When Prime Minister Robert Abela declares, "We are proud to be socialists," the statement carries a weight of tradition, identity and political calculation. Yet for many observers, it also lands with a jarring contradiction. How can the leader of a country with one of the EU's most business-friendly economies - a nation that actively promotes private enterprise and foreign investment - claim with pride the title of "socialist"? The answer lies in understanding not just the shifting definition of socialism itself, but also the layered dynamics of modern politics, particularly within Malta's Labour Party.
Malta is not socialist in the traditional economic sense: it does not advocate State ownership or the abolition of capitalism. The economy is driven by sectors like finance, tourism, gaming and tech - all inherently capitalist in structure and function. Foreign investment is not just welcomed; it's actively courted.
Yet, at the same time, Malta also offers many of the social benefits associated with European social democracies. The State provides free healthcare, universal education, and various welfare supports. It enforces labour protections and has historically aligned itself with working-class interests. It is this dual character - capitalist in structure, yet socially supportive in orientation - that makes Abela's rhetoric at once understandable and problematic.
On the surface, Prime Minister Abela's embrace of socialism appears contradictory. But this depends entirely on how one defines socialism - and what purpose such statements serve in contemporary politics. For one thing, Abela's position on the Manoel Island project is not socialist at all. It's the complete opposite.
When Abela says that he and his party are proud to be socialists, he is not suggesting a return to centrally-planned economies or to State ownership of the means of production. Rather, he is drawing on the heritage of the Labour Party, which has long seen itself as the political voice of workers and the socially marginalised. This tradition stretches back to the party's founding in the early 20th century and reached its most radical expression under the leadership of Dom Mintoff, who in the 1970s and 1980s pursued policies that genuinely challenged capitalist norms - including nationalisations, a shift away from the West and an assertive welfare state.
But times have changed. In the decades since, like much of Europe, Malta has undergone economic liberalisation. The PL itself has become more centrist, particularly under the leadership of Joseph Muscat and now Robert Abela. The rhetoric of socialism has remained, but the policies have shifted. Today, the PL governs as a pragmatic manager of capitalism, not as its challenger.
This is where the contradiction becomes most visible - and most revealing. On the one hand, the party claims the legacy of socialist ideals: solidarity, social justice, equality. On the other, it oversees an economy that is structured around the profit motive, market logic and competition. Government policy encourages wealth creation through private enterprise and global trade, while attempting to soften capitalism's rougher edges through social spending and regulation. It is a formula familiar across much of Europe: a social democracy within a capitalist world.
But this duality raises questions of authenticity and coherence. Is it possible to call oneself a socialist while endorsing and enabling the mechanisms of capitalism? Or is this simply a rhetorical device, a gesture to tradition that no longer holds real ideological weight?
In many ways, the contradiction is precisely the point. Modern politics thrives on such ambiguity. Leaders are expected to hold together coalitions that include both idealistic progressives and business-friendly moderates. The language of socialism, for Abela, serves as a bridge - a way of affirming loyalty to the Labour Party's working-class base while not alienating economic stakeholders or international investors. It reassures long-time supporters that the party hasn't abandoned its soul, even as its policies reflect a shift toward market pragmatism.
It would be naive, however, to ignore the political utility of such statements. Declaring "we are proud to be socialists" is not just a philosophical reflection - it is political branding, especially effective in a polarised landscape where parties must distinguish themselves not just by policy, but by identity.
It also serves as a way to consolidate internal unity. The PL, like many long-standing political institutions, contains factions - ranging from progressives to pragmatists. A statement like Abela's allows different wings of the party to hear what they want: traditionalists see a reaffirmation of values, while moderates see a harmless rhetorical flourish. Together, they all identify with the "socialist" brand, and this unites them.
For Abela, this kind of positioning helps solidify his legitimacy within the party while maintaining a broad electoral appeal.
This kind of ideological balancing act is not unique to Malta. Across the Western world, parties that once emerged from labour movements and socialist traditions have evolved into centrist forces. The British Labour Party, Germany's SPD and France's Socialist Party have all moved away from classical socialism and toward managing market economies with a social conscience. Their leaders still invoke the language of equality and solidarity, but they no longer seek to dismantle capitalism - only to regulate it.
In this context, Abela's proud claim to socialism can be seen as part of a broader pattern: the transformation of socialism from a radical economic doctrine into a set of moral values. Today, it often means little more than a belief in public services, fair wages, and a commitment to reducing inequality - all worthy goals, but ones that can be (and often are) pursued within capitalist systems.
Yet, the contradiction remains. While socialism traditionally called for a fundamental restructuring of society and the economy, what we see in Malta is more a case of softening capitalism than replacing it. Abela's government does not seek to nationalise major industries, challenge private ownership, or radically redistribute wealth. It governs as a technocratic administration that champions both economic growth and social investment.
This raises an uncomfortable question: if socialism no longer entails structural economic change, then what distinguishes it from progressive capitalism? Is "socialism" simply a brand - a label with historical resonance, useful for political messaging but devoid of transformative ambition?
For many, especially those grounded in classical socialist theory, this dilution is troubling. It suggests a loss of ideological clarity, a willingness to trade principle for electability. For others, it reflects political maturity - a recognition that rigid economic doctrines cannot survive in a globalised, interconnected world where pragmatism is essential to governing effectively.
In the end, the contradiction is undeniable - and far from being resolved, it remains suspended between rhetoric and reality. Abela's assertion that his party is proudly socialist stands in stark contrast to the economic policies his government champions. The Malta of today is not building socialism; it is refining capitalism. The Labour Party is not challenging the market system; it is facilitating it - promoting investment, deregulation, and economic growth within a firmly capitalist framework.
Abela's invocation of socialism appears less a vision for the future and more a symbol of continuity - a calculated reassurance to a loyal base that the party still stands for the values it once embodied. But beneath the surface, the substance has shifted. The mechanisms of State-led transformation, once central to socialist politics, are now largely absent. What remains is the language: a nostalgic echo of solidarity, useful for political branding, but increasingly hollow in practice.
Rather than redefining socialism, this rhetoric may be eroding it - reducing a once-radical idea to a set of vague moral claims, stripped of their structural implications. If socialism can mean managing capitalism more efficiently or distributing its gains more generously, then it ceases to offer a true alternative. And if the label is deployed primarily to retain electoral loyalty or obscure ideological drift, it becomes not a compass, but a mask.
The contradiction, then, is not just "productive" - it is central to how politics functions today. But whether it can be sustained indefinitely is another matter. As economic and social inequalities grow, and as political trust erodes, voters may begin to ask harder questions. They may demand more than symbolic nods to past struggles. They may look beyond the words - and ask whether the policies they see are truly socialist, or merely marketed as such.
For now, Abela's narrative holds - but only just. And the more it is stretched between electoral convenience and ideological substance, the more fragile it becomes.