Bishop’s Independence Day Bombshell: Archbishop Scicluna Lists Malta’s ‘Betrayals’ in Explosive Sermon

Archbishop Charles Scicluna startled worshippers on Sunday when, from the steps of St John’s Co-Cathedral, he catalogued what he called the “betrayals of independence” that have corroded Malta since 1964. Preaching at the annual pontifical Mass that marks Independence Day, the usually soft-spoken Bishop of Malta ditched the customary polite homily and delivered a stinging audit of the nation’s conscience, prompting both cheers and nervous shuffling inside the 16th-century baroque gem.

“Freedom was God’s gift to our parents,” Scicluna intoned, “but every decade we have sold pieces of that gift for quick silver.” Listing off “the commodification of citizenship, the slavery of construction lust, the silencing of women, and the poisoning of our grandchildren’s air”, he said the island’s 59-year experiment in sovereignty risks being remembered “not as a liberation but as a thirty-pieces-of-silver transaction”.

The timing was no accident. The Mass, streamed live on ONE and netTV, immediately precedes the military parade that winds from the Upper Barrakka to the Tritons’ Fountain. By noon the same altar where Scicluna celebrated the Eucharist was being dismantled to make way for brass bands and confetti; the juxtaposition underscored his message that “patriotic fireworks can too easily mask the smell of gun-powder in our pockets”.

Local historians note that pontifical Independence Masses have always carried political undertones—Dom Mintoff famously stayed away in 1984—but rarely has the rhetoric been so direct. “In Maltese Catholic culture the bishop is not just a cleric, he is a tribal elder,” University of Malta anthropologist Dr Grazia Mizzi told Hot Malta. “When he uses words like ‘betrayal’ inside the nation’s most prestigious church, it pierces the national conversation deeper than any Op-Ed.”

Worshippers emerged visibly moved. “He spoke what we whisper at kazini,” said 68-year-old Sliema resident Josephine Caruana, clutching a tissue. “My son emigrated because he couldn’t afford a flat. That’s not independence, that’s exile.” Younger voices were more divided. “He nailed the environment,” said 24-year-old climate activist Miguel Xuereb, “but I wish he’d mentioned hunting spring quotas—our birds don’t vote.”

The Archbishop’s litany of betrayals also included “paper citizens who buy our passport yet never set foot here”, a clear swipe at the Individual Investor Programme that has netted Malta over €1.5 billion since 2014. Government sources quickly pushed back, pointing out that proceeds funded hospitals and pandemic wage supplements. Yet even Labour-leaning commentators admitted the sermon will fuel fresh scrutiny when the EU’s Moneyval delegation lands again in October.

Perhaps the sharpest barbs were reserved for “concrete cathedrals that rise higher while our soul’s foundations sink”. Malta’s building boom currently sees one new development permit approved every two hours, according to NGO figures. Scicluna’s imagery of “cranes like crosses on the skyline of greed” instantly trended on Maltese Twitter, inspiring memes super-imposing tower cranes against the crucifix.

Within hours, the Malta Developers Association issued a terse rebuttal insisting construction “bankrolls jobs and independence sovereignty”. But environmental pressure groups hailed the sermon. “Finally, moral authority speaks our language,” said Front Ħarsien ODŻ coordinator Suzanne Maas. “We’ll be quoting the bishop at every planning appeal.”

Whether the Church itself escapes unscathed is another matter. Scicluna acknowledged “our own betrayal” in failing abuse victims, referencing last year’s damning report on the Sliema Dominican friary. “Independence means nothing if children still cower in confessionals,” he said, earning a standing ovation that echoed off Caravaggio’s Beheading of Saint John.

Political leaders who took communion immediately after the homily—President Myriam Spiteri Debono, Prime Minister Robert Abela and Opposition chief Bernard Grech—were later filmed exchanging awkward handshakes. “They looked like boys caught smoking behind the chapel,” one altar server giggled.

Come evening, as the last confetti was swept from Republic Street, Valletta’s band clubs still belted out marches. Yet even the festa die-hards conceded the mood had shifted. “We need to decide what sort of independence we celebrate,” reflected Gozitan mayor and brass-band enthusiast David Apap. “The bishop just held up a mirror. Whether we like the reflection is up to us.”

For a nation that punctuates every argument with “Kif qal il-Kappillan…” (“As the parish priest said…”), Scicluna’s words will reverberate far beyond Sunday’s incense-filled aisles. Whether they inspire conversion or merely fifteen minutes of guilt, Malta’s conversation with itself just got a lot louder—and the next crane permit may find a few more protesters at the gate.