Issue link: https://maltatoday.uberflip.com/i/1546491
YORGEN FENECH TRIAL SUNDAY • 6 SEPTEMBER 2026 | maltatoday What it felt like reporting on 55 DAYS INSIDE HALL 22: ON 1 July, journalists from newsrooms across Malta and the world lined the corridor outside Hall 22. For around six hours, we waited as nearly 200 prospective jurors entered the courtroom one by one before the jury and reserve jurors were finally chosen. Journalists were not allowed inside during that process, so our first hours covering one of Malta's most antici- pated trials were spent in the scorch- ing corridors of the law courts. None of us knew then how familiar that corridor, balcony and courtroom would become. Once the jury was selected, we went in. The judge, and the prosecution addressed the jurors and the first witness, former police inspector and Assistant Police Commissioner Keith Arnaud, took the stand. Suddenly, keyboards were going at full speed. Everyone was typing, lis- tening and trying to keep up, knowing people outside were waiting to hear what was happening behind those doors. It was the beginning of a routine that would dominate our working and resting hours for 55 days. Different witnesses, same balcony The 55 days we spent on the balcony of Hall 22 were dominated by witness testimonies, legal jargon and the occa- sional (regular) squabble between law- yers. I still remember Vince Muscat, il- Koħħu, referring to the mobile phone he used "tax-xogħol" [for work]. Except the "work" he meant involved killing people. There was something chilling about how casually the word was used. Then came Alfred and George Degior- gio. Alfred Degiorgio repeatedly refused to testify until Judge Edwina Grima or- dered his arrest. George Degiorgio also resisted answering questions and, when warned of the consequences, responded along the lines of: what more could you give me, "another 40 years?" At face val- ue, Degiorgio's quick quip was humor- ous, but was peek into the mentality of Malta's criminal underworld. By around day 13, the tiredness was setting in. Monday to Saturday became one con- tinuous loop: wake up, go to court, sit in the same balcony, open the laptop, lis- ten, type, file, repeat. Different witnesses. Different versions. Same courtroom. Then a highly anticipated witness would arrive and suddenly Hall 22 felt different again. Former chief of staff to prime minister Joseph Muscat, Keith Schembri was one of them. The courtroom was packed. During his confrontation with Yohann Cremona, we watched from the balcony as Cremona shook, his voice trembling while repeatedly saying he did not want to hurt anyone. At one point, he asked whether he could simply take the blame for everything. Eventually, he broke down. "I fear only God," he said. Moments which left the courtroom in silence Middleman Melvin Theuma's testimo- ny brought another packed courtroom. He began by apologising to Daphne Caruana Galizia's family. He testified sitting down because of his health, in- haler beside him. As exchanges became heated, we could hear his breathing from the balcony. We listened to recording after record- ing, often struggling with the sound and concentrating intensely to catch every word. But some moments required a differ- ent kind of concentration. Matthew Caruana Galizia describing what he saw and heard on 16 October 2017 is something that stays with you. The courtroom became painfully qui- et. Family members could be heard cry- ing. Some left. Our job was still to type. To report. To keep listening. But at moments like that, the charges, exhibits and evidence stopped feeling abstract. You were listening to a son de- scribe the moment his mother was tak- en from him. Somewhere along the way, we became a family too One thing I had not expected was the bond that developed between the jour- nalists covering the trial. JAELLE BORG jborgmediatoday.com.mt We came from competing newsrooms, but inside Hall 22 that rivalry often turned to comradery