The enigmas of environmental governance in the Maldives: a legacy of authoritarian environmentalism

We won’t have a society if we destroyed the environment – Margaret Mead

by Ibrahim Mohamed

The Maldives is one of the world’s most striking paradoxes. On the global stage, we are hailed as a climate champion, a voice for the vulnerable, and a moral compass in international climate negotiations. Yet at home, our environmental governance is fraught with contradictions. While leaders speak passionately about our climate vulnerability in the Conference of the Parties (COP) meetings of United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC), our environmental policies at home often tell a different story: a reliance on centralized, top-down governance, weakened institutions, and development strategies that sacrifice environmental integrity for short-term political gains.

This is the enigma of environmental governance in the Maldives. Its Constitution enshrines the duty to protect the natural environment and safeguard intergenerational equity. Yet in practice, decision-making remains trapped in a legacy of what scholars call authoritarian environmentalism, a model where governments centralize control, suppress dissent, and frame environmental management as a technocratic rather than democratic issue (Gilley, 2012). Combined with path-dependent historic institutionalism, the tendency to repeat historical patterns even when they no longer serve the present, results in an environmental governance system that struggles to meet the urgent challenges faced by the Maldives (Mohamed & King, 2017).

For a nation composed of fragile atolls and lagoons, where coral reefs serve as seawalls and wetlands buffer storms, the stakes could not be higher. Weak environmental governance here is not just maladministration, it is also maladaptation to climate change.

Democratic backsliding and its environmental costs

In 2009, then-President Mohamed Nasheed famously declared: “We need democracy for mitigation and adaptation for climate change.” He was right. Democracy creates transparency, fosters participation, and ensures accountability, vital for sustainable environmental policies.

Yet, the Maldives has been drifting in the opposite direction. Freedom House scores show civil liberties and political rights stagnating at low levels between 2020 and 2025. De-democratisation such as curtailing civil society engagement, restricting  media freedom, and undermining judicial independence has emerged during the past two years of the incumbent government. When democratic checks erode, environmental governance suffers. Independent oversight becomes a casualty of political expediency. For instance, the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), once semi-autonomous, has been dissolved and reabsorbed into the Ministry of Tourism, under direct executive control (President’s Office, 2025). The replacement of EPA by the Environmental Regulatory Authority (ERA), which answers to political appointees rather than scientific evidence, is a major blow to environmental governance. The message is clear: environmental decision-making is no longer about independent expertise; it is about political convenience.

Dismantling oversight in the name of “necessity”

One of the most troubling trends in recent de-democratisation is the misuse of the “doctrine of necessity”. In law, this principle allows extraordinary measures when a genuine crisis leaves no other option. In the Maldives, however, it has been stretched beyond recognition. The actions of de-democratisation are justified using the  doctrine of necessity. 

Fast-track provisions in EIA regulations now allow projects prioritized by the cabinet to bypass normal scrutiny. Airports, harbors, and reclamation projects can be green-lit within days, sometimes just 24 hours to evaluate and issue approvals. Officials justify this under “necessity,” but the reality is stark: there is no imminent national emergency that requires abandoning environmental safeguards and doing development projects in a haste, while the country is overburdened with debt. Instead, this necessity is a political excuse: a way to push through vote-winning infrastructure projects before elections.

Such shortcuts erode public trust and leave ecosystems vulnerable. Coral reefs cannot regenerate on political timetables. Wetlands cannot buffer floods if they are filled in for roads and airports. By weaponizing the language of necessity, leaders gamble with our natural assets that once lost can never be replaced.

The weight of history: authoritarian legacies and path dependence

To understand why the Maldives struggles with environmental governance, one must look backward. For decades before democratic reforms in 2008, the country was governed through centralized, authoritarian rule. Environmental policies were crafted by technocrats serving political elites, with little space for citizen participation.

The Environmental Protection and Preservation Act of 1993 reflected this approach: decisions were highly centralized, with EIAs carried out by ministry insiders and no independent oversight. Technocrats who challenged government decisions were sidelined, while loyalists were rewarded. This created a civil service culture where public input was seen not as a right, but as an inconvenience, by the intelligentsia of the environmental fraternity.

