-time call to the 24/7 Fisheries hotline (119) from a night-fisher who spotted torch beams 300 m off Qawra. “We deployed a drone first, confirmed bubbles on surface, then moved in,” Pace said, adding that the seized speargun was fitted with a triple-barb paralyzer tip—gear illegal even for breath-hold hunters. Camilleri, from Xagħra, has been released on bail ahead of a 26 July court appearance; his catch was donated to the Good Shepherd convent soup kitchen in Ħamrun, a small consolation for fish that can live 40 years.

Back in Marsaxlokk, Ċikku Farrugia hopes the publicity deters copycats. “The sea gives us everything, but she keeps the ledger,” he mutters, gesturing at the turquoise inlet where his grandson is learning to hold his breath. “Maybe this time the lesson sticks.” For Malta’s fragile reefs—and the communities that depend on them—the alternative is a silent, empty blue.