The PN’s moment of reckoning

It is said that in politics, nature abhors a vacuum. And yet, the PN finds itself suspended in precisely such a void—not of candidates, but of conviction.

With Bernard Grech’s quiet departure and Roberta Metsola’s definitive decision to remain on the European stage, the PN is now confronting more than a mere leadership dilemma. It faces a critical existential juncture: a reckoning with its own identity, purpose, and future.

That no clear heir has emerged is not in itself surprising. What is more telling is the atmosphere of inertia in which this leadership question is playing out. The names currently floated—Alex Borg, Adrian Delia, Franco Debono—offer a tableau less of renewal than of familiar reruns.

Each figure carries with it the ghosts of internal skirmishes and unresolved tensions. Their reappearance on the party’s radar is symptomatic of a deeper malaise: the triumph of personality over principle.

It is here that the party’s true crisis reveals itself; not as a temporary dip in electoral fortunes or a patch of factional turbulence, but as a philosophical standstill.

The terms of the leadership debate—such as they are—remain anchored in outdated assumptions. There is no discernible vision, no statement of modern values, no redefinition of what a PN fit for the 21st century might look like. The engine is being tinkered with, yet nobody appears willing to question whether the vehicle is still heading in the right direction.

The problem is not only organisational; it is conceptual. The PN remains bound to a rear-view nostalgia—a longing for battles long won or lost.

It defines itself still by opposition: to Labour, to change. What it conspicuously lacks is a forward-facing mission that speaks to a new generation of voters, many of whom are more interested in sustainability, transparency, and fairness than in tribal political loyalty.

Instead, we see a leadership process shaped not by bold ideological contest but by internal survivalism. Candidates are assessed less on their ideas and more on their capacity to navigate entrenched loyalties and avoid stepping on delicate toes. This is the most perilous stage in any political organisation’s life: when preserving the structure takes precedence over renewing its soul.

There is, however, a cruel irony. Rarely has the terrain been more fertile for a genuine political alternative. The Labour government, once seemingly unassailable, now stands increasingly accused of institutional decay, clientelism, nepotism and ethical erosion. Yet there is a growing public hunger for a politics of substance—one rooted in civic responsibility, economic justice, and environmental foresight.

But to meet that demand, the PN must stop acting like a party waiting for salvation. It must cease casting about for the next figure to carry it forward when nothing has changed. Instead, it must begin the long, unglamorous work of transformation: opening itself to fresh voices, modernising its structures, and re-engaging with the grassroots not as an afterthought but as the bedrock of political relevance.

European Parliament President Roberta Metsola’s decision to remain in Brussels, for whatever reason, should be seen not as a blow but as a liberation. Her absence removes the idea of a saviour. Would the PN be different if she returned? Doubtful. It would just be about placing the burden on her for yet another blow in the next elections. And Malta would lose significant representation in the European Parliament.

What remains is the opportunity—and indeed the imperative—for the party to define its path, not through the charisma of a single leader, but through the construction of a broader, more resilient movement.

That means, frankly, abandoning the old PN. The culture of insularity and backroom intrigue—these must be left behind. And with them, the unspoken pact that preserves the country’s rigid political duopoly.

If the PN is serious about renewal, it must also be brave enough to challenge the very system it helped build, in collusion with its supposed adversary.

True political rebirth does not require amnesia. It requires maturity—the ability to reckon honestly with past failures and to build anew from that reckoning. The choice facing the PN is not between Delia or Borg or (for heaven’s sake) Debono. It is between meaningful reinvention and terminal decline. Between standing as a credible alternative—or becoming a relic preserved only by sentiment and statute.

Time, however, is not an infinite resource. The next chapter in Maltese politics is waiting to be written. Whether the PN will have a hand in authoring it depends on what it does now, in this vacuum not of leadership, but of purpose.