Author: Azra Naseem

Translation: CoNI testimony of Deputy Police Commissioner Hussein Waheed

The current Deputy Commissioner of Police Hussein Waheed gave testimony to the Commission of National Inquiry (CoNI) concerning the events 7 February 2012. At the time, he was an Assistant Commissioner of Police. This is a translation from the Dhivehi transcript of his testimony, focusing on the night of the 6th and the early hours of 7th February.

On 6th February, around 1:30 former Commissioner Faseeh summoned me.

“This is not a conversation I desire. But, given the responsibilities of my position, I have no choice but to tell you this,” the Commissioner said.

“Go on,” I replied.

“The President has ordered that you be asked to resign, the Home Minister tells me. So I am asking you to resign.”

The whole place went slightly silent for a moment.

“Why? What’s the reason”, I asked.

“I don’t know the reason”, CP said. “There isn’t one.”

“What if I don’t resign?” I asked after another moment of silence. “What then?”

“Nothing. Legally, nothing can happen to you. You are not in a political position. You are an Assistant Commissioner. Nothing can be done legally to force you to resign.”

“I have to think about this,” I said.

“There isn’t much time to think,” the Commissioner replied. “You have to make a quick decision.”

“Give me until Sunday,” I said.

It was a Thursday, from what I recall… a Monday, yes it was a Monday.

“You don’t have time to think,” the Commissioner said. “Besides, whatever you think, ultimately the answer will have to be yes.”

“It will be hard, working against the system. I am more swayed towards leaving than not. Anyway, I need a holiday. I’ll use the time to arrange my retirement and stuff,” I told the Commissioner.

I collected by cap — no, my glasses and keys — from my desk and went straight home. I spent sometime with my young one before my wife returned.

I told her about the conversation with the Commissioner.

“That’s where I am now. I have to make a decision.”

I rang my father a bit later, had a chat with him about it.

I thought. I have spent considerable time within the police and military. I knew my arrest was inevitable. Okay, the resignation request was polite, but when they say, “You must resign,” that means there’s going to be an allegation surfacing from somewhere to back up such an order. That’s why they were coming for me. They would arrest me. I wanted to spend sometime with my child.

I stayed in the same clothes as before. Any moment now, they would arrive. I knew. Somebody would come. Someone would have at least a question to ask of me.

Waiting, I nodded off. It was around 20:00 when I awoke. I phoned a friend, Shahdhy.

“I need to talk. Better if you come for me.” Shahdy could only make it around 22:00. I could wait. Time, I had a lot of it. When he came, we went to the Gallery [Cafe].

I had a coffee. Shahdhy ate. He had just been to the gym.

I talked about the order for me to resign, and the need to get a job. That’s the gist of it. At this point, retired Deputy Commissioner Rishwan called Shahdhy. I talked to him on Shahdhy’s phone and invited him to join us.

By then Shadhy had finished eating, and I had finished my coffee. Without quite knowing why, I felt uneasy. Really, ‘from inside’ I just didn’t feel that comfortable.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” I said, as soon as Rishwan came. “Let’s not have coffee here.”

We didn’t stay long. Only long enough for Rishwan to have a cigarette. Shahydh paid the bill, and we left. We went for a short spin, then to Trends. Upstairs was closed. We had wanted a secluded place. Shahdhy has good relations with the boys who work there. We got a table with a view upstairs.

Our conversation was about jobs. Rishwan made me some very good offers. It probably has to do with our relationship. They were great offers. A percentage share of his company, plus a job. We were deep in this discussion when a colleague, Shaz, phoned me.

“It’s on TV. A Facebook status update [by wife] about your resignation, being asked to resign’, Shaz said. “It’s a hit story.”

“It’s true,” I confirmed.

My other phone started ringing. More friends calling. I better switch them off, I thought. That was around 10:30. I can’t tell you the exact time. It was between 10:00 and 11:00 anyway. I switched both phones off. Somehow, my wife knew I was with Rishwan. She rang Rishwan whenever she wanted to talk to me.