The 2007 EIA regulation led by Minister Ahmed Abdulla, briefly improved matters by introducing independent evaluators and criteria for site selection for development. It even invoked the Cairo Principles, which stress sustainable, ecosystem-based reconstruction after disasters. But these safeguards were short-lived. The 2012 coup that toppled the first democratically elected government led to a rollback. Parameters protecting reefs and unique ecosystems were stripped away as the conditions for selecting sites and islands for development was abrogated. The drive for “speed and efficiency” trumped precautionary principle and sustainability. In the same year of toppling the government, EIA regulation of 2007 was replaced with a new regulation to expedite approvals. 

While international best practices in Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA) emphasize early, inclusive, and substantive public participation, transparent access to information, independent regulation, and enforceable outcomes (García-López & McCormick-Rivera, 2024), the Maldivian system remains narrow and procedural. Public engagement is limited to a short post-report comment period with hearings held only at the Ministry’s discretion, and institutional independence has been undermined by the recent restructuring that placed the EPA under direct ministerial control. Legal standing for citizens is weak, transparency requirements are minimal, and monitoring often lacks enforcement, with government ministries frequently overriding EIA recommendations. For instance, the majority of government projects do not fulfill the monitoring requirements stated in EISs. As a result, despite strong constitutional commitments to sustainability and intergenerational equity, Maldivian EISs risk functioning as box-ticking exercises rather than genuine safeguards of environmental integrity.

This is the essence of path dependency: once institutions are set on a trajectory of authoritarian, top-down decision-making, it becomes extraordinarily difficult to move to new paths. Each subsequent administration tweaks the system to suit its interests, but the fundamental culture of centralized control and disregard for public participation remains intact.

Tourism: a silent but powerful actor

Tourism is the cornerstone of the Maldivian economy, contributing a significant portion of its GDP and generating billions in revenue annually. For example, in 2024, the tourism sector reportedly earned USD 5.6 billion, with resorts accounting for a substantial majority of that revenue. Despite this economic reliance on tourism, the sector’s relationship with environmental governance is complex and has been described as a “silent saboteur” due to its often-detrimental impact on the fragile marine ecosystem, which is, ironically, the very foundation of the industry’s success. This dynamic highlights a conflict between economic growth and environmental sustainability, as tourism development, particularly through large-scale projects, can lead to environmental degradation that undermines the long-term viability of both the industry and the country.

As Zubair, Bowen, and Elwin (2011) demonstrate, EIAs for resorts are often superficial, repetitive, and produced by the same consultants. Reports downplay impacts, rarely engage local communities, and are written in English rather than Dhivehi, excluding ordinary Maldivians from understanding them. In 2015, lobbying by resort owners even succeeded in shifting the authority to approve EIAs for new resorts from the EPA to the Ministry of Tourism: a blatant conflict of interest.

Today, with the Ministry of Tourism and Environment merged, the fox guards the henhouse. Developers with deep political connections push projects that damage reefs, lagoons, and wetlands, while public consultation remains tokenistic. Tourism, instead of being a leader in sustainability, has too often been a beneficiary of weak governance.

Developmentalism as ideology

Underlying these institutional failures is a powerful ideology: developmentalism. This worldview frames economic growth, often through visible infrastructure, as the ultimate goal of governance and the ultimate metric of a state’s success.

Few statements capture this better than Environment Minister Thoriq Ibrahim’s defense of reclamation: “As a tiny island nation, if we have to grow economically, land reclamation projects have to be carried out. After all, Maldives is only one percent of the land, and the other 99% is the Indian Ocean” (Devex, 2020).

