Whose city is it anyway?

Two Vallettas exist today. One gleams in glossy magazines and sponsored features on The Mirror and Daily Express (Who’s footing the bill for those, by the way?). The other lingers in memory, haunted by those who once called these streets home, now captured only in Paul Caruana’s watercolours.

Boutique hotels outnumber locals. Cafés spill over with day-trippers. Benches in Pjazza Reġina creak under tourists, while nearby flats that once pulsed with life now echo only the sound of rolling suitcases. Valletta has become a spectacle. And for those who remain, or who left but still care, it has become a soundscape of grief.

Urban renewal is not inherently destructive. Cities grow, adapt and regenerate. But Valletta’s transformation was never shaped through dialogue. It was a strategy of extraction. Property speculation soared. Tourism spiralled unchecked. Commercial interests replaced meaningful community life. The cost of long-term residence became prohibitive. Even the most rooted families eventually gave in, worn down by a system that rewards cashing out over staying put.

Today, Beltin resonates less with a living community and more with Valletta Football Club supporters, scattered across the islands. This was especially evident in the club’s recent celebrations. As anthropologist Jon Mitchell observed in his 2006 paper ‘Six Trophies and a Funeral’: “Nostalgia for the city offers the departed and the distantly related the chance to experience authenticity; such that, for many, the performance of celebration becomes the real Valletta.” Very few can notice this difference.

Without its people, Valletta becomes a façade

And that’s the point. Valletta’s so-called renewal was never about celebrating community. It was about erasing it and replacing it with wealthier consumers. This isn’t just a cultural loss. It’s a rupture of trust, of shared values, of belonging. In response to one of my 2024 Facebook posts, the site manager for Valletta as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, remarked: “Valletta without Beltin does not exist.”

I would go further. Without its people, Valletta becomes a façade. That is precisely what our government has turned it into: a backdrop for selling the nation and parading bloated economic pride.

The voices of those still living within the walls are rarely heard unless they hold political influence. The rest speak with resignation. They talk of vanishing services, missing neighbours and memories blurred by loud music thumping past 1am. Streets they no longer recognise. Every month brings the loss of more familiar faces through death, displacement, or sale. Outsiders with resources buy families out, convert homes into sterile rentals and call it progress. Those who remain face a cruel dilemma: sell now or be pushed out later.

The city’s social memory is being flattened. Festas are streamed, advertised and aestheticised for outsiders. Few locals still participate. The grocer who once trusted you to “pay later” is now a restaurant. The toy shop is hotel storage. The bookshop is a bar, its doorway vivid with morning vomit. Children no longer play in the streets, not for lack of space but for lack of children.

In early 2024, I launched a public petition calling for the Evans Building, a publicly owned site, to be developed into a community centre. The proposal addressed real needs: services for the elderly, childcare, youth programmes, creative spaces. A space inspired by successful models I’d seen elsewhere in Europe: vibrant, accessible, rooted in care and, guess what, profitable! A place that could encourage young families to plan a future in Valletta, rather than see it as a city to leave behind.

Following a good turnout of signatories, I submitted the petition to parliament. Months passed without a formal response. Ministries deflected. The Valletta local council stays silent. Meanwhile, the tender for a 65-year lease of the Evans Building to become a luxury hotel remains under appeal. There has been no pledge to consult with residents or to articulate a vision that includes them.

The UNESCO site manager claimed that matters related to nuisances affecting residential life fell outside his remit. To his credit, he expressed personal frustration and a willingness to listen. And I take this opportunity to gently notify him that a Valletta activist is still chasing him for a coffee, as I write. He acknowledged that his role lacks enforcement power and rightly emphasised the need for stronger residents’ associations.

This kind of recognition matters. But it also reveals something deeper: goodwill is not enough. Roles of such responsibility should not be confined to desks. The culture ministry and cultural institutions must go beyond programming art events or doling out funding schemes. They need active engagement, a deep understanding of the community’s fatigue  and an urgency for action.

Valletta won’t be saved by courteous frustration. It needs coordination, shared resolve and rising public pressure. We must demand focused and genuine care.

In a pre-election interview published on June 8, 2024, the former Valletta mayor openly supported developing a hotel on the Evans Building site. His primary concern wasn’t the loss of public heritage but parking. He proposed shrinking the nearby primary school to make space for a three-storey underground paid car park, shared with the hotel, the smaller school and an elderly care facility.

The current mayor has yet to side with residents. Today, holding this office seems less about public service and more about personal branding, with events posted to private accounts instead of official platforms, all in an effort to gain more followers. The role has become an audition, a stepping stone to move from one government position to the next, with eyes set on the ultimate prize of ministerial glory.

Some tell me Valletta is already lost. “There’s no going back.” I empathise with that feeling. The change has been swift, brutal and often irreversible. It’s hard to hope when applause goes not to those

defending people’s right to remain but to others chasing likes by organising tombolas and village outings. And, yet, the pain we feel is proof the city still matters. Valletta is not gone. It is wounded. And wounds can heal if we choose to care for them together.

We can’t recover everything that’s been lost. But we must insist on being present. People ask what can be done when power feels distant and profit always wins. The truth is, change never comes by hiding.

Ordinary people may lack capital or clout but we have numbers, memory, and voice. We can comment on posts, share content, come together and contribute ideas. We can attend council and activists’ meetings, demand transparency and back those who stand with residents.

Join us few active citizens in demanding a city plan rooted in life, not leisure. Let’s hold our leaders accountable and insist they see Valletta not as a showpiece but as a place of belonging. Once people stop believing Valletta belongs to them, it becomes that much easier for others to claim it.

The question is not whether Valletta can be saved but whether we still care enough to show up and say: this is not just a postcard. This is our home.

In the end, between spectacle and survival, Valletta will only thrive if all of us Beltin answer: it is ours.

Pawlu Mizzi is an artist and activist from Valletta. He is the founder and director of Belt Valletta Facebook Page and a blogger since 2010.