Labour, Loyalty, and the Great Passport Car Boot Sale

So, Robert Abela took the stage on Workers’ Day, looking like a man who’d just been told someone scratched his new jet ski. And what did he say? That the Opposition is celebrating your suffering. Yes. According to him, they’re “rubbing their hands in glee” over the European court’s ruling that Malta’s passport scheme was, well, illegal.

Now, let’s just take a moment here. Because when someone stands in front of a crowd and accuses others of sowing hatred, while visibly fuming like a diesel engine running on vinegar and regret, you’ve got to ask: why is he always so angry? I’ve seen calmer expressions on wasps.

Abela accuses the Opposition of having monstrous egos and caring only about their careers—which is a bit rich coming from a man who treats the truth the same way I treat tofu: with outright disdain.

Let’s get one thing straight. The only genuinely nefarious activity in this whole sorry tale is Labour flogging Maltese passports like knock-off fake handbags at a Sunday market. Not just Maltese ones, either—European Union citizenship. It’s not just immoral. It’s like selling the keys to your neighbours’ houses and then acting shocked when they get robbed.

The EU, quite understandably, took one look at this operation and said, “Nope.” The European Court called it what it was: the commercialisation of citizenship. Basically, turning one of the most sacred rights in modern Europe into a scratchcard.

And who were the lucky winners of this grand national insult? People who rented an empty flat and handed a cheque to Michelle Muscat’s charity. That was considered a “genuine link” to Malta. I’ve got socks with a stronger connection to this island.

We all know what happened. Joseph Muscat—yes, that Joseph Muscat—saw an opportunity for a few easy million and grabbed it like a kid in a sweet shop. Malta, a proud country with real talent and potential, suddenly became known as Europe’s back-alley passport peddler.

Of course, the government insists we all benefitted. Even Puttinu Cares got some crumbs. So according to Abela, that means we can ignore the small matter of defrauding the European Union. By that logic, the Mafia is actually doing a public service because it feeds poor Italians. Brilliant.

But here’s where it gets downright disturbing. These weren’t just rich blokes who wanted some sunshine. These were sanctioned Russians, arms dealers, and politically exposed individuals who shouldn’t have been allowed within 100 miles of an EU visa sticker, let alone handed one on a silver platter with a side of ġbejniet.

Take Albert Avdolyan, a Russian businessman with links to a weapons conglomerate. Got a Maltese passport. Only lived here for two weeks. But somehow met the twelve-month residency requirement “in principle.” That’s like me saying I’ve driven the Nürburgring because I watched a YouTube video of it.

Or Evgeniya Bernova, accused of buying military-grade gear for Russia from a Maltese company. Now that’s the sort of person you really want living next to your nan in Żurrieq.

And while all this was going on, what was our dear Prime Minister doing? Nothing. When the Financial Times came knocking with questions, Abela didn’t even answer the door. You can’t call yourself a patriot when you ghost the international press like a dodgy Tinder date.

Then he had the gall—the full brass-plated gall—to say that those criticising the scheme were “campaigning against our country”. Really? Because I’d argue that defending our country means not turning it into a global safe haven for crooks with deep pockets and shallow morals.

Meanwhile, Joseph Muscat, fresh from denying allegations about Daphne Caruana Galizia’s murder and pleading to pay his debts in instalments like a bloke behind on his gym membership, also popped up to defend the scheme. The same man behind Vitals, Electrogas, and Mozura now wants us to believe he’s Malta’s moral compass.

That’s like asking Harold Shipman to babysit.

Muscat’s successor, Abela, is cut from the same cloth. If you’re not bothered that your mate Chris Borg is driving around with money falling out of his socks, or that people are claiming €80,000 in overtime while already earning a fortune—then I doubt you’ll blink twice before selling a passport to someone on an international sanctions list.

And that’s the real issue here. It’s not about legal loopholes or economic gains. It’s about morality. On one side, you’ve got the “Let’s sell our soul for a few billion” brigade. On the other, people who believe—shock horror—that maybe we shouldn’t betray our allies and jeopardise the EU for a few rich criminals.

And here’s the punchline. All this damage—the headlines, the legal rulings, the reputational carnage—wasn’t caused by the Opposition. It was caused by the very people now accusing everyone else of sabotage.

If anyone’s been campaigning against Malta, it’s the people who turned the country into an international joke. A punchline with a passport printer.

So yes, Mr Abela. The Opposition isn’t laughing. The rest of Europe, however, might be—at us.