The Sound of Silence
V.I.I
THE SOUND OF SILENCE
It took a while for me to get it. Took a while for me to finally understand that being strongly opinionated is not enough. And when I realised that, I was done. I was done being a wallflower. I was done staying on the side-lines. And for the first time in my life, I stood my ground.
I gotta admit that in my teenage years I was never an avid follower of current events. Back then I was busy doing the usual teen stuff – you know, like trying to figure out the cheapest way to get drunk or how to roll a cigarette. Cause let’s face it, that’s what teens should be concerned with – not trying to figure out how they’re being screwed by those who are supposedly looking out for them. I couldn’t give less of a crap about politics or philanthropism.
Then I started studying philosophy and things started to get interesting. I’d compare the ‘how it should be’ to the ‘how it actually is’ and wonder how the hell we had gotten to such a state. The social contract – once a tool for us to live in harmony – was the same thing that was ruining our lives right now. Anarchy sounded like a dream. Wouldn’t it be something much closer to a utopia if all of us were to lead happy, peaceful lives simply because we wanted to or because it was in our nature, and not because we had a set of laws enforcing such behaviours?
Of course, this was the innocently naïve Marius that had just awakened and was still oh so excited about life and its many mysteries who thought so. The very same Marius who always gave the benefit of the doubt, the one who always thought the best of people.
Then things started to shift. It was around the time I got back from Colombia a few years back that the political climate here in Malta started going haywire. Years’ worth of political unrest finally seemed to have started to climax. It was like the lid finally came off a steaming pot.
At the time, Malta was embroiled in deep political corruption that touched the highest levels of government. Investigations revealed a network of kickbacks, money laundering, and offshore accounts linking ministers, government officials, and business elites, often at the expense of our natural and economical resources. At the forefront of these investigations was none other than Daphne Caruana Galizia – a Maltese investigative journalist, writer and anti-corruption activist known for her fearless reporting on political corruption, organised crime, money laundering and state capture in Malta. She played a central role in exposing the Panama Papers links of several Maltese officials – including ministers, the chief of staff and the Prime Minister’s wife. Her work made her one of the most influential and controversial voices in the country.
Galizia’s blog, Running Commentary, was Malta’s most-read and most controversial independent news platform. Launched in 2008, it evolved into a fearless, constantly updated hub for political investigations, leaked documents and sharp criticism of corruption, often breaking stories that traditional media avoided. Its readership spanned ordinary citizens to diplomats, and many major Malta scandals – including the Panama Papers revelations – first surfaced there.
On the 16th of October 2017, Daphne Caruana Galizia was murdered in cold blood. Her final post, “There are crooks everywhere you look now. The situation is desperate.” was published minutes before her assassination, and to this day remains a stark reminder of the blog’s impact and the danger of speaking truth to power. Caruana Galizia’s relentless reporting on these scandals, including the Prime Minister’s inner circle, threatened powerful interests who had much to lose if accountability took hold. Her fearless exposure of entrenched corruption and organised crime made her a target, and on that day, she was killed by a car bomb in a politically motivated assassination intended to silence her and intimidate other journalists.
Those supporting the government denied the allegations and the black-on-white proof Galizia managed to get her hands on. Those backing the opposition were staunch supporters of her work and now felt like they had an ace up their sleeve. The entire country, divided. When news of her assassination broke out, some mourned and some celebrated. it was the end and the beginning of a new political era in Malta.
I still remember how unreal it all felt. I was sitting in the lecture hall when the news broke out. Everyone was in pure disbelief. The news had simply deadened me.
My drive back home is still, to this day, a memory I try to repress to the best of my faculties. People car-cading, brandishing the flag of the political party in power, singing to loud music and honking, cheering and celebrating the murder of one of their most valiant adversaries. I couldn’t stop sobbing. I felt nauseous. I wanted out of this country. I wanted out of this world. “How can this be happening?” I asked myself over and over, tears streaming down my face. People celebrating someone’s murder.
I suddenly felt like there was no hope remaining for our country. Malta – land of the sun, always bright and shiny with its many pristine beaches and rich history, its people welcoming and kind unlike any other. Malta – the island that withstood the Phoenicians, Romans, Arabs, Normans, the Knights of St John, the French and the British, a speck of land that survived against all outside forces, only to be dragged down today by its very own natives.
Our bright and sunny exterior was nothing but a façade. Hiding beneath its surface was a country founded on corruption, greed and deceit. As Ryan Murdock aptly puts it in his book title about this tragedy: A Sunny Place for Shady People. Those trying to expose its real nature were only a few, and Galizia was certainly one of them. Her murder felt like the final nail in the coffin. There was no hope left.
Her death was a direct blow to democracy, to free speech, to safety. Having always been a lazy follower of politics at best, I wouldn’t spend too much time worrying about current events before this incident. But after that? It became practically impossible for me not to keep up with the news.
It wasn’t just about being an adult and an active citizen anymore, it was a matter of safeguarding my very own basic rights. And so I read and I carried out my own research and only then did I form my own unbiased and informed opinion. I still believed in the benefit of the doubt thing, but scandal after scandal, the benefit of the doubt card started looking flimsier by the second. That said, I was still no investigative journalist myself, so I kept most of it to myself.