At first glance, this may sound pragmatic. But it also reveals a profound blindness. The Maldives’ strength lies precisely in its marine ecosystems, the coral reefs, seagrass beds, and lagoons that sustain fisheries, attract tourists, and buffer climate impacts. To treat the ocean as “empty space” to be filled is to misunderstand the foundation of Maldivian survival. The pace and scale of modern reclamation projects in the Maldives are unprecedented, with environmental impact assessments (EIAs) often conducted in haste. Critics point out that these assessments, while legally required, are sometimes rushed, leading to insufficient consideration of long-term ecological damage. For example, a 2022 article in The Guardian detailed concerns about reclamation in Addu Atoll, a UNESCO biosphere reserve. The EIS  for the project revealed that the reclamation could bury significant areas of coral and seagrass, threatening local fishing and marine life and causing substantial revenue loss from the atoll’s natural resources (Boztas, 2022).

This approach aligns with the concept of the authoritarian developmental state, as described by scholars such as Mark Beeson (2010). Beeson notes that these states often legitimize their rule by delivering visible, large-scale progress, particularly through impressive infrastructure projects. In the Maldivian context, reclamation serves this purpose, creating new islands, airports, and housing that political leaders can showcase as proof of progress in election campaigns. However, this is development as spectacle, not sustainability. It prioritizes short-term political gains and economic outputs over the long-term ecological health and survival of the nation.

The contradiction at the heart of Maldivian developmental policy is a microcosm of a global challenge. It forces a critical examination of what “development” truly means for a small island nation facing existential threats from climate change. While projects like the Hulhumalé and Ras Malé reclamation efforts are framed as necessary adaptation measures to create more resilient, elevated land, politically motivated pledges to reclaim every inhabited island, regardless of the cost to benefit, is unsustainable in the  long run.

Even though the country has made strides, with laws like the Climate Emergency Act of 2021, the challenge remains in balancing urgent infrastructure needs with the preservation of its fragile environment. The Maldivian experience offers a powerful case study for how the pursuit of a narrow, growth-centric ideology can lead a nation to inadvertently dismantle its own ecological foundations, highlighting the urgent need for a more holistic and sustainable approach to development. 

Governance deficits and corruption

Behind developmentalism lies a darker reality: corruption. Close ties between political elites and corporate actors mean EIAs are often designed to serve private interests rather than the public good. Consultancy firms with vested ties to developers produce glowing reports that gloss over ecological harm. Regulatory capture hijacked with weak independence ensures EIA approvals are a foregone conclusion.

As Mohamed and King (2017) and Zuhair and Kurian (2016) have shown, systemic governance deficits, like nepotism, cronyism  and weak oversight turn EIAs into legitimizing instruments for projects rather than checks on them. Combined with austerity and low funding for regulators, technical capacity is hollowed out, leaving oversight agencies ill-equipped to resist political pressure.

This cycle of corruption and weak governance entrenches inequality: elites profit from lucrative contracts, while communities bear the costs in the form of eroded reefs, declining fisheries, and lost livelihoods.

The existential risk: climate change versus reclamation

Perhaps the most dangerous expression of this authoritarian developmentalism is land reclamation. Unlike continental states, the Maldives has no hinterland. Its land area is finite and fragile, and its very existence is threatened by rising seas. Coral reefs and wetlands are natural defenses. To destroy them through reclamation is to weaken the nation’s armor in the face of climate change. This forces the nation to build hard engineering infrastructure as the islands lose their natural adaptation capacity owing to heavy coastal modifications. While faced with absolute land scarcity, the country does not place any policies or planning measures for efficient land use planning or sustainable urbanisation. The majority of reclamations don’t account for future sea-level projections, which could lead to major issues. For instance, some beachfront properties in Hulhumale now face annual tidal inundations.

Naturally, the fervent push for land reclamation is merely a noble quest for “national survival.” It certainly has nothing to do with benefiting the elite interests and cozy patronage networks of real estate cartels. The textbook case of how reclamation conveniently leads to corruption can be seen in the sale of lands and the development of real estate in Hulhumale: a perfect example of how public good is so often intertwined with private gain. Recently, the Anti Corruption Commission of the Maldives has halted the lease of huge areas of reclaimed lands in Addu for tourism development, owing to alleged corruption. Large-scale projects generate lucrative contracts for politically connected developers and create new real estate for tourism, luxury housing and urban expansion. Several senior politicians such as parliamentarians and former presidents also own a lot of properties in Hulhumale. Hence, land scarcity is manufactured by politicians to serve the interests of the oligarchy which empowers them. In this sense, reclamation is developmentalism as spectacle: a visible, concrete promise of progress that can be showcased in campaign rallies and election manifestos, even if its long-term social and ecological costs are devastating. Beeson (2010) describes this as part of the authoritarian bargain: citizens are offered visible signs of growth, while critical voices are excluded from meaningful decision-making. This is environmental governance reduced to procedure, not principle.

