Malta’s Biggest Pro-Choice Rally Yet: Activists Demand End to EU’s Last Total Abortion Ban

Valletta’s Republic Street fell silent for 60 seconds on Saturday afternoon as 500 placard-waving protesters marked the anniversary of Malta’s total abortion ban. The minute of silence—one second for every year since the 1981 criminal-code amendment—was followed by a roar: “Decriminalise now!” The annual pro-choice rally, organised by the Campaign for the Right to Safe and Legal Abortion, has become a fixture in the national calendar, but organisers say this year’s turnout was the largest yet, spurred by recent prosecutions of women who ordered abortion pills online.

Malta is the only EU country where abortion is illegal under all circumstances, including rape, incest and fatal foetal anomaly. The law carries a prison term of 18 months to three years for both woman and doctor. Three cases—two tourists and one Maltese mother-of-two—are currently under police investigation after customs intercepted misoprostol ordered from abroad. “We are no longer an invisible statistic,” 28-year-old Rebecca* told the crowd, her voice cracking. “I bled for three days in my bathroom because I was too scared to go to Mater Dei. This law nearly killed me.”

The island’s Catholic heritage looms large. Ninety-eight per cent of Maltese identify as Catholic, and crucifixes still hang in every classroom. Yet census data show weekly mass attendance has plummeted from 75 % in 1982 to 24 % in 2021. “We’re witnessing a generational schism,” sociologist Dr Maria Pace says. “Young Maltese are more secular than their parents, but parliament lags a decade behind public opinion.” A November 2023 MaltaToday survey found 61 % support legal abortion when the woman’s life is at risk; 53 % back decriminalisation outright.

Saturday’s march began outside the Triton Fountain and ended at Parliament, where activists draped a giant black banner over the façade reading “My Body, My Country, My Choice.” Tourists stopped to film, while elderly bystanders made the sign of the cross. One vendor sold pastizzi shaped like uteruses—sales, he said, were “brisk.” The eclectic crowd—students in crop tops, grandmothers in lace veils, expat doctors in scrubs—reflected the growing coalition. “I’m here for my daughter,” said 66-year-old Tonio from Żabbar, wheeling his wife who carried a photo of their pregnant daughter who died of sepsis in 2022 after doctors refused to terminate a non-viable pregnancy. “The church blessed her coffin, but it wouldn’t bless her choice.”

The political response remains cautious. Prime Minister Robert Abela reiterated last week that “abortion is not on the agenda,” but backbench Labour MP Alex Agius Saliba broke ranks, tweeting: “Criminalising women in 2024 is medieval.” Opposition leader Bernard Grech, wary of alienating the PN’s conservative base, called for “compassionate debate” while stopping short of endorsing change. Activists see an opening in Brussels: MEPs have warned Malta that criminal prosecutions breach the EU Charter of Fundamental Rights, and a forthcoming resolution could trigger infringement proceedings.

Local impact is already visible. Doctors for Choice Malta report a 40 % rise in requests for pre-abortion counselling since 2022; unofficial networks ferry women to clinics in Sicily for €400 return trips. “We’ve become an underground railroad,” nurse Claudia Calleja said, admitting she has accompanied 60 women this year alone. Meanwhile, the pro-life lobby Life Network staged a counter-vigil outside the Basilica of Ta’ Pinu, claiming 2,000 attendees. “Malta is the last beacon,” spokesman Paul Vincenti declared. “We will defend the unborn with rosaries and votes.”

As the sun set over the Grand Harbour, protesters lit 32 candles—one for each Maltese woman known to have died from septic pregnancies since 1981. “This isn’t Rome or Dublin telling us what to do,” rally coordinator Andrea Dibben shouted. “This is our sisters, our classmates, our baristas at Café Cordina.” Whether parliament listens will hinge on the next election, expected within 18 months. For now, the chant echoing through the limestone alleys was unmistakable: “Out of the churches, into the streets.”