Adduans still measure development against abandoned British base

The fiscal expansion that followed the introduction of taxation – which boosted revenue from MVR 6 billion (US$ 389 million) to MVR 39.8 billion in 2025 – came with a surge of airports, asphalt roads, harbours, and land reclamation. State-owned companies are often tasked with delivering these election pledges. But with recent changes such as merging the tourism and environment ministries and bringing the Environmental Protection Agency under direct presidential control, concerns are growing over the feasibility and sustainability of this development model.

Speaking on the Ithuru Vaahaka podcast, 20-year-old Yameen Maumoon, president of the environmental NGO ThimaaVeshi, explained how what began as a social audit of a proposed bridge expanded into a wider study of how Adduans themselves perceive development.

“We wanted to ask a simple question: what does development mean for Adduans?” Yameen said.

One woman-led NGO captured it in a single word: Hope. But it was a failed hope, one that has repeatedly eluded the southernmost atoll.

Mishal, another leading member of ThimaaVeshi, reflected on this broken trust. "Nothing pledged has panned out. The general attitude is that the central government in Malé is unwilling to give us what we really need. So, people take whatever they are willing to give us."

For Mishal, the story of development in Addu truly began with the British military base established in Gan in 1942. “That was the first time Addu saw big infrastructure projects, regular employment, stable pay, English-medium schools, and healthcare better than anywhere else in the Maldives. That’s the benchmark people still remember," he observed.

When the British left, explained Ameel, another member of ThimaaVeshi, livelihoods collapsed. “Opportunities for income vanished. People were forced to abandon their families and work in distant atolls where tourist resorts operated.” Since then, development has been uneven, patchy, and disheartening, never quite delivering sustainable livelihoods for Addu City.

Curious about how people in Addu felt, a group of recent A-level graduates organised under ThimaaVeshi set out to investigate. Their study, “Development Through an Environmental Lens,” conducted in collaboration with Transparency Maldives, gathered 450 survey responses and conducted 12 stakeholder consultations, three focus group discussions, and seven key informant interviews.

A 14-kilometre bridge connecting mainland Addu City – the interconnected islands Hithadhoo, Maradhoo, Feydhoo and Gan – with Hulhumeedhoo was one of the most ambitious proposals that emerged during the 2023 presidential election.

For the ThimaaVeshi team, the bridge became more than just an infrastructure proposal. It came to symbolise broader debates around equity, representation, and sustainability.

Hulhumeedhoo, long isolated from the rest of Addu City, has had a very different development trajectory compared to the western cluster of islands. The latter benefitted first from the British presence and later from centralised government initiatives. For them, development “fell into their laps.” Hulhumeedhoo, by contrast, remained on the periphery, its people deprived of reliable healthcare, stable jobs, and access to higher education available just across the lagoon.

As Yameen explained, residents of Hulhumeedhoo view the bridge with cautious optimism. It may not be exactly what they want, and the environmental costs could be severe, but perhaps it will bring them closer to what they need. For the rest of Addu, however, more urgent priorities remain.

“Many argued that when it comes to Malé no project has ever been stopped due to environmental concerns. Why should it be different for Addu? Why does Addu have to back away from the bridge project due to environmental concerns?” Mishal noted.

Asked if there was a red line Adduans were unwilling to cross in balancing development with environmental protection, the study found none. “Compromises are expected from the environmental side, not the development side,” Mishal said.

According to Yameen, part of this stems from a broader disconnect between Maldivians and their natural environment: “Lots of us cannot even scuba dive, see the beauty of the underwater world. It is difficult to appreciate something we do not see and feel.”

This disconnect was most visible in interactions with school students. When asked what climate change meant, the first image that came to mind was a polar bear on melting ice. “They are not able to contextualise it within the Maldivian situation and cannot comprehend how vulnerable we are as a nation to the effects of climate change,” Mishal said.

In 2022, the government spent MVR 1.3 billion to reclaim 194 hectares of land, claiming it would solve space needs for the next 50 years. As Mishal observed: “The whole narrative was that Addu needs land. Commercial, industrial, and residential needs cannot be met without creating more land.”

But green zones and wetlands continue to be threatened under the banner of “development.” According to ThimaaVeshi and industry experts, no proper technical needs assessment was ever done. The project was largely a vanity exercise.

Addu already has underutilised land. Many residential plots remain empty and abandoned. “Before we buried 20 hectares of coral reef and 120 hectares of seagrass, we should have done a proper consultation and needs assessment for the project,” Mishal said.

By the time citizens of Maradhoo were invited to consultations, the dredger was already in the lagoon. The exercise was superficial, a mere tick-box requirement rather than genuine engagement.

The recommendations that emerged from ThimaaVeshi’s consultations went far beyond technocratic fixes. They included:

In short, the ThimaaVeshi study concludes that Adduans aspire for development that is resilient, equitable, and collective. 

As Mishal put it: “The question is not whether we want development. Of course, we do. But real progress lies not only in what is built, but in how it is built, for whom, and at what cost.”

Saif Fathih is a columnist at the Maldives Independent and a serving member of the Malé City Council for Galolhu North. With his educational background in communications, international studies and public policy, he previously worked as a journalist, editor and public policy advisor, with roles including senior policy director at the ministry of national planning and editor of Ocean Weekly Magazine. Saif began his career as a radio producer and presenter at Minivan Radio, writer for Minivan Daily, and translator for the British High Commission and the European Union Mission to Sri Lanka and the Maldives. He is also the host of Ithuru Vaahaka, the Maldives Independent podcast.