Malta’s Victorian Vagrancy Law: How a 19th-Century Rule Still Criminalises Today’s Homeless

**A Law Older Than the Republic: Malta’s 19th-Century Weapon Against the Homeless**

Valletta’s sun-drenched bastions mask a quieter battle. At 5 a.m., while tourists queue for pastizzi and commuters elbow onto bendy-buses, a handful of rough-sleepers are woken by wardens and told to “move on”. If they refuse, they risk arrest—not under any modern social-policy Act, but under an 1894 ordinance originally drafted to stop hawkers from blocking horse-traffic.

Welcome to Malta’s least-publicised time-warp: the use of Chapter 86 of the Laws of Malta (“The Vagrancy Act”) to police 21st-century homelessness. The law criminalises “every person wandering abroad and lodging in any barn or outhouse, or in any deserted or unoccupied building, or in the open air”. Penalties can reach three months in jail or a €465 fine—steep for someone whose net worth is the backpack under his head.

**Victoriana meets Mediterranean heat**

Enacted when Malta was still a British colony and Floriana’s ditches sheltered goat-herds, the Act was meant to curb “idlers” who might spread disease or theft. Fast-forward 130 years: the goats are gone, but the legal language survives, copied verbatim into today’s police handbooks.

NGOs first noticed a spike in vagrancy charges in 2017, the same year rents in Sliema and St Julian’s jumped 35 %. “We mapped 80 cases in 12 months,” says Maria Pisani, who runs the homeless-outreach NGO YMCA Malta. “Half involved people sleeping on benches in Valletta or in the abandoned cinema in Paola. None were offered shelter; all were fined or arrested.”

Court data obtained by *Hot Malta* shows 312 vagrancy arraignments between 2019 and 2023. While magistrates usually convert jail terms into suspended sentences, the criminal record sticks, making it harder to apply for jobs or social housing. “One night on the streets can cost you a lifetime of bureaucracy,” Pisani adds.

**Why not just build more shelters?**

Malta has only 120 state-funded emergency beds for an officially estimated 450 homeless (volunteers put the real figure closer to 1,000). The new White Paper on homelessness pledges 900 social housing units—by 2030. Until then, police insist they need “some tool” to keep public spaces orderly.

“The Vagrancy Act is not used lightly,” says a police spokesperson who asked not to be named. “Officers first attempt relocation to shelters. Enforcement is last resort.” Yet former rough-sleevers tell a different story.

“Shelters were full, so I curled up near the Phoenicia stairs,” recalls 42-year-old Darren * (name changed). “At 3 a.m. officers kicked my shoe: ‘Get up or we charge you.’ I showed them the shelter’s waiting-list paper. They said, ‘Not our problem.’” Darren spent two nights in lock-up, lost his construction-site job for missing shifts, and is now back on the streets—this time with a criminal tag.

**Cultural cross-currents**

In a country where 83 % own their home and family networks are tight, rough-sleeping carries a double stigma: personal failure and public eyesore. “The Maltese solution is often ‘Call an auntie,’” says sociologist Dr Anna Vella. “But substance abuse, evicted single fathers, or foreign workers whose employer confiscated passports can’t just ring Nanna.”

The result: an invisible drift toward city gateways—Valletta’s bombed-out opera house, the Gżira seafront, airport bus shelters—where EU-passport tourists snap photos of “authentic” balconies, not noticing the man washing in the fountain behind them.

**Community blowback**

Business associations quietly lobby for “clean zones”; restaurateurs fear negative TripAdvisor reviews. Yet punitive policing is starting to grate on Maltese conscience. A petition by the Church-based Caritas to repeal the vagrancy provisions has gathered 11,000 signatures. Even the Chamber of Advocates calls the law “archaic”, arguing it clogs courts and achieves nothing.

Alternatives are sprouting: the Ħamrun parish opened its cloisters as a night refuge; a Gozitan farmer lets charities park “safe-sleep” shipping containers on disused land; and the University debate society is drafting a mock bill to replace vagrancy with a civil citation that channels offenders into support services instead of court.

**Conclusion**

Until Parliament acts, however, Malta’s most vulnerable citizens can be branded criminals for the crime of having nowhere to go. A law born under Queen Victoria, designed for a colony of 180,000, now polices a republic of 520,000 with Europe’s lowest homelessness allocation per capita. Repealing Chapter 86 won’t end homelessness—but it would stop the State from punishing people for it. In a nation that prides itself on progress, that should be the easiest upgrade of all.