Malta’s €25k Taxi Licence Buy-Back Sparks Generational Showdown

€25,000 licence surrender scheme will start soon but ‘target younger generation’
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Valletta’s silent war on wheels has a new battle plan: a €25,000 cheque for anyone willing to hand back their taxi or mini-cab licence. Transport Minister Aaron Farrugia confirmed this week that the long-mooted buy-back will open “within weeks”, yet the small print is already causing sparks in village bars from Żabbar to Żebbuġ. The scheme is designed to shrink Malta’s bloated fleet of 11,500 white taxis and ride-share cars, but the government is openly chasing one demographic—drivers under 40—leaving older stalwarts feeling sidelined.

“If you’re 25 and driving part-time for Bolt, that money is a house deposit,” Farrugia told reporters outside Castille. “If you’re 65 and the licence is your pension, we still welcome you, but the grant is structured to entice those who can still reinvent themselves.” Translation: younger applicants will receive the full €25k in one lump sum, while over-55s can opt either for a reduced upfront sum or a quarterly annuity spread over a decade. The sliding scale has triggered accusations of generational discrimination, a charged topic in a country where 28% of men over 65 still hold a taxi plate as their nest-egg.

A licence as heritage
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To outsiders, a taxi licence is just a laminated card. To Maltese families it is folklore. After the war, returning dockworkers used demob money to buy “licenzja tat-taxi” engraved in Gothic script; by the 1980s a plate was dowry gold. “My father swapped our Sliema maisonette for two plates in 1979,” laughs 61-year-old Carmel “Il-Bambinu” Pace, who still drives a classic white Mercedes from the rank outside the old opera house. “That paper put five kids through private school. Now they tell me it’s worth less because I’m too old?”

The emotional attachment is matched by economic reality. Resale prices have collapsed from €80,000 in 2016 to under €30,000 today, battered by ride-hail apps and the 2018 law that removed the cap on new licences. Older drivers blame “kids with hatchbacks” who accept €3 fares across the harbour, while younger operators argue the market is saturated and the buy-back is a lifeline out of 14-hour shifts.

Community ripples
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In tight-knit villages the taxi rank doubles as a social club. Remove the cars, warn mayors, and you remove the eyes that once reported potholes, missing cats or the odd drunk teenager. “Our village patrol is three taxi drivers on WhatsApp,” says Maria Cassar, mayor of Qrendi. “If they take the grant and leave, who keeps the square alive after 10pm?”

Environmentalists counter that Malta’s 77,000 tourist beds need fewer, not more, cars. “Every licence surrendered is one less vehicle circling for fares, pumping diesel outside Mdina,” insists Suzanne Maas from Friends of the Earth. Yet even green voices worry the scheme could backfire if former drivers simply pivot to unregistered “black” cabs, a shadow market already flourishing on Facebook messenger.

The youth opportunity
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For 26-year-old Jessica Camilleri, the grant is seed capital for a dessert-delivery start-up. “I lease a Prius for €270 a week and clear maybe €350 after petrol. Do the maths,” she shrugs outside the University of Malta incubator. “Twenty-five grand lets me rent a kitchen in Birkirkara, hire two cyclists and sleep normal hours.” Her sentiment is echoed by 73% of 18-34 year-olds in a MaltaToday survey who called the scheme “fair”, against only 29% of over-55s.

Government sources say the €50 million fund—cofinanced by EU recovery monies—can absorb 2,000 licences, after which the window closes. If oversubscribed, priority will go to electric conversions first, age second, a clause that could yet shuffle the queue. Meanwhile, classic car enthusiasts are circling, hoping to snap up de-licenced 1980s Mercs for restoration rather than scrap.

Conclusion
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Love it or loathe it, the buy-back is the clearest sign yet that Malta’s taxi culture is driving into a new era. For younger Maltese it offers a rare cash injection to chase dreams beyond the steering wheel; for older drivers it threatens to turn a lifetime investment into a farewell handshake. Whether the scheme frees our roads or simply clogs them with ghost cars driven illegally will depend on enforcement—and on whether the nation can reconcile respect for heritage with the ruthless logic of supply and demand. One thing is certain: the white taxi that framed countless childhood memories may soon be more at home in a museum than outside your door.