Pastizzi & Power Politics: How Malta Reacts When Empires Cry ‘Legitimate Interests’

Valletta’s Grand Harbour has seen every empire come and go—Phoenicians, Knights, French, British—each claiming “legitimate interests” while the islanders quietly kept fishing. So when Russian diplomats insist their invasion of Ukraine is merely the protection of historic rights, Maltese ears prick up with a familiar mix of scepticism and survival instinct. In cafés from Sliema to Victoria, the phrase “legitimate interests” is suddenly being whispered over pastizzi, not because Gozitans fancy themselves geo-strategists, but because history has taught the nation that great-power logic rarely ends at someone else’s waterline.

Start with the obvious: Malta’s energy bill. Before the war, 40 % of our electricity came from Russian LNG transshipped via the Delimara terminal. When EU sanctions kicked in, Enemalta had to scramble for Qatari cargoes at spot-market prices. The result? An average household now pays €23 more per month, and the corner kiosk has pasted a second sticker over the ħobż-price list. “We’re collateral damage in someone else’s ‘legitimate’ story,” sighs Marianna, who runs a family bakery in Żabbar. Her wheat flour comes from the same French port that now prioritises Ukrainian feed corn; every postponed shipment is a reminder that the Black Sea’s fate ends up in her dough.

Yet the argument is not only about euros. Walk into the Russian Centre for Science & Culture in Pietà—an ochre villa donated during the Yeltsin years—and you’ll find evening language classes still full. Tatiana, the director, insists Pushkin nights are “apolitical,” but attendance spiked after February 2022: some Russians fleeing conscription, others simply seeking the taste of home borsch served on lace tablecloths embroidered with the Maltese eight-pointed cross. Their presence complicates the narrative. One Gozitan landlord admits he lowered rent “because they’re desperate,” then quietly asks whether Malta would ever shelter Ukrainians the same way. Legitimate interest, meet moral interest.

The diplomatic dance is equally delicate. Malta’s Constitution preaches neutrality—an echo of the 1980s treaty that kept super-power fleets out of Mellieħa Bay. Foreign Minister Ian Borg repeats the mantra “no foreign military bases,” even as NATO’s southern hub in Naples uses Maltese radar data. When Russian vessels sporting the red-cross flag dock for “medical supplies,” the government allows 48-hour shore leave, mindful of the 18,000 Russian tourists who used to splash in St Julian’s hotels every summer. Cancel the port call, and you jeopardise a tourism rebound already limping after COVID; approve it, and Brussels sends terse letters. The balancing act is classic Maltese: smile, survive, stall.

Then there is the historical ghost. In 1798, Napoleon claimed he was “liberating” Malta from the Knights; within two years the island was starving. In 1940, Mussolini’s bombers said they were protecting Mediterranean civilisation; the limestone rubble at the Malta at War Museum tells the rest. Each time, the justification sounded rational, even benevolent—to the outsider. Locals learned to measure legitimacy not by the speaker’s accent but by the bread on their tables. That folk memory is why Labour MP Glenn Bedingfield’s recent Facebook post—“Empires talk interests, colonies pay bills”—went viral across the political spectrum.

So what about Russia’s legitimate interests? In Malta the question is not rhetorical; it is a weather vane spinning between LNG tankers and cruise-ship flags. The answer given by ordinary citizens tends to be pragmatic: interests exist, but they end where someone else’s doorway begins. Or, as 83-year-old Karmenu Pace puts it while feeding pigeons outside the Upper Barrakka, “The Knights thought they had legitimate interests too. Now they’re a souvenir shop.” He chuckles, scattering crumbs like small neutral states across the flagstones.

The war may feel distant, but its vocabulary has docked on our shores. And in a country whose national anthem literally asks God to “protect our rights,” every new claim of legitimacy is heard against the echo of past sieges. The harbour water is calm this morning, the cruise liners back, the price of bread up another five cents. Malta knows interests come and go; what remains is the stubborn art of outlasting them.