Aishath Velezinee, The Failed Silent Coup: In Defeat, They Reached for the Gun, an insider’s account of how the Maldivian judiciary was hijacked by authoritarian forces to dismantle democratic governance. Download PDF.
by Azra Naseem
Last Sunday night Lance Corporal Adam Haleem was stabbed to death on the island of Kaashidhoo. He was en route to duty and in full uniform. He died from multiple stab wounds just after midnight. He was 26 years old, and the father of a son not yet a year old.
Before the young policeman’s body was cold, his death had become a political opportunity for many. Politicisation of life and death is not a new phenomenon in the Maldives. It was on the rise before the change of government on 7 February. But the extent to which the current ‘Unity Government’ of Dr Mohamed Waheed Hassan Manik is going, to squeeze every drop of political juice from the death of Lance Corporal Hameed, is a revolting spectacle to behold.
It was Dr Waheed himself who set the ball rolling.
Strongly condemn the killing of a policeman while on duty. Enough of hate mongering against officers of the Law.
— Mohamed Waheed (@DrWaheedH) July 22, 2012
What was this about hate-mongering? What did he mean? Was the policeman’s murder linked to the current political unrest? That was certainly the inference, as he reiterated shortly after:
No excuses to kill anyone let alone policemen on duty. Shame on cowards hiding behind anonymity and inciting violence.
— Mohamed Waheed (@DrWaheedH) July 22, 2012
By Latheefa Ahmed Verrall
The heat of the day dissipates and I walk cautiously along Chandhanee Magu, towards Jumhooree Maidhaan. A crowd gathers. The road leading to the police headquarters is cordoned-off. I am told that Mariya Did is held there, to give information, ‘regarding a matter that the police are investigating.’ Mariya Didi? I recall instantly. The image of this woman, speaking at a pro-democracy gathering, has stayed with me. Courage, combined with a social conscience, is a potent mix which never fails to impress.
Beside me a woman begins to have a conversation with a young policeman; a young boy really, perhaps younger than my own children. He is separated from the crowds by a fragile stretch of yellow tape. ‘It’s not that I hate the police,’ the woman declares to the world. ‘My brother-in-law is a policeman. I just object to the fact that he is made to do things like this. He shouldn’t have to take orders from a baagee government.’ The young man smiles. He has no answer. It occurs to me that he is as helpless as the woman who wants her opinion heard. The victim and the victimiser are trapped together in someone else’s web of ambition.