Malta Landlords Want Power to Cut Utilities Over Unpaid Rent, Igniting National Debate

**Landlords Demand Power to Pull the Plug on Non-Paying Tenants, Sparking Island-Wide Debate**

In a country where the phrase “rent is due” has become as loaded as a pastizz fresh from the oven, Maltese landlords are lobbying for a controversial new right: the power to cut water and electricity to tenants who fall behind on rent. The proposal, floated last week by the Malta Developers Association (MDA) and backed by a growing WhatsApp coalition of 1,200 property owners, has detonated a fiery conversation that stretches from Valletta’s polished palazzos to the narrow alleys of Żabbar.

At the heart of the dispute is a simple statistic: court-ordered evictions in Malta now take an average of 27 months, the longest lag in the EU. During that limbo, landlords complain, utilities keep humming, air-conditioners blast at 18 °C, and the €300 quarterly ARMS bill lands squarely on their doorstep. “We’re becoming involuntary charities,” argues Marisa Camilleri, who owns three flats in St Julian’s. “One tenant owes me €11,000 in arrears but still streams Netflix in 4K. It’s insulting.”

The MDA’s draft amendment would allow owners to instruct ARMS to suspend utilities after three months of unpaid rent and 15 days’ written notice. Tenants could restore power only by settling the debt or presenting a binding repayment plan. Government sources say the proposal has been “noted” but not endorsed; the Chamber of Advocates has already flagged possible breaches of EU consumer-rights directives.

Yet beyond the legalese lies a cultural tinderbox. Malta’s post-war identity was built on home ownership—stone-clad security passed from parent to child. Only 10 % of families rented in 1990. Today, skyrocketing prices and a booming foreign workforce have pushed that figure past 30 %. The psychological shift from owner-occupier to landlord-tenant society is still raw, and the idea of cutting someone’s water taps into deep Mediterranean notions of hospitality and shame. “My nanna would rather leave the door unlocked than deny a glass of water to a stranger,” says Sliema resident Luke Pace, whose Facebook post against the measure went viral. “Utilities aren’t a luxury; they’re survival in July humidity.”

Community impact is already visible. At the University of Malta, students’ union president Jessica Grima says fear of utility cuts is deterring undergraduates from renting private digs, pushing more into overcrowded church hostels. Meanwhile, NGOs warn that migrant workers—often paid cash-in-hand and invisible on official leases—could be blackmailed into silence about sub-standard conditions. “Landlords will hold the ultimate weapon,” insists Neil Falzon, director of aditus foundation. “One flick of a switch and you erase a person’s dignity.”

Landlords counter that they’re merely asking for parity with hotels, which can bar access to delinquent guests, and with UK law, where Section 21 “no-fault” evictions—though controversial—allow faster repossession. They also point to a forgotten clause in Maltese tenancy law (Art. 1622) that technically permits owners to “retain amenities” if the tenant breaches contract, but which courts have never enforced against ARMS’ monopoly.

The debate is colouring upcoming MEP campaigns. PL candidate Daniel Attard told party faithful in Fgura that “no Labour government will allow families to sit in darkness,” while PN’s Stanley Zammit warned that “killing investment appeal” could crash the rental market and hurt pensioners who survive on rental income. Between the slogans, ordinary citizens are scrambling for middle ground. A petition launched by the NGO Housing Rights Malta proposes a state-backed rent-guarantee fund: landlords get paid 70 % of arrears upfront, while tenants repay government over five years. The idea is modelled on France’s “Garantie Visale” and has already attracted 4,000 signatures.

As July temperatures climb and meters spin, the island faces a stark question: is access to power and water a market commodity or a social right? Until Parliament reconvenes in October, Maltese society will keep arguing in sun-baked stairwells, on TikTok, and over cups of lukewarm kafè. One thing is certain—whoever controls the switch controls the conversation.