Maumoon's Children

By Saleem Aziz

This is a story about a vile and grotesque people. It is a journey into the heart of the Maldivian psyche during the dying days of fascism and the infant democratic age.

I have juggled these thoughts in my head for some time now. But it seems apt to put them to paper as we commemorate the brutal and tragic events of six years ago, and come to terms with the discovery of human remains buried under a cell block in Gaamaadhoo prison.

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My conscience was awoken the day that security forces beat prisoner Evan Naseem to death, the subsequent shootings in Maafushi jail, and the cover-up that followed. The whole thing stank to high heaven. It seemed like the whole system was rotten. This suspicion was confirmed by the government’s reaction to the August 12/13 demonstrations a year later.

Prior to these events I was perfectly happy with the status quo. What reason did I have not to be? I accepted the fact that I lived in a dictatorship and that no one could question authority. One could stay out of trouble by accepting and adhering to the rules of the game.

This deference to authority could be explained by the infamous Asian values thesis. Or maybe it was just my age.

In any case, all that changed on 20 September 2003. The state killed Evan Naseem. And by doing so, it launched a frontal assault on us all. Sure, we had heard of the ill treatment and rumours of custodial deaths before. But this was the first time we saw it for real.

In the past, grief stricken parents had bent to the will of their rulers and kept quiet, and in the process prolonged their agony.

With one swoop of her arms, Evan Naseem’s mother threw off the sheets that covered her son’s corpse, and exposed the true face of Maumoon Abdul Gayoom’s Maldives. The horror, the horror.

Later that day Gayoom put on a brave face and took to the airwaves to address his nation. His children. He claimed that the security forces fired their weapons into the heavens. He claimed that no lives were lost.

But the body count was there for all to see. The handiwork of his murderous thugs was beamed out of Maafushi and the images bounced off mobile phone to mobile phone.

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This was not an isolated incident. Go to houses around Malé or in the islands. Ask the people you meet of their experiences of Maumoonism. Once you have heard so much that you feel giddy and nauseous, you might be wise to try and sit down. And to push what you have heard out of your head.

But it is not that easy. The images flash before your eyes and overload your senses. It’s a struggle not to puke…

On an island a few metres away a man is dangling from a tree as the prison officers use a pulley to elevate him. He is being asked to confess to his crimes. The senior officer looks up from below. His face is grim. “Higher, higher” he commands as the hapless criminal (it turns out that he really is guilty, so we may call him that) ascends to the heavens gasping for breath.

There’s a girl tied up on the beach. She is naked and has had honey rubbed between her legs. A swarm of army ants are attracted by the aroma, and are poised to begin their assault. The gaolers watch in fascination as her screams drench the air.

The young delinquent doesn’t believe he should be subjected to this. He doesn’t obey instructions and makes a nuisance of himself. He is marched out of his cell and is “crossed”- left wrist cuffed to right ankle, right wrist cuffed to left ankle. Boots, fists, and batons hit him from all directions. He’ll think twice before throwing his food back at the guards again.

The man has turned to religion and has immersed himself deep into its teachings. It is his only hope of salvation. The length of his beard and trousers has clearly left the authorities perplexed. This is what God wishes, he says. Not according to our Lord, they say. And he is an astronomer and a calligrapher. A linguist and a socialist. Beat that. And with that they get out the chili sauce.

The girl has been drawn to the male guard. She is young and impressionable. He has needs and she has hope of escape. Soon she is with child. He promises her a way out and sneaks into the cell. Wave after wave; blow after blow flatten her belly that was once the epitomy of fertility. Her body is never found.

Oh, and what of the young university graduate chained outside the powerhouse? His crime was to have spoken out against all this. For wielding the very same weapon that Maumoon admitted to carrying on his person during his first inauguration. A pen. (Quite possibly an English pen.)

But there is something different about this one. It is as if destiny has something greater in store for him…

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It is not just events that occurred in detention centres that are objectionable. Yes there were those who believed that these people had what was coming to them. Maumoon’s Children that is. The rest of us knew that it was wrong.