Yet reclamation projects continue at breakneck speed. Mathiveri Falhu’s reclamation for an airport was approved within 24 hours, an absurd time frame for any serious environmental review. The irony is the intelligentsia engaged in this process as EIA consultants and reviewers benefiting politically and financially on the behest of huge economic and ecological costs to tax payers. Reclamation also has become a political theater: a dredger and excavator are now standard props in campaign tours of the executive and his entourage. 

The irony is stark: the Maldives campaigns globally for stronger climate action, yet at home it undermines its own resilience. Its environmental governance has become governance in form, not substance.

A constitutional duty ignored

What makes this trajectory particularly troubling is that it violates not only ecological prudence but also constitutional duty. Article 22 of the Maldivian Constitution obliges the state to protect the natural environment for present and future generations. Every rushed reclamation project, every EIA ignored and expedited, every consultation bypassed is not just bad policy, it is unconstitutional.

Yet the courts have been silent. Public interest litigation on decimation of the coastal marine environment is neglected. The bar and bench look on as constitutional promises are broken. Betraying Article 22, is an offense which can even initiate the impeachment of the executive. 

Constitutions are meant to safeguard long-term public interests against short-term expediency. By disregarding these obligations, leaders betray both the spirit and the letter of the law.

A choice between spectacle and survival

The Maldives now faces a stark choice. It can continue down the path of authoritarian developmentalism, where growth is measured in lands reclaimed, roads paved and airports built, regardless of ecological cost. Or it can embrace democratic, participatory, and sustainable governance, where environmental integrity is placed at the heart of development.

The second path will not be easy. It requires restoring independence to environmental regulators, expanding genuine public participation, meaningful decentralisation and ensuring transparency in decision-making. It demands confronting corruption and rethinking the ideology that equates progress with unlimited economic growth, or rather unlimited land reclamation.

But it is the only path compatible with survival. The Maldives cannot build its way out of climate vulnerability by destroying the environment. It can only survive by strengthening the ecosystems that sustain it.

Conclusion: reclaiming the future

The Maldives’ international credibility as a climate leader will not be secured by speeches at UNFCCC, COP summits. It will be secured in its lagoons, reefs, and wetlands and  the choices it makes about how to balance development with ecology, power with accountability, spectacle with survival.

To reclaim legitimacy, the Maldives must change the path to democratic environmental governance and stronger reforms, instead of going down a de-democratisation path and sinking inexorably into the abyss. 

Dr. Ibrahim Mohamed is an expert in environmental social science with a Ph.D. in Climate Change Adaptation from James Cook University. His career in the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) spanned from 2008 to 2021, where he held various roles. Notably, he served as an Assistant Director of Assessments from 2009 to 2011, during which he led the Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA) section, before his promotion to Deputy Director General.

Photo: Mohamed Aiman

Aniya: a sister in the struggle

by Hindha Ismail

Aniya carried within her a deeply profound sense of commitment and duty. To the community, to her family, and to the world she wanted to leave better than she found it. Even as illness began to take its toll, she refused to yield. I had the honour of working with her to the end. Unyielding, purposeful, and unwavering in her devotion until her body finally demanded that she rest. 

I first met Aniya in the bustling offices of the Maldivian Democratic Party. She was the Deputy Secretary General, and it was my third year running the Maldivian Detainee Network. Her request that day was simple but urgent – how could the party organise itself so that it could help MDN support people arrested from the protests? Many of those detainees were party members or generally, democracy supporters. That question, posed with her usual clarity and conviction, was the start of something far greater than a working relationship. It was the beginning of a friendship, a shared purpose, and a bond that transcended politics and organisations.