We saw a large number of police lads running past Trends. They seemed to be shouting. As I was going up, I bumped into Akram Kamaluddin. I even shook hands with him. He’s a boss at my wife’s office. When I came down, they were still there, Akram and Saleem. I greeted them as I left.

It was around 11:oo, 12:00. Not that late. Police movements had ended by then, for sure. We rode along the road to the east of Henveiru Stadium, collected the wife from a house she was staying in, sat her behind Rishwan and went home. I took a lift with Shaydhy.

“Don’t come outside. Stay in tonight.” Rishwan warned me, as I lingering at the gate. Both my phones were off. I couldn’t phone anyone else.

I wasn’t long inside when I heard a crowd outside. They smashed our shop windows. I didn’t feel like calling the police, and asked my wife to do it. I told her which number to dial.

“Phone the Duty Officer. Report what has happened.”

She relayed the message. What happened afterwards, I don’t know, I didn’t check.

My aunty came to see me. So did my father. My Dhonma. My two other younger sisters. A brother. He spent sometime with me. We were all glued to the television. Raajje TV.

‘Hussein Waheed vandalised MDP Haruge and pepper-sprayed the people there.’ Raajje TV reported. I didn’t hear those exact words when I switched it on, but I heard about it being said. On the ticker was the news that ‘Commissioner Hussein Waheed has been fired.’ Or it said ‘retired’. I don’t know the exact word. I didn’t pay much attention. It’s not a channel I like watching anyway, I don’t pay much attention to it. I had to watch it on that night because of what I had heard that day.

When all the glass had been smashed and things had quietened down, it was around 2:30-3:00. I changed and went for another lie down.

From what I heard on television, things had gone very badly that day. Police had gone in to control a confrontation on Artificial Beach, withdrawn, been ordered away to the Republic Square, stayed there…these are all things I had heard.

I tried to sleep but failed. I stayed in bed, though, until about 7:00 or 8:00.

“President Nasheed is speaking to the police lads. The mood wasn’t good. ‘No sir,’ we heard them say,” a brother-in-law said to me.

I went in to watch TV. Even bigger events were unfolding. A confrontation between the police and the military.

***********

My father arrived at my house.

“You must go there,” he said.

“No. If I go there, I’ll be blamed even more. Some of the lads may be destroyed because of me. I won’t go there.” Right then, on TV, I saw weapons for rubber bullet pallet balls. I saw gassing.

I’ve been in the armed forces for a while, I’m familiar with how such situations process. I knew it would be live rounds next. I felt tears welling up.

“There will a bloodbath,” I said. “The two sides will attack each other, and nobody will be able to stop them. Things are at a critical stage. However much the police and the military continues to protest, the President won’t resign. He would not give up the job, the presidency. He would control the situation in any way he can, he has the authority.

“He will control it, but by then the bloodbath would have happened. This is very unhealthy. This shouldn’t happen.”

I began to cry. I couldn’t help it. My father consoled me. He stayed with me for a while, gave me encouragement. I just sat around at home then. Around 11:00 Rishwan called me on my wife’s phone. He wanted me to come to the police {HQ]. I asked why.

“You are being sought here. You must come,” Rishwan said.

“Is it wise for me to be there?” I asked.

“Judging from the current situation, I doubt things would get worse from now on. From what I know, there’s talk of the President stepping down”, he said.

Should I go, or should I stay? I mulled it over.

“I can’t go by myself. Send someone for me,” I decided. A vehicle was arranged. I shaved, splashed some water over me, changed, and waited. Soon three or four police lads were at my house. I went with them in their vehicle.

The scene you witness maybe of my hand being shaken as I walked in then. First I went to the Republic Square. There were some people — I don’t know who. They were police — on a vehicle. I am reluctant to name names because I don’t know for sure. I stayed long enough to have a look at what was happening, then went into the HQ.

There is a small sitting room beside the lift. There were people in the room, I noticed. I opened the door. I saw some members of the [National] Alliance. On seeing me, they offered me their hands to shake. I did that, then went upstairs.

I think I had a coffee in the mess room next, before going to the conference room downstairs. Some police officers, and again some members of the Alliance, were there. We had a discussion. That’s when I learnt the President had completely decided to resign.

