The government talks about green spaces with the confidence of an administration that believes its rhetoric will stand unchallenged. Week after week, Prime Minister Robert Abela paints a picture of a country marching toward a greener future. Fort Campbell becomes an open space. Manoel Island promises a public park. White Rocks transforms from an abandoned project into the "most beautiful park we have ever seen". Every announcement comes wrapped in the same language of renewal, vision, consultation, and quality of life. It sounds convincing until one looks toward Gozo, where the same government prepares a very different script.

Nothing exposes this contradiction more clearly than the saga surrounding the Qbajjar Battery, a Grade 1 scheduled monument that belongs to the national heritage. Din l-Art Ħelwa has fought for almost two decades to restore it under a guardianship deed and open it for educational and community use. The Żebbuġ Local Council endorsed that vision. Successive culture ministers expressed agreement, and experts submitted restoration plans. And yet the site remained locked behind decay, bureaucracy, and political inertia because the Lands Authority refused to release it.

Now, the government's intentions surface with disarming clarity. Officials confirm that a request for proposals for commercial use is being prepared. According to the plan, private operators can convert the 18th-century fortification into a cafe or restaurant. A familiar line hides the justification: income generation. They insist that the location attracts tourists. A car park remains nearby while the business can maintain the site. The government wants revenue, where cultural custodians want preservation. The message becomes even sharper when recognising that Qbajjar falls under a PN-led Żebbuġ Local Council. In a country where political colours decide everything from waste skips to road resurfacing, the reluctance to support a PN council does not surprise anyone. But it still shocks those who expect heritage to rise above partisan score-settling.

This hypocrisy gains weight when measured against the fanfare surrounding White Rocks and Manoel Island. When these projects sit in Labour-controlled localities or involve politically connected concessionaires, the country receives speeches about transparency, public access, and environmental rebirth. When a site sits in Gozo and falls under a Nationalist administration, the attitude flips. The public gets excuses, delays, and sudden commercial enthusiasm.

Qbajjar also sits in the shadow of another Gozo landmark that tells its own story of governmental inconsistency. Fort Chambray, once a proud coastal fortress overlooking Mgarr, has become a monument to speculative indifference. Large sections of the historical complex now carry the imprint of private development that ignored the fort's character and erased its dignity. For years, Gozitans protested the loss of authenticity. Governments nodded politely and did nothing. Commercial pressure prevailed because developers wanted it to prevail. If anything, Fort Chambray shows the outcome when heritage becomes collateral in a political system that treats Gozo as a distant suburb rather than a region with its own soul.

While the government markets itself as the champion of open spaces, it continues to push planning reforms that environmental NGOs condemn as disastrous. Over seventy organisations marched through Valletta demanding the withdrawal of these bills because they reduce safeguards, weaken community voices and strengthen the hand of developers. The same administration that promises parks in St Julian's, Manoel Island and White Rocks simultaneously drafts laws that erode the last protective barriers between public land and private concrete. In that context, the sudden enthusiasm for turning Qbajjar into a commercial node feels less like creativity and more like strategy. It fits perfectly within a system that rewards proximity to power rather than the long-term value of cultural sites.

The contradiction grows sharper when comparing Qbajjar with Hondoq ir-Rummien. The Environment Resources Authority (ERA) recently confirmed full protection for the entire area, including il-Ħnejja, and rejected attempts by landowners to dilute that designation. Government officials celebrated the protection of Hondoq as evidence of environmental maturity. They declared Hondoq a special area of conservation while praising the community for resisting development. They congratulated themselves on defending nature. Yet, if the government truly respects Gozo's heritage and environment, it does not treat Qbajjar as a business opportunity. It does not ignore the Żebbuġ council and does not sideline an NGO that has already carried out feasibility studies and restoration plans. The government should not repeat the mistakes that scarred Fort Chambray.

The history of the battery is important to consider. Built in 1716 to defend Marsalforn, the structure stands as the last of its kind in Gozo, a rare architectural survivor that witnessed centuries of maritime history. It endured neglect by the British, indifferent decades after independence, and a disastrous lease in the late twentieth century that transformed it into a disco and snack bar. The site paid a heavy price during a period of commercialisation that vandalised its integrity. Din l-Art Ħelwa describes it as a monument "at risk of total loss". Every expert agrees that the next intervention must prioritise conservation rather than consumption.

The government claims it will eliminate structural danger and carry out emergency works. Heritage Malta must preserve the site. The Lands Authority promises a plan. But this sudden efficiency did not appear for 17 years while NGOs begged for action. It appears now because a commercial model is on the table. That change in speed tells its own story.

Gozitans recognise the pattern when they hear speeches about environmental protection and they watch as projects in Gozo move in the opposite direction. They listen to promises of open spaces, and they see Fort Chambray crumble under private development. The government speaks of unity, yet they see the PN-led council sidelined. They hear about Green Vision, and they watch the hills above Marsalforn brace themselves for another battle between heritage and business.

The government asks the public to hold two contradictory ideas at once. The government wants them to believe it protects the environment, even though the laws weaken that protection. It asks them to believe it values national heritage while it prepares to hand a Grade 1 monument to the highest bidder. It asks them to applaud its promises of parks while ignoring the reality that Qbajjar stands on the brink of another irreversible mistake.

Gozitans deserve the same respect given to residents near Fort Campbell, White Rocks, and Manoel Island. Heritage NGOs deserve the support promised to them years ago. The Żebbuġ Local Council deserves partnership rather than punishment. And Qbajjar deserves guardianship, not another round of commercial exploitation.

There is nothing green in a government that uses environmental announcements as camouflage. There is nothing visionary about turning cultural assets into catering zones. And there is nothing sustainable in a policy that treats Gozo's heritage as disposable when politics demands it.

Until the government proves that it can protect Qbajjar with the same enthusiasm it reserves for projects on the mainland, its green speeches remain nothing more than illusions.