‘Mercy for the masters, health for the workers'

Parliament is currently debating a constitutional amendment that would introduce a new National Anthem Day on 27 December.

This is largely a symbolic measure with no tangible impact on daily life.

One also suspects that this celebration of national identity is simply a gesture to conjure a sense of pride in the face of social change triggered by secularisation and the growing number of “foreigners.”

If this is the case, it is nothing but a shortcut—a lip service to outdated traditions rather than a serious discussion on national symbols and their relevance.

Let’s be honest: the Maltese national anthem sucks big time. I would never rally behind lyrics praying to God to give “mercy to the capitalists” (ħniena lis-sid) and “health to the workers” (saħħa lill-ħaddiem). Apart from excluding anyone who does not believe in God, the hymn’s appeal to mercy fundamentally contradicts the very idea of social justice.

A just society is built on rights, fairness, and equality—not on the benevolence of “rulers” or “masters.” Yet the anthem frames justice as something dispensed from above, reinforcing a colonial, master–servant worldview that unfortunately persists in the relationship between the citizen and the state.  In this sense the national anthem remains relevant for the wrong reasons, that of ritualistically reinforcing the dominance of masters, whether they are politicians, big business or ‘sinjuri zghar’ exploiting the foreigner.

Musically, it is hardly inspiring. There are far more compelling pieces in our repertoire, from Gensna to Theodorakis’ Innu tal-Ħelsien and Charles Camilleri’s instrumental fusion of Mediterranean sounds. Sure, some of these come with their own problems: lyrics that slip into simplistic anti-foreigner rhetoric or postcolonial bravado. Understandable in the context of self-serving and oppressive British colonialism, yes, but too crude to prevent appropriation into xenophobia or exceptionalism.

Overall, the forced debate in Parliament exposes a wider void. Malta has never seriously confronted its colonial past or the narratives it inherited. We oscillate between nostalgia and shallow postcolonial swagger without developing a civic identity that speaks to a secular, plural, modern, and independent country.

This is why National Anthem Day feels so misplaced—especially from a government that calls itself progressive. If anything deserves celebration, it is the legacy of Mikiel Anton Vassalli or Manwel Dimech, not a prayer-like hymn rooted in a mindset that reduces justice to mercy.

Dun Karm’s real literary masterpiece is Il-Jien u Lilhinn Minni, not the mediocre anthem we insist on elevating.

This is not to deny the anthem’s emotional resonance for many. After all, it is part of history, including the episode in 1945 when supporters of the national team stood up to sing it after the British anthem was played in a match berween Malta and Yugoslavia.

Nor is it unique in feeling outdated: numerous national anthems, especially those written in the 19th and early 20th centuries, reflect eras of militaristic nationalism, monarchy, or religious deference that no longer resonate with modern, secular, and cosmopolitan societies.

The real issue is whether Malta wishes to maintain a fossilised, ritualistic expression of nationhood—repeated daily in schools and institutional ceremonies—when its content neither matches the values we claim to uphold.

We can ignore this mismatch to avoid introspection, accepting what is effectively a living fossil. Or we can confront it openly, embracing change not out of disrespect for tradition but in the spirit of republican renewal, seeking symbols that genuinely reflect who we are and who we aspire to be.