To this day, I have not known another Maldivian who gave as much of herself to survivors of torture and to detainees as Aniya did. Her commitment was not an occasional gesture. It was the core of who she was. She found ways to connect with prisoners. Until the day she lay down, she called me every few weeks asking to help someone in prison.

At that first meeting in Male’, the country was still under the last, desperate years of Maumoon Abdul Gayyoom’s thirty-year dictatorship. Change was coming, but those who had clung to power for decades were using every tool within their reach to crush it. The police were their most brutal instrument. Armed with impunity, they descended on peaceful protests, beating, arresting, and dragging people away. Every day, dozens were detained. Yet from within that darkness of fear and pain, Aniya saw light.

She radiated hope. It wasn’t naive hope, but the kind that comes from understanding the cost of freedom and still choosing to fight for it. Her anticipation for change was contagious, moving us to work harder, to take risks. She reminded us that we were finally approaching the moment when Gayyoom could no longer gag the people while he drained our country dry. Our people would no longer “vanish” behind bars. The world would know about what happened inside detention centres and prisons. She had so much hope for our country. For the parents and children no one spoke of. She dreamed of freedom for the thousands of young people languishing in prisons. Of a country that would listen to its people.

Marking one year since we lost Aniya, Humay described Aniya, rightfully, as “a woman warrior. A mother, teacher, educator, journalist, broadcaster, pro-democracy activist, human rights defender, women’s rights defender, defender of the media and the constitutional right to freedom of expression.”

I will add some more. Aniya was the voice of this nation, quite literally, for thousands of listeners of Minivan Radio across the country. She brought the truth to the people at a time when it was thought impossible. She single-handedly ran and hosted the radio that the people loved, and the government hated. It was no small feat. Young and old alike, so many of us waited for her voice every day. Her unconventional style, her quick wit with Ahmed on air, their exchanges a mix of fondness and sharp political banter, and her unflinching choice to speak about what no one else dared to. Everything about her radio programs was something to look forward to.

When Ahmed Rilwan was abducted and disappeared in August 2014, it was personal for her. “Rilwan is not only a fellow journalist to me. He could have been my son, my brother”. She was heartbroken and angry, full of questions and frustration. From the day MDN released the results of our private investigation into his disappearance, she read the report on her radio station every single day for years. She vowed to keep Rilwan’s story alive, and she did. With Aniya gone, one seldom hears about what happened to Rilwan anymore.

She was, to me, a sister who chose me as her family. When MDN was attacked and so many turned their backs, Aniya stayed. She checked in, she guided me, she reminded me of my own strength. I still hear her voice: “No one will defend you if it means taking a risk to do it. The truth won’t matter to them. You must defend yourself this time.”  She recalled how she was abandoned by everyone after she was targeted by religious radicals back in 2007. Despite everything, Aniya’s commitment never wavered. She carried the weight of the struggle with grace and determination, year after year. But in 2022, even her unshakable spirit met its breaking point. She could no longer reconcile herself with the way President Ibrahim Mohamed Solih had diminished the sacrifices of thousands of her fellow party members and supporters. To her, it was not merely a political disappointment. It was a betrayal of the very people whose sweat, tears, and hope had built the movement.

Aniya lived her life in defiance of silence. She loved her people fiercely, fought for them relentlessly, and left behind a voice that will echo long after her absence. May Aniya receive an eternal place in Jannah.

Honouring Aniya – in memorium (1966 – 2023)

Independent, principled, uncompromising, fearless and fiercely committed. These are just a few adjectives to describe the amazing qualities of one of the most formidable women activists in the Maldivian media, politics and public life. She is the unforgettable and admirable Maldivian woman warrior, Aishath Aniya. Gone at 57.

Aniya sadly departed the battlefield of our earthly persisterhood on 20 August 2023 after a short illness, succumbing to cancer. One year has passed since her passing. The silence of her absence resounds in the Maldives, especially among those who value her unwavering qualities and inimitable contribution in a conservative, patriarchal, misogynistic and increasingly hostile environment to women – especially those in public life.

