Changing faces, empty promises: a story of disillusionment

Twelve years ago, we stood at the edge of something new. Labour had just won the election and, for many of us, it felt like the sun had finally broken through after years of grey skies. The Nationalist Party had been in power for nearly three decades, save for a brief hiccup in the late 1990s. Their reign had become routine – predictable, even arrogant. They treated government like a birthright, not a responsibility.

Back then, they had only changed leaders twice in 26 years. Eddie Fenech Adami passed the torch to Lawrence Gonzi in 2004, a move that felt more like a ceremonial shuffle than a genuine renewal, with the former leader being crowned president of the republic.

GonziPN’s second term, won by a whisker in 2008, turned out to be a slow-motion implosion – parliament defeats, budget failures and a population that felt increasingly forgotten. By the time he called for a general election, the damage was irreversible.

And that’s when the revolving door of the Dar Ċentrali began spinning. Since 2013, the PN has had five different leaders. Five. In just over a decade.

After a long day meeting people and hearing their voices, in the quiet fishing village of Marsaxlokk, where the sea tells stories older than the republic itself, people do not speak of politics with passion anymore. They talk with weariness. The PN’s constant reshuffling isn’t just a statistic – it’s a sign of a party that’s lost its way. Like a boat without fuel, drifting aimlessly, taken by the currents.

From where I stand, this isn’t just about leadership. It’s about identity.

Gonzi’s exit left behind a party that had grown distant from the people who needed it most. His government’s austerity and privatisation may have impressed foreign suits but here, at home, we were struggling. Teachers, nurses, pensioners – ordinary people – felt invisible, squeezed with taxes and tariffs to the last cent.

We queued for fuel before prices went up. We paid the highest utility bills in our history. And Gonzi, with his cold efficiency, never seemed to hear us or even care. He called our suffering a perception.

Then came the puritan moralist who missed the moment. Simon Busuttil, with a loud voice, talked about corruption, about integrity. But he missed their meaning and the moment. People weren’t just angry – they were tired. Tired of being divided into blues and reds. Tired of hearing about scandals while worrying about rent. His campaign felt like a courtroom – sterile, accusatory and disconnected. In 2017, the people didn’t just vote him out. They shouted him out. “Barra! Barra! Barra!” they cried – not just at him but at the politics of hatred he professed with his acolytes.

Adrian Delia followed. A populist, a man of the people – or so we were told. But his time as leader was chaotic. Internal rebellions, bad polling, personal drama. He tried to speak to the grassroots but his message was a mess. Eventually, his own MPs turned on him. A coup, led by the so-called Blue Heroes. Delia wasn’t just ousted – he was erased. And, with him, any hope of a PN that understood the language of the street.

Since 2013, the PN has had five different leaders

After the plot to remove Delia succeeded, Bernard Grech came, the polished performer with no plot, pun intended. Grech, the ‘Greek’, looked the part – calm, articulate and media-savvy. But behind the polish was nothing. A politician who could not even start to inspire his own people. His leadership lacked substance. He failed to address pertinent national issues, in particular during the COVID-19 pandemic and the Ukrainian war, which both brought global instability among countries.

The PN not only failed to present viable solutions for the Maltese community but also proposed measures that ran counter to the public’s needs, especially regarding energy prices. In contrast to the opposition, the government resisted following other countries’ examples of raising prices, prioritising the protection of citizens’ livelihoods.

Grech’s speeches were safe, his policies vague. He could not provide an alternative government. He was not even close to being the shadow of a prime minister. The 2022 electoral defeat was brutal. It gutted the PN but it was predictable. Grech didn’t offend – but he did not rise to the occasion. He was a placeholder in a political party that needed a vision.

And, then, the division bell rang.

Grech resigned. Overwhelmed, isolated, drowning in a party €40 million in debt. His allies had vanished. His strength had faded. He was left alone, gasping for air.

When he announced his au revoir, many believed the Chosen One would come to save the party. She would relinquish her high salary, her international standing and political career for love of the party.

She did not. She raised her right hand, lowered her gaze and said ‘no thanks’, while staying cozy, wrapped in her Brussels perks. I believe this was a blow for all Nationalists. Betrayed by their beloved. Roberta Metsola did not want to burden herself with the PN’s mess.

So, during a boring summer of 2025, two valiant lawyers stepped forward to save the day. For 44 votes, we could have had an Adrian Delia part-deux. But only four out of 10 party members chose the ‘prime minister of Gozo’. The other six either voted for Delia or did not even bother to vote.

Alex Borg won. Young, photogenic, conservative. His rise sparked hope in some, concern in others. His supporters see him as their own Joseph Muscat – a charismatic saviour. But his views suggest a return to the PN’s insular past. And the way he won? Allegations of a rigged election. About 100 party members allegedly voted without being eligible. The shadows of 1977 returned. Same old, same old.

Now, people are asking: Will Borg finally listen to the working class? Or will he be just another chapter in the PN’s long identity crisis? Will he drive PN to victory? But, like his partner’s car, the PN seems to suffer from the same fate – no insurance.

Meanwhile, Malta has changed. The people have changed. The PN has not.

From a leftist perspective, this isn’t just about who’s in charge. It’s about what the party stands for. Labour has embraced growth, social change and development. And the PN? It’s still searching for a purpose. Once, it stood for European integration and modernity. Now, it struggles to stand for anything.

Affordable housing. Climate justice. Workers’ rights. Minority protections. These aren’t just buzzwords – they’re real issues. And the PN’s silence on them and other issues is deafening.

If the party wants to survive, it needs more than a new face. It needs a new heart. It needs to listen. To learn. To be humble. To lead – not with slogans but with solidarity.

Until then, we’ll keep watching the sea, waiting for a tide that finally turns.

And, while we wait, we’re left with nothing but changing faces – and the question of whether the promises behind them were ever real.