Malta’s Youth Are Giving Up on Voting—Here’s How Pastizzi, TikTok and a €100K Budget Could Win Them Back

Young Europeans are losing faith in democracy – here’s how Malta can earn it back
By Hot Malta Staff

The queue outside the Mosta polling station on 8 June looked more like a quiet bus stop than the beating heart of a republic. By 10:00 am only 37 of the 800 registered voters had bothered to show up. Inside, a 19-year-old first-time voter, Aidan Camilleri, took a selfie with his ballot paper and whispered to his friend: “I only came because my nanna said she’d stop making rabbit stew if I stayed in bed.” His joke masks a darker truth. Last month’s European Parliament election saw Malta’s youth turnout drop to 42 %, down from 65 % in 2014. Across the continent, the picture is identical: Eurobarometer reports that 57 % of Europeans under 30 now believe their voice “doesn’t count”.

On an island where neighbours still argue politics over pastizzi, the erosion of democratic faith feels almost sacrilegious. Malta’s story is usually one of stubborn civic pride—grandmothers who can recite every prime minister since 1921, village band clubs that double as party headquarters, fireworks paid for by ministers’ donations. Yet even here, cynicism is calcifying. Student surveys at the University of Malta show “trust in politicians” scoring lower than “trust in TikTok influencers”. The reason is no mystery: the 2017 journalist assassination, the Panama Papers fallout, and daily headlines on Vitals and Steward have turned politics into a swear word.

But disillusion is only half the story. The other half is boredom. Walk into any bar in Paceville and ask who their MEP is; you’ll get shrugs and another tequila. The EU feels distant, Brussels another cruise-ship destination. Meanwhile, Malta’s own parliament streams sessions on YouTube that average 47 live viewers—fewer than a kitten-rescue video filmed in Gozo.

How do you make democracy sexier than Love Island? Start where Maltese youth actually live: on their phones and in their pockets. Enter “Demokrazija 2.0”, a pilot project dreamed up by 19-year-old coder Lea Zammit from Żejtun. With a €20,000 grant from the European Social Fund, she is building a blockchain-based app that lets 16-25-year-olds vote on how to spend a real €100,000 chunk of the national budget. The catch: each proposal must be backed by at least 500 verified signatures and a 60-second TikTok pitch. “If we can make someone famous for dancing with a chicken nugget, we can make participatory budgeting go viral,” Lea laughs, flashing her pierced tongue. The pilot launches in September in St Julian’s and Birkirkara; if uptake exceeds 30 %, parliamentary secretary Rebecca Buttigieg has promised to scale it nationwide.

Physical space matters too. Take the abandoned Is-Suq tal-Belt food market in Valletta. After vendors left, the vaulted hall became a pigeon cathedral. Now, NGO Spazju Kreativ is transforming it into “Parlamentino”, a pop-up chamber where under-30s can stage mock debates on issues from rent prices to over-tourism. The rules: no ties, no jargon, and every third speaker must be a woman. The first session—on whether cruise ships should pay a €100 tourist tax—sold out in 22 minutes. Speaker of the House Angelo Farrugia has pledged to table the top three youth resolutions in the real parliament within six months.

Critics dismiss these initiatives as “democracy theme parks”. Yet early signs are encouraging. When the University debate society hosted politicians in hoodies instead of suits, turnout tripled. One student asked Prime Minister Robert Abela if he had ever taken the bus; his honest answer—”Yes, but only when the car broke down”—was clipped and shared 400,000 times, more than any party press release this year.

Ultimately, reclaiming faith is less about gadgets and more about culture. Malta’s strength has always been its village square, the pjazza where children chase pigeons while elders argue. If we can drag that square onto Instagram Live, we might yet breed a generation that sees voting not as a chore but as the ultimate block party. As Aidan Camilleri pockets his “I voted” sticker, he grins: “Next time I’ll come for more than the rabbit. I’ll come because my TikTok might actually change the price of my bus ticket.” That, perhaps, is the first step toward rebuilding a democracy you can taste, swipe, and dance to.