On the first anniversary of investigative journalist Daphne Caruana Galizia’s assassination, Samira Jamil gathers family and friends from far afield to honour her memory, while others continue to try and annihilate it, showing readers a side to the vilified intrepid writer that many may not be aware of.

After moving back to Malta in 1995, I became an avid fan of Daphne Caruana Galizia’s weekly column. She was a brilliant investigative journalist; eloquent, analytical, sharp and with an acerbic wit as she used her pen, in an almost effortless manner, to expose injustice, corruption, nepotism and to challenge perceptions and mindsets.

Daphne was direct and never afraid of ruffling any feathers. There were times when I disagreed with her writing, but I always admired her true grit and fearlessness.

It was at a reception at the Tunisian ambassador’s residence in 1996, which my husband and I were attending, that, in a crowded room, I heard a female’s voice behind us stating: ‘Maltese is Arabic.’ I turned around to find Daphne and Peter standing there.

This marked the beginning of our friendship, one which would flourish for over 22 years until it was brutally cut short.

In 2004, Daphne invited me to contribute a feature to her newly launched magazine, Taste. I was touched, but I hesitated before accepting. Although I enjoyed cooking and was proud to share our cuisine with friends, I had never written for a publication and was a complete novice.

However, Daphne believed in me and encouraged me to write. She was a brilliant editor to work with, instilling in me a love of words and a keen interest in the media. This came at a time when I was dealing with the trials and tribulations of motherhood, far away from my own family.

Writing about the humble harissa led to several other features, giving my self-confidence a real boost, spurring me on to pursue a Master’s in communications and media, which armed me not only with the tools to write, but to also to question, analyse and evaluate.

In Daphne, I found a friend who was sensitive, accessible and intuitive. She empathised with me for not having family in Malta and was always there for me. I believe that, at times, she too felt like a foreigner in her own land.

I recall how touched I was when she invited my children and I to a Christmas Day tea at her beautiful home, an occasion that is normally an intimate family gathering.

Daphne had exquisite taste and a real flair for interiors and gardens. A vast collection of books, paintings and artifacts from all corners of the globe made her home one of the most beautiful I have ever visited.

When Daphne travelled with me to Tripoli in September 2005, I was struck by the way she dressed, in such a modest and culturally sensitive way. She was impressed by the Roman ruins and by Libya’s natural beauty. However, she was also saddened by the predicament Libyans found themselves in, living in such an oppressive and autocratic regime.

Daphne was the first friend who joined my family and I in front of the Libyan Embassy in 2011 as we mustered up the courage to publicly protest, for the first time in our lives, for the downfall of the brutal dictator. She could relate to how it felt to live through oppression, repression and suppression.

As a young mother, I was impressed by the way Daphne encouraged her sons to question everything, to reach out of their comfort zones in the pursuit of education and careers and to broaden their horizons by looking further afield beyond these shores. She inspired me to instil this in my own children too.

During the summer of 2017, we exchanged many messages and planned to meet up, however, we never got down to it. As a friend, I understood how much pressure she was under with deadlines for her column, blog and magazines. However, I truly lament not having had that last lunch together.

October 16, 2017, will be forever etched in my mind as one of the darkest days in my life. That afternoon, as I sat at my desk at work, I heard the dreadful news. Shaking, I packed up and headed home to let the shocking news painfully sink in.

I try to replace these sombre memories with positive ones of the special times Daphne and I shared and of how fortunate I felt to have found such a good friend in her; of the last time we met at Andrew and Lucie’s wedding, where she radiated so much happiness; of how, as her coffin was carried out of the packed church, the entire congregation, young and old, from all walks of life, from different corners of the island and from further afield, and of different faiths, all united in their loss and grief, put their hands together to salute her. My elderly and frail father was one of those paying his heartfelt respects.

I try to replace these sombre memories with positive ones of how we all stood up and applauded, and with each applause, saluting a daughter, a mother, a wife, a sister, an aunt, a colleague, a friend and a remarkable woman, who left an indelible mark on society.

I try to replace these sombre memories with positive ones of how, as one of the hundreds of mourners outside the church shouted ‘Ġustizzja’, we all applauded until the hearse carrying her coffin disappeared into the distance.

And of how we will all applaud again the day that justice will be served.

