Gozo should be treated differently from Malta in planning terms, Ivan Falzon, CEO of the Gozo Regional Development Authority, told this media house in an interview. It should be afforded a distinct policy framework that reflects its smaller scale, unique character, and particular social and economic realities.
On paper, few would disagree. The difficulty lies elsewhere: not in the logic of the proposal, but in the uncomfortable possibility that we are already too late for such distinctions to be meaningfully enforced.
Gozo has not suddenly arrived at a crossroads. It has been drifting there for years. The steady normalisation of development patterns that mirror those of Malta has gradually reshaped parts of the island. Nowhere is this clearer than in Xlendi and Marsalforn, two localities that once embodied the coastal charm people associate with Gozo, and which today stand as cautionary tales.
If Gozo's planning system failed to protect its most iconic seaside villages, why should we assume that a new set of policies will suddenly be respected, enforced, and immune to political pressure?
The contradiction at the heart of Malta's planning discourse was evident in the latter part of last year. Public outrage erupted when Opposition Leader Alex Borg hinted that he might be open to high-rise buildings in Gozo, before later clarifying his remarks. Robert Abela expressed shock at the very idea. And yet, just three months later, a 13-storey block was approved in Xlendi. This sequence of events tells its own story. Declarations of intent are plentiful; restraint is not.
Falzon speaks of limestone façades, height limitations, and policies tailored to terraced-house areas. He points to Mdina as an example of how strict planning regimes can preserve character even when locations are well connected. Again, the theory is sound. But Mdina's protection did not emerge in a vacuum. It exists because, over decades, successive administrations treated it as untouchable. Gozo, by contrast, has often been treated as available.
This is why the conversation feels slightly out of time. The question is no longer simply what we want Gozo to be. The question is what Gozo has already become. Parts of the island now exhibit the same density and speculative logic that many Maltese lament on the main island. Once such patterns take root, reversing them is extraordinarily difficult. Distinct policies introduced at this stage risk functioning more as symbolic gestures than transformative tools.
It is also worth interrogating the recurring idea that Gozo must avoid becoming "ruined like Malta". Falzon is careful to say that Malta remains beautiful. But the sentiment he references reflects widespread frustration with a planning system perceived as overly permissive and inconsistently enforced. Exporting that same system to Gozo, and only later attempting to soften its impact with special rules, has placed the island on the back foot.
Policies alone do not protect places. Political will, institutional courage, and a genuine readiness to say "no" do.
Gozo can still be different from Malta. But it will not become different through rhetoric or belated fine-tuning. It will only become different if decision-makers accept that the island's vulnerability demands stricter limits than those currently deemed acceptable elsewhere. Without that shift, talk of distinction risks becoming pointless.