Later, after the President resigned, things had calmed down, and the Alliance team had left, Fairoosh and I took leadership of the place. It was a policy decision — in order to enable the small and immediate changes necessary within the police and to maintain policy order. It was decided after discussing with the people present.

This is what can be seen and what can definitively be said about my involvement in the incident. The rest I know is information I have received from various people at various times from then till now. I can verify the authenticity of that secondary information. So I won’t talk about it.

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Transcript: President Waheed’s testimony to the Commission of National Inquiry

This article was first published on Dhivehi Sitee. Republished with permission.

Mohamed Waheed Hassan Manik, who took oath of office as President of the Maldives on February 7 2012, gave an interview to the Commission of National Inquiry (CoNI) on May 8 2012. Dhivehi Sitee has seen a copy of the English translation of the interview. Shared here is Dhivehi Sitee’s reading of the document. Some of the questions and responses have been summarised for brevity. Where I have been unable to decipher a coherent meaning from the translation, I have left the text and words as is, marked [sic].

Could you tell us details of how your meeting with the Coalition on 30 January 2012?

Leaders of the Civil Alliance first asked me to meet them on 20 January. By then they had been protesting for several days and nights. It was Adhaalath Party President Imran who called and requested the meeting. I think it was a Friday. I said I could meet him at 4:00 p.m. I informed President Nasheed via an SMS. If you wish, you can send someone from the President’s Office to participate, I told him. There was no response. Circumstances prevented them from coming, so the meeting did not happen.

A few days passed, and he called me again. I think it was the night of 30 January. They would come to meet me after the protests ended for the night.

Usually, the protests ended late. Some nights they went on until 2:00. Some people stayed up watching the protests on television till about 1:00. Me too. I usually stayed up until the end. They did not come at 12:00 as agreed. I received information they were coming to see me after a meeting elsewhere. When they came, there were about fifteen or twelve of them.

There were some leaders, leaders of protests too. This included Imran, Umar Naseer…I can’t recall their names right now…they came. As it was, before this meeting, I happened to have said something about Abdulla Ghaazee’s arrest. First I wrote a blog post saying I did not agree with the decision, and that I wasn’t happy about it.

Later, at a press conference I gave at the President’s Office, I said,

“I still believe he [Abdulla Ghaazee] should be released. But he mustn’t return to the bench until all issues surrounding him were addressed.”

From then on, everyone was ‘indignant’ [sic] with me. At the same time, I was becoming more popular among the protesters. Others, however, were not happy with me for saying that Abdulla Ghaazee should be released though not allowed on the bench.

I thought this was the reason they wanted to meet me. To ask me about what I had said. Considering how they do things, I assumed they were putting it on. It had been a long time since the protests started and, at the time, they were losing momentum. I thought it was just a PR stunt.

I believed, and still do, that Abdulla Ghaazee should have been released.

When they did turn up, I told them why I thought Abdulla Ghaazee should be released.

“He was arrested extra-legally. But, with the problems surrounding him, a judge of a court, he shouldn’t be on the bench,” these were my thoughts.

Even if requested by the judiciary, or acting on his own volition, Abdulla Ghaaze must not return to the bench until all investigations pending against him were completed. That would have been the best for peace and harmony.

“If there is a change in leadership, given how the protests are going, are you ready to take on the responsibilities of the government?” they responded.

“There is no need for a question like that. If, for any reason, the President steps aside, I should take his place. That’s my legal responsibility”, I told them.

“Say you had to carry out the responsibility. What would you do then?” one of them, I don’t know who, asked me.

“I am a member of a small party. This government came to power in a coalition,” I responded. If I were to take on the responsibility, I said, “I will work with everyone.”

“If that’s how you stand, we are with you,” they responded.

“We have a pact now,” one of them said to me as they left.

That was how the meeting went.

**********

There was a cabinet meeting the next morning. The moment I walked in, before I was able to say a word, Sheikh Hussein Rasheed jumped up.

“That was some meeting last night! I will not sit at the same table with someone who’s been in such a meeting!” Sheikh Hussein Rasheed walked out.

Other Ministers wanted to know what I had discussed at the meeting. I got a little upset.

