The latest amendment — unanimously approved by Parliament — introduces fines of up to €235 if the smell of cannabis disturbs neighbours, even if you’re smoking in your own home. But how exactly is this meant to be enforced? Is someone from the authority going to show up and do a sniff test? Who decides what’s offensive and what’s acceptable? It’s regulation by nose — vague, subjective, and ripe for abuse.

On top of that, if you have children in the house and your plant isn’t “under lock and key,” you could be fined up to €500. Cannabis clubs now face tighter restrictions too, banned from opening within 250 metres of schools, youth centres, or sports facilities — a condition that makes it even more difficult to find a location in an already saturated urban landscape.

These changes might sound reasonable on paper, but in practice they reveal a total disconnect between policymakers and the reality of most people’s lives.

And while I don’t think they’re being driven by elitism in the traditional sense — it’s far more likely they’re trying to keep everyone happy — the result is the same: people who have less space, fewer options, and more visibility are the ones most likely to get penalised.

Let’s start with smoking. If you’re not allowed to smoke in public, not at a club, and now not even at home without risking a fine, then where exactly is a person meant to consume their legally obtained weed? For people who live in spacious homes with thick walls, private gardens, or rooftop terraces, these restrictions are meaningless. But for people living in apartments, maisonettes, or shared buildings, the options are far more limited.

And yes, while I don’t want to trivialise the genuine discomfort that some people may feel — especially if they live above or below someone who smokes heavily every day — this is fundamentally a tobacco issue more than a cannabis one. You’re far more likely to be exposed to passive smoke from a neighbour’s addiction to Rothmans Red than from someone’s cannabis. But we don’t criminalise that.

And where does this logic end? There are plenty of odours that people find unpleasant — cooking smells, strong perfumes, certain hobbies or DIY work. Are we going to start issuing fines for the scent of curry or turpentine drifting through a ventilation shaft? Of course not. So why single out cannabis? The message isn’t about public order — it’s about keeping cannabis use invisible.

The same applies to cultivation. You can grow four plants, but they must be kept away from public view and secured under lock and key if there are minors around. That alone is already out of reach for many. But even more absurd is the fact that you’re expected to grow a plant that thrives on sunlight indoors — under artificial lamps. We live on a sun-drenched island, yet the rules encourage people to create high-energy indoor grow systems, drawing more electricity from a grid that can’t even handle a summer barbecue. And for what? To protect people from the sight of a plant that most wouldn’t even recognise if it were growing in a ditch? It’s theatre, not regulation.

And even if you do have the space and privacy, you’re not immune. There’s always the possibility that a nosy neighbour — or worse, one with a grudge — will report you. Legal or not, the atmosphere of risk hasn’t gone away. All we’ve done is shift it from police raids to passive-aggressive bureaucracy.

What we’ve ended up with is a system that says: cannabis is legal, but you’d better not remind anyone. The more space, privacy, and flexibility you have, the safer you are. The more visible your life, the greater the chance you’ll be fined. It’s not a question of morality — it’s logistics.

This is not how reform is supposed to work. Legalising cannabis was never just about letting people get high — it was about ending pointless criminalisation, recognising reality, and building a smarter, fairer model for cannabis use.

So why the retreat?

That’s the strangest part. This was not a controversial reform. There’s been no spike in cannabis-related hospital visits, no surge in addiction, theft, or delinquency. If anything, the public health conversation today is far more concerned with vaping — especially among teens — than with joints. And yet, here we are, introducing new restrictions, new fines, and a growing atmosphere of suspicion around a substance that’s supposed to be legal.

Part of the problem is the total lack of serious engagement. Government doesn’t appear to be consulting any representative voice from the community it legislated for. ReLeaf — which once played a critical role in pushing the reform forward — has drifted into vague ideological territory. Cannabis Associations remain fragmented, unorganised, and under constant threat of overregulation. We need more than slogans — we need a functioning ecosystem. A serious lobby. Practical voices. People who can say: here’s what’s working, here’s what’s not, and here’s how to fix it.

Because legalisation was the beginning, not the end. The real test was always going to be how we manage, regulate, and normalise it. And right now, it doesn’t feel like anyone’s trying.

Instead of building a system that works, we’re slowly dismantling the one we have. The only people who can use the law with confidence are those who don’t really need its protection. The rest are left navigating a maze of contradictions, fines, and half-truths — never quite sure if they’re safe or not.

Malta had the chance to be a pioneer, not just in legalising cannabis, but in doing it sensibly. And the only way to get back on track is for users, associations, and policymakers to stop pretending everything’s fine and start having real, uncomfortable conversations.

Because if the law only works for a few, then it doesn’t work at all.