Loredana Gatt

I met Daphne at St Aloysius Sixth Form way back in 1981. We were in the same class. I would describe her, back then, as reserved and an introvert. I remember she used to hang around with a very restricted group of people.

We were not close friends at the time, but we used to take the bus to college together from Msida. She would come off the Sliema bus, while I’d arrive from San Gwann. We’d meet in Msida and take the bus to Balzan together. I normally did most of the talking as I was a chatterbox – and she was a great listener.

For many years, Daphne and I lost touch. After Sixth Form, our lives took two very different routes. While she was raising a family, I was studying and then working – and vice versa. We became close since she set up Running Commentary and I was already living in Italy.

Throughout the years, I always followed her work as a journalist and was one of the first people to post a comment on what was then her new blog. She replied immediately and since then we remained in contact – more recently using WhatsApp.

I can safely say she was the person with whom I was most in touch out of all of my Maltese friends. I miss the texting, I miss the long lunches when I visited Malta and I miss the occasional telephone conversation.

Most of all, I miss her opinion, not just on the subjects she discussed on her website, but on everything else from raising children to reading, travelling, cooking and life in general.

My fondest memory of Daphne is grape-picking in Fano, Italy, where I live. It was such a pleasant day. We had lunch and then went to visit a vineyard. After the grape-picking, we had an aperitivo at sunset in beautiful surroundings; we were all so relaxed.

Daphne had a great sense of humour – we played at guessing what the other Italian visitors in the group [total strangers] did for a living – we laughed no end.

I have other funny stories about the time we spent together. Daphne had her sons when she was very young. I became a mother much later than her. When Federico, my son, met Daphne for the first time, he was about four; he asked her whether he could play with her “bambini”. Daphne told him: “Let me show you some pictures of my bambini” and brought out three pictures of three grown men. Then she asked: “Do you still want to play with them?”

But apart from the humour, there were also lessons to be learned from her – primarily, the importance of thinking clearly. Daphne was the most analytical and clear-thinking person I know. That, I think, is what made her so resilient and such a rock. She could see beyond what would cause most of us to become emotional.

Her writing was so special and effective because it was the product of her analytical thinking, expressed in flawless language.

It may sound ironic, because it was probably what she lacked most recently – I would say – but what I think Daphne valued most in life was serenity. She loved peaceful settings, she loved beauty, she loved particular objects, she loved colour.

The most memorable conversation I had with Daphne that I will always think of and treasure was about her, what she was going through these last few years and why she carried on.

I was one of those people she often quoted as asking her whether it was all really worthwhile. I have played that conversation over and over in my mind since her assassination.

I wish I insisted more with her to leave Malta. I often suggested it – but I don’t think she would ever have listened. However, my biggest regret is that we were planning for me to come down for a long weekend and stay at her place – she promised she would switch off her computer and we’d just lie back and relax. We never got to do that – it was planned for the first weekend of November 2017.

Now, I think the only way to honour Daphne is to keep her message going; her fight against corruption and her fight for democracy and justice. Since Daphne was killed, I have become more aware of this on a wider level and more appreciative even of Italian journalists who are fighting battles similar to Daphne’s here in Italy.

As for whether I am hopeful there will be justice for Daphne in Malta, I tend to be a pessimist generally. The government is conveying the message that the Daphne case is closed and that she is best forgotten. The present opposition is clearly very weak, with no clear-cut political agenda or direction on important issues, which include its stand on Daphne’s assassination.

I, therefore, see the situation as pretty bleak. Having said that, I obviously hope that the few brave people, who are trying their utmost for some form of justice for Daphne, succeed.

Simone Camilleri

I have known Daphne for most of my life. We met in junior school at St Dorothy’s, Sliema, before transferring to St Dorothy’s in Mdina for the senior years.  We went to different Sixth Forms after that and life took us in different directions. I moved to the UK and then to the US, but spent my summers in Malta.

We met occasionally over the years, until a friend’s illness brought us together again nine years ago. We became very close at that time and developed a more adult relationship, which I think we both valued greatly.

From an early age, I was attracted to everything that Daphne stood for. She had a calm demeanor and an amazing sense of humour, with the cheekiest smile and twinkle in her eye.

She had an impeccable grasp of the English language and had the most wonderful descriptive writing – I remember when she read her essays out loud in class, she truly made me want to be a better writer.

