Valletta’s Silent Statue Speaks: How Il-Beżżul Bieżel Became Malta’s 2025 Wake-Up Call

Il-Beżżul Bieżel – September 28, 2025: The Day Valletta’s Silent Statue Spoke

Valletta woke up on the last Sunday of September to a rumour that travelled faster than the city’s electric buses: “Il-Beżżul Bieżel qed jitkellem!” By 07:30 the Upper Barrakka balcony was already three-deep with phone-waving teenagers, café owners clutching espresso cups, and tourists who thought they’d wandered onto a film set. Everyone stared at the stone greengrocer who, for 137 years, has leaned over his wooden cart beside the Siege Bell—eyes cast down, bronze cap forever doffed. That morning his lips were parted, a faint whistle of air moving through the cast bronze every time the harbour breeze shifted. No one could agree whether it was a miracle, a prank, or a warning, but within minutes #BeżżulBieżel was the top Maltese trend on X, and Archbishop Charles Scicluna had been tagged 400 times.

The statue, officially “Il-Bezzul” (the humble hawker), was unveiled in 1888 to honour the anonymous street vendors who kept the capital fed during the 1775 plague and again in the 1942 blitz. Locals nicknamed him “Bieżel”—generous—because his sculpted basket overflows with ħobż biż-żejt, tomatoes and tiny figs, a silent invitation to share. Over time he became Valletta’s moral barometer: city guides told tourists that when times are hard, the greengrocer’s basket looks fuller. On election nights, party die-hards drape him in red or blue scarves; during the 2019 migratory-bird protests someone clipped a plastic flamingo to his cap. Yet through every makeover the statue never uttered a sound—until now.

By 09:00 Heritage Malta conservators had cordoned off the site. Dr Ramona Attard, wearing white gloves and the frazzled look of someone who expected a quiet Sunday, pressed a stethoscope to the bronze throat. “It’s not a speaker,” she told the crowd. “It’s a resonance chamber. Overnight temperature drop plus a 52-km northerly wind created a flute effect.” The explanation only fuelled the myth. A Gozitan saxophonist live-streamed himself playing a duet with the wind; an 83-year-old Qormi woman insisted the whistle was saying “Għana, għana,” the old folk-song lament; TikTokker @Kaxxaturi stitched a clip claiming the pitch matched the opening bars of “Għanja ta’ l-Ewropa,” Malta’s 1971 Eurovision entry.

Yet beneath the memes lay something deeper. Valletta’s grocery hawkers—once the artery of the city—have dwindled from 200 in the 1960s to barely a dozen. “We’re the last generation that remembers the cry ‘Ġejjin il-ħaxix!’ echoing up the stairs,” says 71-year-old Nenu Cardona, who still pushes a cart down Strait Street at dawn. “When people heard the statue speak, they weren’t hearing wind—they were hearing their childhood.” By noon someone had started a Facebook event: “Bring Il-Beżżul a Real Basket.” At 17:00 over 300 people queued beneath the bastions, each depositing fresh produce: prickly pears from Rabat, broad beans from Mġarr, even a single pomegranate grown in a Marsa balcony pot. Volunteers loaded everything into cardboard boxes stamped #BieżelBlaten (Generous Plates) and drove to three food banks across the harbour. “In three hours we collected 1.8 tonnes,” said organiser Leah Zammit, 24. “The statue reminded us that abundance is only real when it’s shared.”

The government, never slow to surf a wave, announced Monday that the €2 coin commemorating Valletta’s 450th birthday will feature Il-Beżżul on the reverse. Meanwhile, the University’s acoustics lab is applying for EU funds to map how historic monuments “breathe” during storms. But the most lasting impact may be quieter. Primary schools have adopted the final Sunday of September as “Jum Il-Beżżul,” when children replicate the 2025 basket run, delivering surplus garden veg to elders. “We’re teaching sustainability through folklore,” explains institute teacher Dorianne Micallef. “If a 19th-century statue can learn to speak, surely we can learn to listen.”

As sunset turned the Grand Harbour copper, the wind dropped and the whistle faded. Someone laid a garland of marigolds across the hawker’s shoulders. No speeches, no selfies—just the city’s heartbeat slowing to match the silent stone. In the hush you could almost hear the ghosts of hawkers past, cart wheels creaking over cobbles, calling out the old promise: “Jiena hawn, għandkom nieżel.” I’m here, I bring down goodness for you. Tomorrow the cruise liners will blow their horns, the buses will hum, and the capital will bustle again. But Valletta will remember that for one fleeting Sunday, its most humble statue gave voice to an island’s conscience—and reminded Malta that generosity is never set in stone unless we choose to keep it alive.