Colonialists, conspiracy and the Maldives’ first constitution

While the accepted historical narrative surrounding the country’s first constitution, in 1932, is one of British interference in the internal affairs of its protectorate, the reality – as revealed in correspondence buried in the British National Archives – paints a far more complicated picture. 

When colonial administrator Bernard Henry Bourdillon arrived in Malé in 1931, he found a depleted Sultan, a ‘dictatorial’ prime minister and a delinquent crown prince, in addition to conflicting counsel from his own colleagues. 

It was perhaps inevitable that the constitution would collapse within a year, plunging the country into political chaos, but the story behind this seminal document reveals the complexity of island politics with which modern-day observers would be all too familiar. 

Official Maldivian historiography is quick to condemn the British during this period. Indeed, a publication by the People’s Majlis commemorating the 50th anniversary of the Parliament in 1981 roundly condemned the British for their role. Archive evidence certainly supports the assertion that colonial authorities in Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) played a significant role during the drafting period, although officials in London appear consistent in urging non-interference in local power struggles. 

When considered alongside Maldivian reports, the emergent picture is one of a deeply divided Maldivian court with some factions courting assistance from colonial administrators in Colombo. Bourdillon himself expressed scepticism that a constitution would work at all, as governors in Ceylon attempted to arbitrate between squabbling Maldivian chiefs.

In 1903, Athireege Abdul Majid had taken centre stage in the Midnight Coup, ousting Imaduddin VI & installing Shamsuddin III for a second time. Abdul Majid’s father, Ibrahim Didi Dhoshimeyna Kilegefaanu, had been the architect of the 1887 Great Fire of Malé, which had first led to the establishment of the British protectorate over the Maldives.

Abdul Majid had been assisted in 1903 by his elder half-brother Ahmed Didi, father of Mohamed Amin, who had secured British support for the coup. Ibrahim Dhoshimeyna Kilegefaanu had subsequently ruled as prime minister until his death in 1925. His son Ahmed Didi succeeded to his feudal title while his younger half-brother Abdul Majid became Rannabadeyri Kilegefaanu. Meanwhile, their brother Abdul Hamid represented the Maldives in Ceylon.

But peace amongst the brothers had fractured following the death of their father, and the 1932 Maldivian constitution would become a dynastic conflict over who should succeed Sultan Shamsudin. It was also the continuation of an inter-house rivalry within the Hura dynasty over who should wield political control. 

On 9 April, 1930, the governor of British Ceylon Herbert James Stanley had met with Abdul Majid, who was now prime minister, and his brother Abdul Hamid. Stanley’s report to London noted that Majid “wished me to know that the Sultan’s only son would not, in spite of his father’s wishes, be allowed to succeed to the throne when his father died”. 

Stanley’s understanding of the prime minister’s reasoning was that Crown Prince Hassan Izzuddin’s “habits of life had disqualified him both in law and in fact”, with one definite cause being that he was the “father of an illegitimate son”. Stanley’s impression was that the prime minister favoured the formation of a council of regency after the sultan’s death.

By January 1931, Stanley, citing Abdul Hamid, reported that the “question of succession is causing grave anxiety and that apathy of [the] Sultan has led to abuse of power by his ministers” and that “without some outside stimulus no party is strong enough to initiate movement for reform of [the] present system”. British authorities “should urge upon the Sultan [the] necessity for disinheriting his son and nominating [a] capable successor, and should assist in composing [the] framework of [a] constitution”, Stanley had been told.

Ten days later, the governor reported that Bourdillon’s interview with Abdul Hamid had left the former with the impression that Hamid was “a little suspicious of the attitude and intentions of his brother” who was “now virtually omnipotent in the conduct of the administration”, predicting Majid may wish to become the president of a republic.

Abdul Hamid, however, still shared one motive in common with the brother whose very power he sought to limit: the denial of the throne to the Crown Prince Izzuddin. One explanation for this was the demise of the union between the crown prince and their niece, the sister of Mohamed Amin. The chapter on the Crown Prince in Dhivehi Tarikh-a Au alikameiy (A New Light on Maldivian History) claims that the prince, following his divorce, had frolicked from wife to wife, hosting cross-dressing parties at Henveiru Gaduvaru. 

Bourdillon’s report from April, 1931, recounts his audience with the sultan, where Abdul Hamid had acted as the interpreter. Bourdillon said he had sympathised with Shansuddin’s desire to secure his son as successor, in accordance with Maldivian custom, but that “the prince’s complete seclusion from all affairs of state” was a cause of concern. Shamsuddin had answered that the crown prince’s ill-health had prevented him from doing so. When queried by Bourdillon on why he did not immerse himself more in the business of government, the Sultan had cast “an uneasy glance at the prime minister”, proffering his lack of knowledge and experience as an excuse. 

