Reforming Inquiries by Killing Them Off
The Maltese government’s proposed reform of the magisterial inquiry system has set off alarm bells, and rightly so. The Opposition and civil society groups are accusing the government of rewriting the rules to protect itself. The government, with a straight face, claims it is simply fixing a broken system. As usual, the truth lies somewhere in between—though not in the way either side would have you believe.
Magisterial inquiries have become Malta’s go-to tool for settling political scores. This all started with Joseph Muscat’s inquiry into whether he owned the offshore company Egrant. Muscat, ever the tactician, knew that the Maltese public has practically no faith in the police investigating political corruption. A police probe wouldn’t have cut it—not because the force is incompetent (though, let’s be real, it often is), but because people will always assume it is in someone’s pocket. The inquiry was political theatre at its best. Muscat made sure the Opposition pledged its undying faith in the judiciary, then watched as the inquiry delivered a verdict that conveniently exonerated him.
That move set a precedent. The Opposition, rather than waste its breath demanding police action that would never come, turned to the courts. Inquiries into the Panama Papers, Electrogas, and other corruption scandals followed. Fast-forward a few years, and we now have multiple inquiries exposing systemic rot. Last year alone, two major ones—Vitals and Electrogas—reached their conclusions. The Vitals inquiry alone saw a mix of former politicians, civil servants, and white-collar professionals charged in court. But it also exposed a legal circus: some people were charged without ever being questioned, others had no idea they were even under investigation, and the magistrate overseeing the inquiry mostly copy-pasted a report from experts who now refuse to testify and who have insisted their work was never intended to be the basis for charges and freezing orders to be issued.
Clearly, the system is a mess. The government claims its proposed reforms will fix it, and some of the changes do make sense—especially when it comes to the rights of the accused and the appointment of experts. But let’s not kid ourselves: this is not about justice. This is about power. The key change? Inquiry requests will now have to go through the police first. And we all know what that means.
This government knows it has much more control over the police than it does over the judiciary. If Jason Azzopardi (now free from the burden of being electable) were to be allowed to keep churning out inquiry requests, Labour could well end up with a cabinet full of empty chairs. So, instead of addressing corruption, Robert Abela’s solution is to make it harder to investigate corruption in the first place.
The Opposition’s record on fighting corruption is hardly spotless. The same systemic issues it now criticizes were present when it was in power, and many members of the judiciary appointed during its tenure were political appointees. But past failures don’t make today’s concerns invalid. If anything, they highlight just how long Malta’s institutions have been broken. It’s also worth remembering that former Nationalist MP Franco Debono had long championed the need for reforms to Malta’s justice system, only to be sidelined by his own party for daring to challenge the status quo.
The bigger issue is that judges and magistrates are not trained as investigators. Complex financial crimes require experts who understand forensic accounting and corruption networks, yet Malta lacks capable, independent investigators loyal to the state rather than political interests. Until that changes, corruption cases will always be handled with a mix of improvisation and political influence.
This whole debacle is a prime example of Malta’s unique brand of political opportunism. The government is using genuine problems as a smokescreen to shield itself, while the Opposition acts like corruption only started the day it lost power. The real issue, the one neither side seems eager to touch, is that reforming inquiries without reforming the police is like patching a sinking boat with duct tape. It might look like you’re doing something, but you’re still going to drown.
Rather than dreaming up ways to avoid investigations, Robert Abela should focus on tackling corruption at its source. But that would require actual political courage—something in short supply. Until that day comes, this isn’t reform. It’s just another chapter in Malta’s long-running game of ‘Protect the Boys.’
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