Diverse as we may be, numbered as our cultures, ethnicities or economic backgrounds are – If we live in Malta, we’ve all had one specific conversation, and it’s always gone the same way. I am of course referring to the one about motorcycles – and the title is as dramatic as the inevitable conclusion of each of those discussions is – ‘Jekk tixtri mutur, xtrajt il-mewt’ – grandma goes. I would happily attribute it to another one of the crazy-but-accepted ramblings we so often learn to nod at and ultimately disregard – were it not for the tragic truth … the saying only gains more gravitas as time goes by, and the numbers backing it grow at alarming, often record-breaking yearly rates.

‘Numbers’, I say irresponsibly. It’s easy to gloss over the sobering reality that every one of those numbers is one of your children, parents, brothers, sisters, friends, partners – Think of anyone close to your heart, old or young, and try to conceptualise the day when they don’t pick up the phone, when that last text is sent, never to be replied to. I hope you never get to go through that – but I don’t need to tell you that if one of those people you thought of happens to have chosen a motorbike as their private means of transport, then your chances of seeing that day are disproportionately higher.

At the foot of this grave injustice though, lies not that person’s irresponsibility, or your inability to convince them otherwise, or the vehicle itself, or indeed any other imaginable answer save for the only correct one; the legislator, the regulator.

It is a personal frustration of mine that so many issues I write about end up knocking on Big Brother’s door – but the reality is that Malta has lacked a transport vision since cart ruts started appearing in our countryside a few thousands years ago. Fast forward to an independent Malta and we have gotten no better at planning out our road networks – many would argue that we got even worse. It is this lack of vision that led us to forgo any sort of transport planning for so long – a decision that would cause the first sparks of what would become an island engulfing wildfire, the car age. 

And we all know the story that unfolds whenever we complain about the traffic. It’s the buses’ fault. No, it’s the schoolchildren’s fault. Nonsense, surely foreigners are the source of all our problems. None of that, we simply need bigger roads, more roads, better roads. In the end, everyone sighs a universal sigh of resignation, ‘Imma xi trid taghmel’, ‘It is what it is’, ‘e vabbè’. Each individual then hops into their 5-seater and pours into a 27km long slate along with half a million other individuals in 5-seaters, wondering in disbelief why all these people are stuck behind each other.

Better still, every waking dawn sees our nation’s streets brace for the weight of 58 more cars. Why? Any reasonable Joe might ask. Aren’t people concerned about their surroundings? The concentration of emissions? The noise? The light? The would-be productive time lost in a carousel of cubes looking for a parking space? The cost of all the fuel needed to sustain this neverending search for clouds as we dig deeper into a mine?

They certainly are. More so with every passing day. But these concerns are folly next to another that reigns over a nation betrayed by its cultural traits – a stream of youth desperately clawing for independence. And in a country where most have no choice but to exploit the privilege comma curse of staying at their parents’ home over a decade beyond adulthood, little comes close to providing the same notion of independence as the car, or the motorbike. Indeed, having entrenched independence as a no-pedestrian, no public transport destination, the only remaining alternative to the four-wheeled juggernaut… is what our grandparents call the two-wheeled death wish.

It seems an obvious solution. Bikes are smaller, more agile, efficient, adaptable…plain easier. Except for one small issue.

These haunting images are all from accidents that took place in 2023. And they serve as a stark reminder of the risks associated with the seemingly natural solution to Malta’s traffic woes. The present state of our transport situation is where this article’s title originates. To choose what’s best for your country is possibly to die for it. This reality presents a complex challenge: how to embrace the practicality of motorbikes while safeguarding the lives of those who ride them.

Or so you’d think. Because that question has long since been asked and answered. Enhanced training for riders, stricter enforcement of traffic laws, and improved road conditions specifically tailored to accommodate motorbikes can significantly mitigate risks. Additionally, active car disincentivisation and public awareness campaigns focusing on the shared responsibility of all road users could foster a safer environment for motorcyclists.

But Malta is not concerned with safeguarding these lives, nor is it at all interested in replacing cars anytime soon. This is where the real problem lies. Anything but a car at 18 seems foreign. And this is a culture that the government is, as far as the eye can see, very happy with. Why this is so, I cannot be sure of. Some say the business generated by the vast second-hand car business and fuel consumption in general, is too heavily supported. It remains unclear to me how this could be a net financial benefit to the country when the same businesses are creating massive growing losses for the Maltese economy. 

Whatever the reason, all fingers point to a short-sighted refusal to recognise that the longer motorbikes remain a life-threatening option secluded for the thrill-seeker, hobbyist and food delivery person, the more dangerous our roads will become, the slower our traffic will crawl, the less air our suffocating nation has to breathe.

The views expressed in this article are those of the author/s and do not necessarily represent a position or perspective of this or any organisation