No. Problems were aplenty in our society. It was down to the way the whole system was constructed and run. These issues are well known to all, even those who do not accept them, so I do not propose to dwell on them for too long.

Here is a compressed litany of offences. Dissent was not tolerated. There was no rule of law. Arbitrary arrests were rife. The only thing more prevalent than corruption was waste. The only thing more common than waste was drugs. Elections were rigged. (Over 90 percent in six successive referendums. Hello?). Religious extremism was allowed to flourish. Cronyism and nepotism at world record levels. Ballooning deficits. Excess local currency while tourism dollars were stashed away abroad.

This is the state of the country that was bequeathed to us.

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How did we come to such a sad state of affairs? Tourists from all over the world come to Maldives to enjoy the sun kissed beaches, as the palm leaves gently sway in the breeze and crystal clear waters tickle their feet as they work on their tan. While we promote our country’s natural beauty as a means of attracting top dollar, the very same resources are used against our own people.

We cannot just lay the blame squarely at the feet of the dictator and his little clique. There is a wider responsibility for this.

The Members of Parliament who rubber stamped his proposed legislation and refused to raise any questions on behalf of their constituents during the one or two sittings that were held throughout the whole year, the businessmen who reaped the fruits (or should that be the spoils?) and were otherwise engaged in making money, the technocrats who busily immersed themselves in projects such as harbours and jetties (and maybe Autobahns?) for the good of the nation without once questioning the moral standing of who they were working for, the great and good of society who happily enlisted for the first lady’s charity as volunteers and financiers as a means of currying favour- yes you are all complicit.

Like the Nazis before us, we had a society that was willing to tolerate the evils being committed as long as everything looked silky smooth on the surface.

And think of all the people directly involved in the evils. The bent bureaucrats. The corrupt cops. Surely they could not be so cruel. They must have had some compassion.

But wait, that might be it. A great author writes about this very subject in his latest novel. Speaking through one of his characters he says, “to be a good torturer, it is extremely necessary to be of a compassionate disposition. Without a fellow feeling for one’s subject, one cannot ascend to the true heights of the art.”

They are all Maumoon’s Children. The first batch, all delivered by C-section, was born at the stroke of midnight, 11 November 1978. Many others followed. His veneer of religiosity, coupled with the soft-spoken nature and academic airs was enough to keep them all in his orbit.

Gayoom and his inner circle had systematically corrupted much of the Maldivian social and administrative elite. They were seduced by power. But what about those at the bottom of the heap?

Many women plaster their walls with Gayoom photos and take to the streets in DRP blue. Poor fishermen adorn their boats with his image. The islands devastated by the tsunami and which remain in miserable shape to this very day have a particular strong sense of affection for him.

Careful analyses of voting patterns in the presidential and parliamentary elections reveal a close correlation between the number of votes polled by Maumoonists and the number of islanders living in temporary shelters.

What on earth is going on?

The answer is simple. When someone is kidnapped they sometimes form a bond with the kidnapper. Called “Stockholm Syndrome” it happens when victims feel compassion and loyalty to their captors. Gayoom held his people hostage. During the siege they developed a perverse affinity to him.

Apparently Stockholm Syndrome is a rarity. An article on the subject in Time Magazine quotes the FBI as reporting that 73 percent of captives display no affection for their abductors.

So it was just our rotten luck then.

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The humane half of this country just about managed to get rid of Gayoom in last year’s election. They voted and voted and voted and beat him.

Many said that this could not be done. That shifting the regime was too much of a challenge. That their grip on society was too tight.

But this half of the country kept the faith throughout the dark days of oppression, and dreamed big dreams. As Oscar Wilde said “we are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”

Rising from the gutters and bathed in the light of a new dawn, the decent people of this country rejoiced.

Yet 46 percent of the population shed tears of despair at the demise of the patron saint of tear-gas.

They are still unable to countenance the fact that its over. In normal circumstances fathers feel a strong paternal instinct for the survival of their children. In this country the reverse is true.

The children sense that their father is weak and fading fast. And they are mounting a vicious fight-back.