She is a woman warrior that must go into the country’s history books, for she fought on many fronts. As a mother, teacher, educator, journalist, broadcaster, pro-democracy activist, human rights defender, women’s rights defender and a staunch defender of the media and our constitutional rights to freedom of expression and assembly. Her social and political activism spanned across fast-moving historical changes in the Maldives in the early 2000s. From deadly authoritarian persecution and dictatorship to the fleeting hopes of democracy in the late 2000s, and back again to the darkness of uncertainty, insecurity and instability in the present time. She invoked the wrath of political conservative ‘clerics’, becoming the target of their harassment for questioning the alleged requirement to wear the hijab for women in a nation that had an Islamic history for centuries without this practice.

Throughout these social, cultural and political convulsions, Aniya weathered the political scene with dedicated commitment to the Maldivian Democratic Party (MDP). She was an active party member, administrator and organiser, coordinating and managing women-led grass roots street protests for MDP during its toughest trials. She confronted state lawlessness and police brutality with fearless conviction and pragmatism, suffering imprisonment and the inhumanity of being strip-searched in police custody. None of this broke her formidable spirit as she continued to fight for her democratic beliefs, in the pursuit of human rights, dignity and freedom. She fought with her body, her voice and her pen. Despite this commitment, Aniya found herself compelled to leave MDP a few months before her passing. She could no longer recognise what it stood for as the party became riddled with infighting among its leadership. She was always the principled woman. Like many loyal party members, leaving MDP is something she never imagined she would have to do. But that is the present reality of the landscape of democracy in the Maldives, which Aniya was a foundational part for at least two decades of her life, cut short too soon by cancer.

Through the toughest and most insecure times for journalists in the Maldives in the early 2000s, Aniya worked for the pro-democracy newspaper Minivan News. During the 2010s, the Maldives moment for democratic hopes rose briefly and fell back into authoritarian regression. At this time, Aniya held together a radio station, Minivan Radio, that continued to provide the public with sharp critiques of a lawless government with institutions operating with impunity against dissenters. Under great personal threats from the most unsavoury and dangerous operators in the Maldives’ political scene, rampant with conservative Islamism and political gangsterism, Aniya chose to forge ahead, unfazed.

Subsequently, when the space for independent media shrank further, Aniya took to the social media application Clubhouse where she curated a space and gathered a loyal audience to whom she provided her analysis and insights into the day’s politics. She had no funders. She was always giving, not taking. Always principled in her deep belief in human dignity, freedom, humanity and love for the Maldives. Her country. Her people. She continued to fight the good fight, until she could no longer use her voice through illness. And then fell silent forever, a silence and loss still felt.

Aniya’s contribution to the Maldives political scene as a fearless critic of the establishment is undeniable, uncontestable and in my opinion, absolutely admirable. This is why her absence is so acutely felt as Maldives went to the polls to elect the country’s next government in September 2023. Aniya’s departure means that Maldivians, who relied on her sharp political analysis, are suddenly bereft of these insights.
The absence of her fearless vocabulary of dissent leaves our media weaker. Her capacity to call out those deserving such treatment in no uncertain terms, based on her deep knowledge and experience of the country’s socio-political landscape and its many questionable actors is an irreparable loss.

With her departure, Maldives has lost a national treasure. That is what Aniya’s loss means to me. She is irreplaceable. She left us too soon, too young, with too much still to do. I was hopeful that she could run for the Peoples’ Majlis in 2024. It is a place lacking principled, committed, fearless and good people like Aniya. But that is not to be.

Aniya leaves behind a family, children and grandchildren. She leaves behind many friends and compatriots who feel her absence and the unwelcome silence of a cherished dissenting voice of reason and humanity.
Thank you Aniya for all that you were and for all that you did, taught and gave to the Maldives.
You will always be remembered as an inspirational woman warrior of our time.


إِنَّا لِلَّهِ وَإِنَّآ إِلَيْهِ رَٰجِعُونَ

20 August 2024
Humay Abdulghafoor

Photo: Aniya protesting with a group of women outside Velaanaage government offices, calling for the resignation of the then head of the Civil Service Commission, Mohamed Fahmy Hassan, after allegations of sexual harassment against him came to light. 2012.