Forty years ago this week, thousands of students returned to schools following the turbulent church schools’ saga. MARIO XUEREB recalls one of the most fraught political chapters from the 1980s.

The Times of Malta editorial published on September 1, 1984, carried a sense of foreboding in light of the teachers’ dispute. It spoke of “a battle to assure freedom, now and in the future”.

Four weeks later, dockyard workers, fired up after a speech by Karmenu Mifsud Bonnici, marched towards Valletta. Some of the workers detoured towards the Curia in a burst of anger, broke into the historic palazzo in Floriana, and ransacked the building.

The 1984 Church schools’ saga and teachers’ strike stand as one of the tensest chapters in Malta’s educational history. It also inadvertently politicised a generation of young people.

Two sides of the same coin played out in the late summer and early autumn that year.

The first involved the right of parents to invest in the private education of their children and for the Church to charge a fee to provide the service. 

The second involved the Malta Union of Teachers’ (MUT) request for an improvement in teachers’ salaries and evolved into the right of workers to strike.

‘Jew b’xejn jew xejn’

Led by Dom Mintoff, the government had proposed making all schools free of charge, an idea that, in principle, even the Church was open to. But the devil was in the detail.

Mintoff’s vision of free education was championed by his appointed successor, education minister Karmenu Mifsud Bonnici, whose slogan “jew b’xejn jew xejn” (either free or nothing at all), became a battle cry.

While the government was prepared to allow the Church to continue running the schools, even offering to cover additional costs, it insisted on removing any form of discrimination in the admissions process.

This meant taking the selection of students out of the Church’s hands and allowing civil authorities to have a say. The Church feared such a system could undermine its long-standing role and influence in education.

The situation quickly escalated when the government refused to grant licences to eight Church schools, effectively blocking them from opening.

The remaining licensed Church schools would continue preparing for the new scholastic year, but tensions were simmering. 

Archbishop Joseph Mercieca was caught in a difficult position, torn between supporters and the growing pressure from the government.

The standoff reached a boiling point when the Church said it would open the unlicensed schools for the new scholastic season in defiance of the government’s orders.

As rumours of potential unrest spread, the archbishop reversed his decision at the last moment, keeping the eight unlicensed schools closed to avoid direct confrontation with the government.

It was spontaneous, and the people were charged with emotion

Meanwhile, the unthinkable happened as protesters stormed the Curia building.

“I was there,” admits Sammy Meilaq, a dockyard worker and confidante of Mintoff and Mifsud Bonnici. 

“But I swear it wasn’t planned. Karmenu didn’t even know about it. It was spontaneous, and the people were charged with emotion. I went along because I felt a responsibility to be there,” he tells Times of Malta.

He insists that only “a small group, around 10 per cent, broke off from the rest and went to the Curia, where they started throwing stones. Some even destroyed statues. While I don’t agree with destroying cultural artefacts and religious icons, at the time I understood their anger”.

Meilaq argues that the dockyard workers were angry at the Church which, in their view – with the Nationalist Party’s support – threatened civil disobedience.

Forty years on, he believes the government was on the right side of history.

“In my view, Mintoff and Karmenu were the true Christians, while the Church was anti-Christian in its approach. Christian behaviour shouldn’t be about commercialising education. Mintoff didn’t want to take over the Church schools; he wanted them to be open to everyone, free of charge,” he insists.

The situation remained serious and the sight of demonstrators attacking the Curia rattled Malta.

'Police looked the other way'

Vanni Bonello, then a human rights lawyer, said the thugs caused extensive damage, and were allowed to act with complete impunity, as the police looked the other way.

“Not a single lawbreaker was arrested or charged,” Bonello tells Times of Malta. 

That night, Mintoff publicly condemned the violence and met with the archbishop in a long private meeting.

Mercieca, deeply affected by the incident, informed Mintoff that he would keep the Church schools closed, resulting in over 17,000 students, at all levels, staying home.

The situation radically deteriorated.

A students’ parents peaceful protest was dispersed by police who used choking gas secretly imported from North Korea. A fused bomb was placed at night on the threshold of the archbishop’s residence.

Not a single lawbreaker was arrested or charged

Bonello represented the Church and challenged the government in court.

The government appealed a preliminary ruling by Judge Carmelo Scicluna and challenged every judge until only the last three were left to man the Court of Appeal. 

The government once more challenged two of them, hoping to paralyse the redress proceedings meant to limit its justice-by-mob-violence codes.

Bonello hails the role played by the last three judges – Wallace Gulia, Stephen Borg Cardona (a former Labour election candidate) and Joseph David Camilleri – who parried with a heroic and historical judgment: “When there are only three judges left, the doctrine of necessity prevails, and the last available judges have to administer justice even when recused”.