The opposition MPs are upset that they no longer get to enjoy soirees at Theemuge and fully paid travel with their spouses and mistresses out of the country. Or perhaps even the US$ 29,000 for knee surgery. Rather than pass bills for the benefit of their people, these parliamentarians are throwing all they have to give the former president a package worth more than Rf.13 million a year. They are Maumoon’s Children and they are throwing a tantrum.

The technocrats who were dreaming of building the gaudy bridge to connect Male’ with its suburb have no idea which way to turn. Having already filed for moral bankruptcy during the past regime they are now near financial bankruptcy. These former hacks can only writhe about in shame and anger and whisper quiet mutterings about mutiny to their civil service networks as they bide their time. They are Maumoon’s Children and they are throwing a tantrum.

Haveeru Newspaper, the great defender of the faith which was once deployed when Gayoom’s brother-in-law was out of favour and the newspaper delighted in entertaining its readers with stories of how a female witch doctor bathed his body in graphic detail, reprises its role in the post-dictatorial era. It contains pure poison, and its editors and writers take delight in administering it intravenously so that it goes straight to the bloodstream. They are Maumoon’s Children and they are throwing a tantrum.

The judges, with their appalling lack of education, both legal and otherwise, lament the day that separation of powers severed their links with power. With the good old days of convicting every other dissident for terrorism well and truly over they can only sneer away in the Justice Building tearooms and set dangerous criminals free to destabilize our fragile community. They are Maumoon’s Children and they are throwing a tantrum.

The Penitentiary Services and rebel elements within the police are livid that their favourite pastimes (detailed earlier in this article) are now denied to them. Instead they seek to recreate the golden days and administer beatings at sensitive times to make it look as if torture is a way of life and thus cannot be ended with just a change of regime. They are Maumoon’s Children and they are throwing a tantrum.

The network of Katheebs (Island Chiefs) that spread out across the archipelago are civil servants on paper, but political agents in reality. Fearing their inability to survive in a democratic system they are working overtime to instill fear in the hearts of their people. You are about to be laid off and the price of food will rise due to inflation, they say. Do you not long for a return to the good old days of brot und arbeit? They are Maumoon’s Children and they are making mischief.

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There is a happy ending to this story. Or rather, there could be a happy ending.

I did not pen this article to just lament the darkness we still find ourselves engulfed in. Rather, I did it to plot a way to reach the light at the end of the tunnel.

First- we need to initiate an exercise of truth.

The great Maldivian diarist Ahmed Shafeeq (of Shafeeqge) reckons that one hundred and eleven people lost their lives while incarcerated. In addition, there have been plenty of custodial deaths that came to public attention. The names of Muaviath Mahmood, Ali Shahir, and Hussein Solah will not be unfamiliar to readers.

The Human Rights Commission of the Maldives appears to be unperturbed by all this. There has been no impediment for them to pursue investigations into these cases as well as the instances of those that have alleged ill treatment and those that have disappeared.

That the general public has not expressed indignation at the discovery of the human remains at Gaamaadhoo is saddening. That the institution charged with safeguarding the dignity of our people is so unconcerned is, quite frankly, disgusting.

We need to know what happened. We need to know the truth. And for this to happen, a proper investigation, with assistance from experts, is desperately needed.

Second- we need reconciliation.

For this country to move forward we need to get rid of the former dictator whose shadow hangs over us all. We need to put the past aside and work within the new democratic framework. And we need real democrats in the driving seat.

Most of those directly involved in past evils have left the scene. The new batch of opposition politicians stick to Gayoom due to debts owed to him. They privately recognize that it is time to commit their geriatric father to the ward and move out of his shadow and build great futures for themselves.

Our infant democracy would benefit from us moving beyond the politics of the past. And let us not forget that it is one that is stained in blood.

Here is my message to those unable to sever their ties with Gayoom.

Clearly we have different views about him. I’d rather see him in an orange jumpsuit and shipped off to The Hague. You would prefer him in his safari suit and presiding over the nation.

So let’s make a compromise. Ease him out of politics. Let him spend the rest of his days at home in relative peace, just like Pol Pot did.

And the rest of us can carry on building the nation. As a responsible government and opposition.