Decriminalise, except for turtle eggs

There is something almost charming about the phrase “decriminalising abortion”. It sounds gentle, reasonable, almost harmless, except that it is lethal.

And so, in Malta, the proposal is presented with reassuring calm: This is not about promoting abortion. Not about shifting moral boundaries. Not about redefining anything at all. Just a small legal adjustment; a bit of dusting in the Criminal Code.

Nothing to see here. Except, that there is.

Take the United Kingdom—that reassuring beacon of ‘balanced’ abortion law. For years, it held up its 24-week limit as a model. Until quietly, almost politely, it all changed.

Only recently, the law was adjusted so that a woman who ends her own pregnancy is no longer subject to criminal penalties. At any stage. Yes, even when the baby is nine months old, and even hours before birth.

Now, at this point, someone will inevitably clear their throat and say: “Ah, but the 24-week limit still exists.”

And this is true, in the same way that a speed limit exists on a road where no one is ever fined for speeding. The rule remains. The consequence disappears.

This is the part of the conversation that tends to be whispered, if mentioned at all.

Decriminalisation is not a neutral act. It is not a linguistic upgrade or a compassionate rebranding. It is the removal of the law’s ability to say that human life is valuable and deserves protection.  And when the law is powerless to protect human life in the womb, limits begin to soften, blur, disappear. Just like the baby in the mother’s womb; whose life is ended when an abortion is performed.

Which brings us, inevitably, to the uncomfortable question.

This is not about condemning women, many of whom act under fear, pressure, or deep distress. If the deliberate ending of a human life is truly a wrong — not a lifestyle choice, not a regrettable necessity, but a wrong — then what exactly is the law doing when it decides it will no longer respond to it? Shrugging? Looking away? Offering its deepest sympathies?

‘What is wrong is wrong’ — an unfashionable phrase, perhaps, but a stubborn one. Because if something is genuinely wrong, the law cannot indefinitely pretend otherwise without, at some point, losing its own moral grammar.

And yet this is precisely the direction in which “decriminalisation” nudges us. Gently. Kindly. Almost imperceptibly. And finally, we discover that the limits remain only as decorative features, while reality has quietly moved on without them.

And here, in Malta, we add our own peculiar twist.

Recently, a man was fined thousands of euros for disturbing turtle eggs because he used flares. The eggs were at risk. The law stepped in, firmly, unapologetically, and said: This must not be done.

Quite right too. We protect what is small. What is vulnerable. What cannot speak for itself. Unless, apparently, it is human.

Because now we are invited, ever so gently, to consider removing legal protection from unborn children altogether. And so, we arrive at a rather exquisite paradox.

Disturb a turtle egg, and the full moral clarity of the law descends upon you. But if you end a human life before birth, the law, newly enlightened, will step aside, be compassionate, and be curiously absent.

Maltese politicians need to understand this score.

What kind of progress would that be that requires us to value turtle eggs more consistently than babies in the womb?

Real care, real progress, compels us to stand with the woman in her distress, support her before, during, and after; while at the same time, help her refuse to abandon the child she carries.

Because a society that protects the turtle egg, should at the very least equally protect the vulnerable, tiny human being, that is the child in the womb.