Mintoff urged for calm, but the archbishop’s mind was made up. He faced mounting criticism from his own supporters, many of whom struggled to understand why he had chosen this path.

The tension on the ground was palpable.

Speaking to Times of Malta in 2006, Bro Martin Borg, then headmaster of De La Salle College recalled: “They were even talking about using forceful means if the circumstances became extreme. It’s no joke when you can’t come into your own school or home because senior police officers and a number of thugs are stopping you. But that’s what we were up against.”

As Church schools remained closed, a system was put in place to enable students to attend lessons in makeshift classes at teachers’ homes. Parents feared getting caught flouting rules as teachers realised the massive impact it would have on students’ education.

“Rather than enjoying our classrooms and structured lessons, I recall attending lessons in a teacher’s kitchen in Kappara. I was instructed not to speak to anyone on the way there,” said Herman Grech, then a student at De La Salle College, preparing for his O-Levels.

For Grech, now Times of Malta’s editor, the system was chaotic but necessary.

“It went on for weeks – disruptive, and disorienting – and I seriously doubt how much educational input we received. But there was no choice,” he says.

The teachers’ strike

As students continued getting their education in makeshift classes, government volunteers doubled up as teachers in state schools as professional teachers went out on strike while others were locked out.

This was the result of an issue which was unconnected to the Church schools’ saga.

MUT had been requesting a salary raise since the early 1980s, and in June 1984, with no end in sight to negotiations, decided to step up the pressure.

A teachers’ rally was called by MUT to decide upon a set of directives was held on September 19. 

The following morning, Mifsud Bonnici took to the radio during a scheduled school broadcast to criticise the MUT and ordered parents to approach teachers to find out who would be following the union’s directives. 

Incidents were reported and some teachers including MUT officials were locked out.

The union convened another rally and ordered a two-day strike for September 24-25. 

The response was overwhelming with up to 84 per cent obeying the strike action. The government’s unwillingness to take action on the teachers’ grievances led MUT to extend the strike action by another three days.

On the night of September 25, thugs broke into the MUT’s offices in Valletta and ransacked them. The attack happened soon after Mifsud Bonnici had delivered a highly charged speech against those on strike.

No arrests were ever made.

Meanwhile, teachers were replaced by volunteers who were drafted in by the government in an attempt to set parents’ minds at rest that their children’s education was being take care of.

Historian George Cassar records that on October 3, MUT officials were told they had chosen the wrong timing for their actions as the government were engaged in the schools’ dispute with the Church. 

The CMTU came to the rescue of MUT and its members, ordering a one-day strike in favour of the locked-out teachers and collecting a levy to alleviate their financial burden. 

The government asked MUT to stop the directives given to private school teachers but its president, Alfred Buhagiar, held out.

On November 5, a bomb planted on the doorstep of Buhagiar’s family business in Valletta caused considerable damage. 

As things came to a head, Mintoff proposed to withdraw the lockout and reinstate the teachers, provided the MUT lifted its directives to all members. Mintoff insisted that negotiations would only resume once the union lifted its directives to private school teachers.

At first, Buhagiar and MUT stood firm and refused to be blackmailed but, at the eleventh hour, they decided to budge. A mediator informed them of a number of assurances granted by the government, including appeals for nationwide calm and that no teachers would be transferred. 

What resolution?

MUT called off its industrial action on November 10 and the teachers returned to school after a seven-week strike only to find out that striking teachers had been transferred to new schools en-masse.

On the reopening of schools, some incidents were reported – at Paola, Fgura, Żabbar, Vittoriosa, and Senglea – but in general, the transfer of responsibility from volunteers to returning teachers was smooth.

On November 11, Archbishop Mercieca presented a new proposal to the Maltese government on education, seeking a way forward that would satisfy both parties.

He suggested that all Church schools reopen free of charge, with the Church shouldering the costs for an agreed period while negotiations continue to make education permanently free.

Mintoff was intrigued by this unexpected proposal. Within days, an initial agreement was reached.

By mid-November, Church schools had reopened, and calm returned to Malta.

Herman Grech recalls his return to school in November 1984, after several weeks in limbo.

“By the time I met school friends, it was clear that the saga had inadvertently forced an entire generation of Maltese students into the political arena, imbuing us with a fiery determination to fight for our right to a proper education. I recall we even held a few impromptu protests on the school grounds as the negotiations dragged on. I think some of our educators silently approved our actions, though it was disruptive to the school agenda.

“Even though we were young, for us this wasn’t just a political squabble – it was a direct attack on our future, our very right to learn and grow,” Grech says.