Blackout Blues: Why Malta Doesn’t Need to Rewind to the Dark Ages

We don’t need to go back to the Dark Ages
By a Hot Malta staff writer

Valletta’s 320 monuments glow amber at dusk, but the WhatsApp group lighting up my phone is far from romantic. “They’re switching the streetlights off again tonight,” one neighbour warns. “Bring a torch, or you’ll break your neck on the Christmas décor still lying in the street.” The capital’s latest energy-saving blackout—part of a government directive to shave 15 % off Enemalta’s bill—has sparked a very 21st-century Maltese paradox: a UNESCO baroque city forced to impersonate the 1670s, smartphones in hand.

From the silent corridors of St John’s Co-Cathedral to the darkened balconies of Strait Street, the message is blunt: austerity is here, and heritage is not exempt. Yet the irony cuts deeper on an island whose national identity is literally carved in limestone by candlelight. Our ancestors survived corsairs, plague and 200 years of knightly bling; we panic when the Wi-Fi drops a bar. So why does the prospect of “going medieval” feel so threatening—and what does it say about the Malta we’ve built?

Ask any tour guide: the Knights of Malta were the original influencers, importing the Renaissance on galleys and turning a rocky outcrop into the Vegas of the 1600s. But their genius was practical. Slit windows, thick walls and internal courtyards kept interiors cool; grain was stored in underground silos; rainwater collected in cisterns beneath every house. In other words, they engineered resilience long before the term became an EU funding buzzword. Today, our rooftops sprout PVC water heaters that crack in the first hailstorm, while 40 % of residential blocks still lack proper insulation. We plaster facades with fake stone panelling, then wonder why the electricity meter spins like a roulette wheel.

The blackout policy was sold as “temporary”, yet copy-paste emails to local councils arrived with all the permanence of a concrete high-rise. In Gżira, mayor Conrad Borg Manché refused, keeping the promenade lit after a 73-year-old resident tripped on a pothole. In contrast, Birżebbuġa dimmed every second bulb, prompting hunters to complain that migratory birds now dive-bomb their car park. Meanwhile, band clubs—those beating hearts of village festa season—fear donations will evaporate if processions are reduced to shadow theatre. One Ħamrun treasurer sighed: “People give more when they can see the brass shining. Darkness hides miracles, but it also hides pity.”

Environmentalists see opportunity. “Switching lights off is a gateway drug to bigger change,” laughs Suzanne Maas from Friends of the Earth Malta. Her group is crowdfunding “solar chandeliers”, vintage-style lamps powered by rooftop panels, to keep alleyways safe without draining the grid. Already, 40 Valletta residents have signed up, transforming anxiety into neighbourhood bragging rights. “It’s like the kazin rivalry, but with kilowatt hours,” Maas grins.

Yet the stakes are higher than mood lighting. Tourism contributes 27 % of GDP; night-time economy receipts surpassed €200 million in 2019. If visitors swap Instagram shots of flood-lit bastions for murky thumbnails tagged #BlackedOutMalta, the knock-on hits taxi drivers, Airbnb hosts, late-night pastizzerias. On Reddit, one user jokes: “Come for the Knights, stay because you can’t see the exit.” Dark humour, bright fears.

Still, the Maltese talent for adaptation is already surfacing. In Sliema, restaurants are bringing back candlelit tables—this time with QR-code menus. Gozitan farmers, sick of power cuts that kill irrigation pumps, are resurrecting ancient windpumps, giving fields a steampunk twist. Even gaming companies are gamifying the crisis; a local start-up is beta-testing an app that rewards users for every kilowatt they save, redeemable for festa fireworks tokens. We may be stressed, but we’re hilariously entrepreneurial.

Conclusion
History reminds us that Malta has never needed floodlights to shine. The real risk is not darkness itself, but the blindness it exposes: a culture that forgot how to live within its means. If we treat this moment as a reboot—insulating roofs, rethinking festa pyrotechnics, reviving communal courtyards—we can emerge greener, leaner and still unmistakably Maltese. The Knights didn’t need LEDs to leave a legacy; they needed vision. So do we. Let’s not crawl back to the Dark Ages. Let’s flick the switch on a brighter, smarter island—no extra bulbs required.