Kim Jong-un’s ‘Fond Memories’ of Trump: Why Malta’s Diplomats, Bakers and K-Pop Fans Should Care

Kim Jong-un’s Valentine to Trump: What Malta Can Learn From a Dictator’s “Fond Memories”

Valletta’s café chatter on Tuesday skipped the usual Eurovision odds and leapt straight to Pyongyang. North Korean leader Kim Jong-un’s surprise confession—that he still has “fond memories” of Donald Trump and is open to fresh talks—was scrolling across Times of Malta’s homepage faster than you can say “kimbap”. By the time the 11 a.m. church bells rang out of the Upper Barrakka, the story had already been memed into oblivion: one Instagram reel spliced Kim’s cherubic grin with footage of Trump greeting Popeye at Popeye Village, captioned “When exes slide into your DMs at 3 a.m.”

Why should an island 8,600 km away care? Because Malta, the smallest mediator in the Mediterranean, has skin in the peace game. From hosting the 1989 Bush–Gorbachev summit on our neutral waters to rescuing 234 migrants while bigger states bicker, Malta has built a brand on punching above its diplomatic weight. When a nuclear-armed hermit king hints at a detente, Maltese ears prick up—our tax-collectors, ship-register clerks and iGaming lawyers all know that stability equals profit.

“Kim’s nostalgia is strategic, not sentimental,” Miriam Xuereb, former Maltese ambassador to South Korea, told Hot Malta over a ħobż biż-żejt lunch in Sliema. “He watched Trump shrug off alliances, float troop withdrawals, and treat summits like reality-TV finales. For Pyongyang, that’s the closest thing to a security guarantee.” Xuereb should know: she helped organise the 2018 conference that brought North Korean scholars to Mdina for closed-door talks under the Knights’ sandstone bastions. Back then, the delegation’s biggest request was a side trip to Gozo’s Ġgantija temples—“older than the pyramids,” they marvelled—proof that even dictators enjoy a 5,000-year-old flex.

Local angle, global ripple
Kim’s Valentine comes at a delicate moment for Malta. The island is lobbying Washington for a visa-waiver programme, courting Korean investors for the proposed Gozo tech park, and trying to keep shipping insurers calm after Houthi rebels rattled Red Sea routes. Any thaw in US–North Korea relations could redirect Pentagon budgets away from Mediterranean patrols—freeing American assets to police the Indo-Pacific and leaving Malta’s southern gateway comparatively exposed. “Less US navy visibility means more work for our own Armed Forces,” a senior AFM source admitted, sipping a Cisk in a Valletta pub favoured by off-duty soldiers. “We’d need extra drones, maybe even a second offshore patrol vessel.”

Cultural cross-winds
At the Korean Cultural Centre in St Julian’s—yes, we have one, wedged between a pastizzeria and a crypto start-up—director Park Min-ho is planning a “Kim–Trump Reunion” film night. Scheduled for this Friday, the event will screen the 2019 Hanoi summit handshake on loop while serving Korean fried chicken and Maltese honey rings. “Soft power is edible,” Park laughs, adjusting a taekwondo belt displayed beneath a photo of President George Vella shaking hands with BTS. Tickets sold out in 42 minutes; half the bookings came from Maltese teenagers who discovered K-dramas during the pandemic and now dream of teaching English in Seoul.

Community impact
In Qormi, the tiny North Korean expat community—six defectors who arrived via a 2016 Vatican resettlement scheme—gathered to watch Kim’s statement on a cracked Samsung TV. “When he smiles, I still shake,” admitted Lee Ji-eun, 34, rolling dough for kimchi-stuffed ftira at her husband’s bakery. Her Maltese father-in-law, Ronald, poured shots of bokbunja and raised a toast: “To new beginnings, even from bad memories.” The couple plan to deliver free buns to residents on Sunday, a cross-cultural olive branch that feels quintessentially Maltese: feed first, negotiate later.

Conclusion
Kim Jong-un may never holiday in Mellieħa, and Trump is unlikely to build a tower in Tigné Point, but their on-again-off-again bromance matters to Malta. Every missile test rattles our maritime insurance rates; every summit selfie reshapes the strategic chessboard on which we survive. As the sun sets over the Grand Harbour, the lesson is clear: in a world where even dictators get nostalgic, small states must stay nimble, networked, and ever ready to turn memories into momentum—preferably over a plate of shared pastizzi.