“None of your business. I don’t have to answer to Ministers,” I said. I was really very displeased with them.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” I said. “It’s not that I am going to keep it from you, it’s just that there’s no need for such questioning.”

The questions came mostly from people like Shifa, Zulfa, Hassan Latheef. The rest had none to ask.

I told them what I have just told you, what happened [at the meeting], what we talked about.

They began asking more questions. The President interrupted.

“The Vice President has explained what happened. That’s the end of it,” he said.

There were no more questions; it was the last time we talked about it. That was during a working meeting. Later that day, in the afternoon, there was an official meeting. No questions were asked.

*********

Did anyone in the Civil Alliance ask you not to resign under any circumstances?

Yes, that’s possible. I am not someone who has ever thought of resigning. I had been given a post…it is possible that if someone had asked me if I planned on resigning, I would have said ‘No, I have no such plan.’

Why should anyone even ask me such a question? I don’t know why I should resign at all.

**********

Why did you make a statement at around 2:30-3:00 on the morning of 7 February asking everyone to act within the law. You also warned the military and police. Why?

Yes. As usual, we were watching the protest. What we saw that night was unusual. We saw the police leaving the place [Artificial Beach] and a fight breaking out. As far as I remember, I do make such statements on occasion. So I gave a statement that night, too, asking everyone to act according to the law.

“If things carry on like this, it may get out of control,” I thought.

No one was asking me anything, no one sought my counsel. As Vice President, I was very concerned with what was happening. That’s why I gave the statement, so everyone could hear.

**********

How much truth is in the statement that President Nasheed called you on the 7th and received no response?

The last time President Nasheed spoke to me was at tea, after the cabinet meeting. I haven’t spoken to him since. If he had called me, there would be a call log, right? His number is still in my phone as HEP. If he had called me, my phone would register a missed call, right? He did not call me. Had he wanted to, there were plenty of options. We are both under the protection of the SPG [security detail]. If he had asked one of the officers to call me, or fetch me, they would have done so. I don’t believe he called me at all.

**********

Did you contact any political leaders of the Civil Alliance during the events of 7 February?

Not even slightly do I recall talking to any political leaders that night.

Is there any truth to President Nasheed’s various, and changing, statements that you were a leader in this mutiny, that deals had been made and other such stories?

I have no such information.

President Maumoon made a statement that night. Did you have any role in that?

I did not talk to President Maumoon. I first talked to Maumoon only after this change was brought.

**********

Why did you not attend the cabinet working session on the morning of 7 February?

As you know, so much was happening in Male’ that day. Huge events. On TV I saw President Nasheed go out to the Republic Square. I saw fighting. I forgot it was a working day, that a cabinet meeting was scheduled for the day. The whole day was so chaotic, I completely forgot about the cabinet meeting. I didn’t think anyone would be going to work that day so I stayed home. We hadn’t slept that night.

In the afternoon, Abdulla Shahid called to say the President was about to resign. This, too, made me sure there wouldn’t be a cabinet meeting that day. Isn’t this to be expected in a situation like this?

The way things were going, it just didn’t occur to me there would be a cabinet meeting that day. I would have been really anxious when I heard the President was to resign. I didn’t hear it from the President, he did not talk to me or call me. Abdulla Shahid did.

“It will only be official when I receive the letter. I haven’t got it yet. I’ll call you when I have it,” Shahid said.

One and a half hours later he rang me again. He had received the letter. Would I come to the People’s Majlis and take the oath?

So, actually, I didn’t know there was a cabinet meeting that day. No one from the President’s Office called to say a Cabinet meeting was on, no one called to invite me.

I forgot. But, surely someone from the President’s Office could have phoned and asked if I were coming? Nobody did. There were cabinet ministers around him when he resigned, I saw it on TV. I only learned later that his resignation had been preceded by a cabinet meeting.

**********

It has been alleged that, during a time of such crisis, you failed to perform your responsibilities as Vice President. How do you respond?

To fulfil my responsibilities, I made a statement. I believed I had to say something, so I made a statement urging obedience to the law. I said I was willing to help in anyway I can with everything. I made the statement because no one in the government was in touch with me.

