Malta’s Academy of Givers AGM: €1.2m raised as island philanthropy goes public

Academy of Givers AGM celebrates milestones while re-writing Malta’s philanthropy playbook

Valletta’s 17-century Sala Nobile at the Casino Maltese felt more like a living room last Thursday evening as 120 donors, volunteers and NGO leaders squeezed onto velvet-lined benches to toast a quietly revolutionary year. The Academy of Givers—Malta’s only membership network dedicated to strategic philanthropy—was holding its fourth Annual General Meeting, but the mood was less board-room formality, more village-festa pride.

“Four years ago we were six people around a kitchen table in Sliema wondering if Maltese givers could ever be open about their giving,” founding chairperson Denise Falzon told the crowd. “Tonight we’re 136 members, €1.2 million pooled in collaborative funds and—brace yourselves—73 percent of us have published our names on the public giving map.” The room erupted in cheers loud enough to rattle the Murano chandeliers.

In a country where generosity has traditionally been measured by the size of the Good Friday procession donation or the anonymous brown envelope slipped to the parish priest, the Academy’s insistence on transparency is nothing short of cultural jiu-jitsu. “We’re not trying to kill the Maltese flair for discreet charity,” Falzon insisted. “We’re dragging it into the 21st century so impact can be tracked, replicated and scaled.”

The AGM’s headline milestone was the announcement of the first-ever “Giving Lab”, a €250,000 experimental fund that will allow five grassroots NGOs to test prototypes over six months, Dragons-Den style. Applicants must pitch to a panel that includes a Gozitan cheesemaker, a gaming-company CFO and a 19-year-old climate activist—an unlikely trio that sums up the Academy’s egalitarian streak.

But numbers only tell half the story. Between the PowerPoint slides, members traded anecdotes that reveal how philanthropy is quietly reshaping island life. There’s the retired Zurrieq couple who diverted their cruise-boat savings to install solar panels on the local hospice; the St Julian’s fintech founder who matches every employee donation to animal shelters; and the 200 volunteers who showed up at 5am last Christmas to cook for 1,800 stranded migrants after the NGO phone tree went viral.

Culture clash—and fusion—was on full display during the networking break. Waiters circulated trays of warm qassata alongside vegan canapés, while a DJ remixed traditional għana guitar riffs beneath a neon sign that read “Give Boldly”. One elderly attendee was overheard whispering, “This feels like the Festa tas-Settembru meets Silicon Valley,” before happily grabbing a second glass of local sparkling wine.

The evening also served as a moment of collective catharsis. Malta’s charitable sector has spent three years firefighting: first the pandemic, then the influx of Ukrainian refugees, then the Libya flood fall-out. “We were running on fumes,” admitted Ramona Depares, director of the Foodbank Lifeline Foundation. “The Academy taught us how to write a cash-flow projection so we didn’t have to turn families away.” Her organisation received a €40,000 capacity-building grant last year—money that came with spreadsheets, not just sympathy.

Looking ahead, the Academy unveiled a three-year plan cheekily code-named “Żfin il-Ġenerożità” (the generosity dance). Targets include doubling membership outside the central harbour area, launching a Maltese-language podcast on giving, and persuading at least five family businesses to donate 1% of annual profits by 2027. The final slide featured a quote from 18th-century Maltese economist Giovanni Bonello: “A small island is not a limitation; it is a microscope.” The audience rose in standing ovation.

As guests spilled onto Republic Street, the bells of St John’s Co-Cathedral tolled 10pm—an accidental but fitting soundtrack. In a nation whose patron saint is famed for loaves and fishes, the Academy of Givers is proof that when Maltese hearts, wallets and data align, miracles can still happen. They may not walk on water, but they’re certainly learning to navigate it together.