She was an avid reader and often read books during class – I was always so amazed that the teachers didn’t call her out on it. I have always wondered if they knew about it, but figured she was smart enough to keep up with the lesson by herself!

Nine years ago, I received a phone call from Daphne out of the blue. A good friend of ours, who had emigrated to Canada, had been diagnosed with breast cancer and was very ill. She asked if I would meet her in Canada so that we could go and support our friend and see her for what we thought would be the last time [she ended up living for an additional six years with stage IV metastatic breast cancer].

That visit to Canada, where we shared a hotel room and supported each other through the difficult time of seeing a good friend in such pain, was a turning point in our friendship. I think we rediscovered each other as adults and enjoyed each other’s company tremendously.

My most endearing memory from that trip was the fact that, even after all those years of not seeing much of each other, we never stopped talking!

Daphne truly valued friends and friendships. She was there when our friend needed her in Canada, and she called me when she found out that I was ill. I found out from friends who had had problems that she was there for them too at every step of the way, even after other friends had stopped calling.

It is amazing to me that someone who was always so busy – with her writing, her magazine, her family, visiting her sons as they studied and worked overseas – could still find time to prioritise her friends when they needed support. She has made me realise that a true friend is one who will always be there for you, no questions asked.

I think Daphne definitely valued her sons most in life. She was always very humble about her own achievements, but she lit up when she spoke about her sons’. She was excited for all the opportunities they had in life and was proud of all they had achieved in their young lives.

I remember how proud she was to tell me about Matthew’s Pulitzer Prize and how excited she was about Andrew’s wedding.

The last time we met, we spoke about how difficult things had become for her. I read her blogs; read the negative comments. I had been with her one time when she was verbally attacked by a man on the street. I asked her why she continued to write and fight when there were obviously so many people who did not want her to fight corruption on their behalf.

Her sons were grown-up and living overseas. Why not retire her blog and focus on her family, her magazine? Why not leave the country? In typical Daphne fashion, she shrugged off my concerns with a smile and told me that she felt compelled to write because she felt so strongly that Malta deserved better. It was the first time I truly understood how selfless her sacrifices were.

Like Daphne, and many others of my generation, I spent much of my youth attending mass meetings and protests. I was actually at the protest in the 1980s the night Daphne was arrested, but I was pulled out of the crowd by my father before the arrests began.

My wedding was on the same day as the attack on the Curia and several people did not attend because of that. Some of my generation, such as Daphne, used those experiences to become more politically involved. Others, like myself, retreated as far as we could from politics.

However, since Daphne’s assassination, I vowed to become more vocal and to always speak up for the underdog. I think that is the best way to honour Daphne’s memory.

I wish I had told her how proud I was of all that she had achieved in her lifetime. It is still shocking to me that we spoke, via WhatsApp, less than 12 hours before she was assassinated. Out of the blue, she wrote to tell me that she had met my cousin – “a very nice man” – at an event where they were selling indigenous trees on October 15.

That was Daphne to the core – so attentive to detail and caring enough to go to the trouble of letting me know about her encounter with my cousin! I responded several hours later, not realising that it was 3.15am in Malta.

Surprisingly, she was still awake and we chatted for a while. The last thing she told me was: “Please call me when you come to Malta.” Those words will haunt me every time I return.

What do I miss most about her? Our chats about nothing and everything; about politics and family; about our childhood and adulthood; about the joys and challenges of parenting; about life overseas.

She was one of my only friends who showed any genuine interest and curiosity about my life overseas and it was a pleasure to discuss and share with her.

I have come to Malta three times over the past year and I feel cheated not being able to meet up with her to catch up on our lives as I really did value our time together.

2017 was a year of loss for me. After a two-year struggle with ALS, my mother, who was very progressive and a champion against inequality, passed away less than two months after Daphne was murdered.

Since their deaths, I have decided to stop living on the sidelines when it comes to politics and to speak out for what I believe to be right.

As for the prospect of justice for Daphne in Malta, one always has to be hopeful that it will prevail, in all matters. But this is entirely in the hands of the authorities. They alone have the capability to ensure this is done.

Meanwhile, all those who value justice need to continue to be vocal in demanding justice for Daphne, so that her family and friends can have some form of closure.

Megan Mallia

Growing up with Daphne as an aunt was not how many might imagine it to be. As her niece, I didn’t look at her as an investigative journalist. I looked at her as a woman, my loving aunt.