The words ‘corruption’, ‘murder’ and ‘impunity’ were dominating the headlines of every news outlet. People still took sides. Those aware of the situation, those unaware. Those who spoke out, those who remained passive. Those who cared, those who didn’t. And I, for one, was always one of the passive ones. I mean yeah, sure, I had my own informed opinion and this used to be my go-to topic during dates (I know right? I’m so fun!), but for years on end I had kept it all in. All the unrest, anger, fear and inner turmoil. I kept it all in.
I thought letting it all out would be futile, ineffectual, pointless. People would just think I had a Messiah complex, that I was suffering from delusions of grandeur, that I was speaking from a high horse, that it was just attention-seeking behaviour. I had been paralysed – by fear, by doubt, by paranoia. I wasn’t unaware – I wasn’t chained to the rhythm, another mindless robot, another blithering sheep. I had been aware of all the crap going on right under our nose. I knew it, but I said nothing. I was no different than the rest of them. Unknowingly, I had picked a side – and that was indifference. And speaking from experience, indifference says a lot. Silence is deafening.
But there comes a point when you just have to say screw it. When enough is enough. When you’d rather risk your social standing and possibly more by fighting for what’s right instead of settling and accepting all the crap that’s been handed to you and everybody else. To have stood idly by at that point meant to be an accomplice. And so I stood up – futility, ineffectuality and pointlessness be damned.
Now mind you, by ‘fighting’ I don’t mean to make it sound like I dropped everything and made the fight for justice my one true cause. At first it started off with wordy, kinda preachy posts on social media. I denounced the two-party system. The fact that people venerate politicians. The fact that people are born and raised to have the same opinion as their parents. The fact that if you snap out of years’ worth of brainwashing and try to be unbiased and use your own head, you’re automatically a weathervane pointing to the direction of the wind that best suits your needs. You’re a traitor, ignorant and weak if you question your own roots!
But the way I see it? If pointing out a political party’s rights and wrongs makes me a weathervane then fine, so be it – I’m a weathervane and a proud one at that. And I’d much rather be a weathervane than a blind sheep who follows and applauds someone even in the face of incontrovertible evidence of their wrongdoings. I agree that loyalty is a virtuous quality, but being loyal to someone does not mean justifying all their actions regardless, and the misplaced, blind loyalty people seem to have towards crooks in power is not only a disservice to themselves, but also to their country.
I’d write and write and then write some more. It proved to be very cathartic to me, the simple act of writing and putting it out there. I received backlash from friends and family alike, I probably made some enemies along the way too, but hey, no skin off my back. Maybe it had no effect on the grand scheme of things, but at least I wasn’t being passive any longer.
Then the protests started. I still remember the first one I went to. At first I felt a bit ridiculous. “Look at us, civilised and sophisticated human beings that we are, shouting and screaming angrily in the middle of the road!”. Belting as loud as I can to Gigi d’Agostino in the middle of a party had never been a problem, but raising my voice to protect my rights and fight for justice was suddenly an issue. Purely illogical! Then I’d think back on all the injustices that had been carried out, all the wrongdoings and the evils, the pain and misery. I’d look at my fellow protesters and I’d feel reignited. I’d remember why I stood there. And with tears in my eyes and fire in my guts, I’d make my voice heard. For the first time in my life I stood my ground, I fought for my cause.
Public outrage exploded as thousands took to the streets demanding justice, transparency and an end to impunity. International pressure mounted, with the EU, the Council of Europe and global press-freedom organisations insisting on an independent investigation. Over time, evidence revealed links between the hitmen, middlemen and powerful business and political figures, exposing how deeply corruption had seeped into state institutions. The scandal forced multiple resignations, including the Prime Minister’s chief of staff, ministers, and eventually Prime Minister Joseph Muscat himself in early 2020 – soon after he was named “Person of the Year in Organized Crime and Corruption” by the Organized Crime and Corruption Reporting Project (OCCRP).
Galizia’s family fought relentlessly and her three sons became leading voices in the fight for justice after her assassination. They founded the Daphne Caruana Galizia Foundation, continued her anti-corruption work, and pushed for international oversight, arguing that Malta’s institutions were too compromised to investigate her murder fairly. Despite intimidation and smear campaigns, they’ve remained outspoken activists, addressing the EU, the Council of Europe and global media while demanding full accountability for everyone involved in her killing and wider reforms to protect journalists and strengthen democracy in Malta.
Since Daphne Caruana Galizia’s murder, regular vigils and memorials have become a defining part of Malta’s civil society movement, with activists gathering every month at the Great Siege Monument in Valletta to place candles and flowers – a site repeatedly cleared by authorities but rebuilt each time in defiance. The fight goes on.
Stay wild,
Marius
Post-Scriptum
Years down the line, the fight for justice is still alive: multiple people have now been convicted – including those who planted the car bomb – while others charged remain on trial or out on bail.
The independent public inquiry of 2021 concluded that the State itself failed to protect her and helped create the “culture of impunity” that allowed her killing. Her family and civil-society groups continue to push for full accountability and systemic reforms – but many of the public inquiry’s recommendations remain unimplemented, and watchdogs warn that institutional inertia and delays still threaten real justice and press freedom.
To this day, the people who are really responsible for her death are still at large. The rich have become richer and they are living their best lives – sporting the most expensive jewellery and outfits, travelling all over the world on yachts and private jets, and having a good night’s rest as if nothing has ever happened.
To this day, I am still filled with anger and rage whenever I think about this – and that’s every single day. Much like what we used to scream during those protests: Daphne was right. I swear we won’t stop until we get justice for Daphne. Only then can can we make up for everything’s she’s done for us. Only then can she finally rest in peace.