Bourdillon had suggested expanding the council of ministers, which the sultan reportedly welcomed “without hesitation”. Bourdillon rounded off his account of the interview with a remark that laid bare the depth of political intrigue and conspiracy prevalent at the time: “I understood that the prince was concealed behind a curtain throughout the interview”. 

Despite Bourdillon’s efforts to carve out a path of rehabilitation for the crown prince, including securing a guarantee for a medical journey overseas to treat his venereal disease. He wrote that even Abdul Hamid was sceptical, believing the prince’s “desire for power in the Island is the result, not of any interest in the welfare of the people, but of a wish for greater freedom to indulge in his disreputable pursuits”.

Bourdillon reported that “it would be a great mistake to introduce a complicated constitution” but noted that the prime minister was benefitting from the profits made by the Borah merchants through government policy which weakens Maldivian traders. Bourdillon’s preferred solution was greater oversight on the prime minister’s power by sharing financial responsibility with his colleagues. 

Events in Malé would soon develop beyond what Bourdillon had imagined while Abdul Majid, through his non-cooperation, left no doubt in the minds of the people that he opposed the new constitution. In Ceylon, however, governor Graeme Thomson still favoured this plan.

On 15 February 1932, citing letters from Shamsudin and information relayed to him by Abdul Hamid and the crown prince, Thomson described Abdul Majid as “a virtual dictator”, saying the solution for the current state of affairs, in the opinion of the prince and Abdul Hamid, was the “temporary removal of the prime minister”. The pair were also reported to have “felt that the presence of a British officer would enormously strengthen the hands of the Sultan and the reform party generally”. 

Shamsuddin’s letter to Thomson, delivered by the crown prince, demonstrates that British involvement or interference was something that had official Maldivian sanction, albeit not the prime minister’s. Shamsuddin expressed regret that the agreed constitution had not been put into effect “owing to the opposition of the prime minister”.

“It is my earnest desire that such an officer on arrival here will cause the removal of the prime minister for a short period from here to a foreign place, preferably Singapore, where he will be given a suitable allowance from our government,” continued the sultan. “I wish specially to inform your excellency that the British government will, at an early date, come to my aid for [the] purpose of maintaining peace and orderly government of my dominions”.

Back in London, however, the Conservative politician Philip Cunliffe-Lister, who was secretary of state for the colonies, did not share Governor Thomson’s enthusiasm. The Sri Lankan government was “only entitled to control the foreign relations”, wrote Cunliffe-Lister. Although present circumstances allowed the British to change this deal due to a pliant sultan, there was no pressing necessity, his letters to colleagues explained. The message was clear: there should be a policy of non-intervention for the time being.

Cunliffe-Lister recognised that, following Ibrahim Didi’s death in 1925, there had been a practical division of power between Ahmed Didi and Abdul Majid but that it “appears that the latter has lately succeeded in obtaining much the greater share of real political power”. He conceded that the concentration of power in the hands of one man is open to abuse, but that in “a community of the size and character of the Maldivian state, it may be difficult to prevent any man of unusually forceful personality acquiring a predominant influence”. 

He further reminded Thomson that, while Bourdillon had counselled the sultan to exercise more direct control and suggested a council of ministers with greater oversight over policy, he felt it was unclear on whose authority the draft of the constitution had been made, noting that it “went very much further than merely setting up a council of ministers”. 

Cunliffe-Lister characterised the Maldivian factional intrigue as “a purely domestic struggle for power”, saying intervention was “unwise” unless it was part of “a definite attempt permanently to secure greater control of Maldivian affairs”. The Maldivian army supported the prime minister, he noted, saying the sultan may not be able to carry out a reform programme suggested by a British advisor who did not have the guaranteed backing of the Ceylon government. 

By 5th May, 1933, Governor Thomson reported that the opposition had succeeded in lobbying the sultan to their cause. The prime minister resigned from office in October 1932 and was succeeded by his son Mohamed Fareed, while his other son, Hassan Fareed, inherited the position of minister of finance and foreign affairs. Thomson wrote that these men were “among the leading advocates of the new constitution”.

The opponents of Abdul Majid had succeeded in unseating him from office and had rammed through a constitution against the counsel of British authorities in London. Elements of this conflagration had indeed sought British help, though to treat the colonial representative as one monolithic group does not tell the full story.

While often consigned to a few lines of history, the formation of the first constitution had taken the combined efforts of the reigning sultan, multiple chiefs and close family members – all with varying motives in taking the first tentative step towards what would become a Maldivian republic. 

The country would declare independence from the British in 1965 and end over 800 years of monarchy by 1968, but the intrigue of local elites and outside agitators is something that can never be consigned to history.