When people saw a journalist walking in the street, I saw a woman who could take an old, age-worn piece of furniture and uplift it with a splash of dark cyan paint and dozens of magazine cuttings.

The same woman collected books of all kinds, new and ancient, on all sorts of topics, and shared a little piece of wisdom concerning them with me: never feel guilty for spending money on books.

Daphne saw beauty where there was none, as if she lived with a desire to pull out the weeds in the world and plant flowers in their place. She certainly did that in a literal sense too – her garden was unlike any I’ve ever seen.

In the words she’d once used to describe what a garden really should be like, hers was ‘the equivalent of rambling old houses packed with rackety furniture and old curios brought back by antecedents from their peregrinations’ – never plain or roundabout planter-like. When she wrote about beauty, her pen didn’t write; it painted.

Although loving the busy streets, packed with curious sights and sounds in cities abroad, when it came to travel, Daphne had daring. She’d visited India and Costa Rica, where a tiny baby howler monkey jumped onto her head in the rainforest. She’d sent us a photograph and I remember her smile in it, and her smiling eyes.

Another memory that keeps coming back involves a conversation we had on June 5, last year. I had messaged her to thank her for writing her article ‘Right and wrong are not a popularity contest’, in which she articulated my thoughts about my peers’ attitudes around the election exactly. Her words were timeless in their timeliness. I remember her reply and the conversation that followed.

Daphne was always supportive of me – of any loved one, really – and the last time I ever saw her, she told me, in the midst of my confusion about which course to follow at university, how in this day and age, there is a world of opportunities, so I shouldn’t be boring and follow the crowd. She taught me to follow my heart.

In a world that worships money and power, my aunt Daphne valued life, love and honesty – and a few good laughs over tea and cake in her living room would have made our day.

Claire Borg

After I read the first few editions of Taste, I made up my mind that I wanted to work for Daphne. I was determined to be part of her team, so I got in touch. I wanted it so badly that I had no option but to be good at it. She must have thought I was insane… but she took me on.

I looked up to her, with total admiration. And the fact that she believed in me and took me on board as a food stylist and photographer when I practically knew nothing says a lot about her.

She pushed me in the right direction, polished my work and directed my enthusiasm until I shined. She welcomed me into her home with open arms, helped me sustain my family when I had nothing and was always there for me. Always.

My fondest memory of Daphne was travelling with her to Finland. I spent four days following her like a little pet, asking all sorts of questions, sharing wonderful meals and discovering Finnish crockery. I realised I met someone as bad as me when it came to buying plates. She was an interminable source of information about all things I love – travel, food and design.

We have funny stories together too. I was once doing a photo shoot at her home. It was about tomatoes. I was looking for good light and moved around the house, looking for the brightest spots. I went close to a window to photograph a tabbouleh, and unbeknown to me, her dog was looking at me from the other side… He barked so loud, I jumped out of my skin and went running to her, thinking he was chasing me. We looked at each other and burst out laughing.

One memorable conversation I had with Daphne that I will always think of and treasure was when I asked her if I should take a course in food styling and photography. I wanted to improve my work. She said: Do you want to be like everyone else?

She so believed in my work that, at times, I asked myself if she was for real. Today, I understand that I have been moulded… by her. I know exactly what she likes in terms of colours, styling and textures.

Daphne lives in my heart. That’s how I honour her memory. I think of her a great deal. I honour her in my work. My food photography is a tribute to her.

As for whether there is something I wish I could have said to her before she was killed… should have, could have, would have… I’d rather not think about this because it makes me really upset. What could I have said? Don’t get in that car? It’s just surreal.

What I miss most is sending her the first previews of my work. I miss bouncing back ideas. I miss her feedback. I miss working very late at night, sending her an e-mail and getting a reply straight back. I just miss her being there.

I think Daphne valued most the truth, her family and her work, and the one lesson I learned from her is never to be afraid.

Over the past year, there has been a void in my life. When you lose a friend, nothing can replace them. It just makes me very sad to think how she was ripped from us. It’s just not fair.

My outlook towards life? Well, I am more determined not to let her down. I still work for her. Taste & Flair is Daphne. Each issue is a celebration of her life.

I really do hope there will be justice for Daphne. Really.

This article first appeared in Pink magazine, out with The Sunday Times of Malta.