President Nasheed didn’t call me. He made no attempt to discuss things with me. And, given our relationship at the time, I didn’t want to take the initiative and get involved in things he hadn’t invited me to. He hadn’t called me, so I didn’t know how things were going. But I did call [retired Major General] Moosa Jaleel sometime in the morning, when the police-military confrontation began. He did not answer.

Did President Nasheed ask you then, or at any time, to finish up and go? To ‘retreat’ [sic] or resign?

No. Never. But, back when the whole cabinet resigned, he discussed the possibility of mid-term elections with a lot of people. Mid-term elections could only be held if both of us resigned together. But, even then, he did not ask me to resign. I learned indirectly that he, or others, wanted me to resign.

The British High Commissioner, in a meeting about a year and a half ago, asked me what my plan was.

“How will I know what to do? It’s not been discussed with me. When the time comes, I will do the best for my country,” I replied.

**Dhivehi Sitee Note: What the transcript says next is below in quotation marks. I am not sure of the meaning of the paragraph, so I have left it as it is. **End of Note

Then he asked me what was Plan B, I told him that Plan B was to go according to this within this unrests, then the High Commissioner asked me if so what was Plan C. Nobody replied to that, then the Commissioner told that it is talking to each other. Plan C was not followed later.

**********

How much truth is in the statement that you sent some people to take over TVM before President Nasheed resigned?

My younger brother called me to tell me he was there. But it was after I took my oath. He worked in TVM for a long time, and would go there on other people’s request. I don’t know the details. I told him to remain there until we knew what was going on. He did. I began working on handing over TVM to MBC the next day. Within two days of me becoming President—in less than 48 hours—the board of MBC came to meet me.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said. I handed over the responsibility of handing over TVM and Radio Maldives to MBC to the Attorney General. It took several days—around two weeks, I think, to make the required changes to the board, transferring assets and such like. As soon as the changes were completed he [brother] left TVM.

Do you believe that the situation got to a level where President Nasheed had to resign?

No, I don’t believe that. Not at all. I was surprised. President Nasheed is not someone who does things that easily. From what I have seen, he never did anything he did not want to do. I believe that things could have been resolved through talking. Why that didn’t happen, I don’t know.

How come people who led things that day have been given such high posts?

‘We all expected it to turn like this’ [sic]. When things changed, and I came to be in charge, my first priority was to maintain law and order. The Attorney General advised me, too, that I should first secure the Police, Home Affairs, and Defence.

So I gathered members of all political parties and continued to do things according to their advice. They suggested those names. They are not people I know.

But then again, I don’t know a lot of people.

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Translation: PPM MP Abdulla Yameen’s testimony to CoNI

This article was first published on Dhivehisitee. Republished with permission.

Progressive Party of Maldives (PPM) Parliamentary Group Leader, 2013 Presidential candidate and half brother of former President Gayoom, Abdulla Yameen, testified to the Commission of National Inquiry (CoNI) on 30 April 2012 regarding the end of the first democratically elected government of the Maldives. This is a translation of parts of the testimony dealing specifically with the events leading to and on 7 February 2012, as told by Yameen.

PPM began leading demonstrations or protests when Abdulla Ghaazee [Abdulla Mohamed of Criminal the Court] was arrested. Our primary concern rose from seeing then president Nasheed increasing his political power in the Majlis. That’s why PPM decided to protest. These sentiments are shared by other political leaders working with us. We all believed President Nasheed was trying to consolidate all powers in his own hands. Article 115 of the Constitution gives the President certain authorities. President Nasheed was exercising more power than we found acceptable—more than is acceptable in a democracy—to create positions and to amend laws that restricted his powers. He was doing all this in the Majlis to usurp all powers into his own hands.

From then onwards, trust was an issue amongst us. It was getting very serious. All us political people, especially PPM, became convinced that these efforts were an attempt to completely sideline the Constitution and just take all three branches of power into his hands. We saw the arrest of Abdulla Ghaazee as a manifestation of this. For Nasheed, some parts of the criminal justice system were a problem. This, therefore, was an attempt to meddle in it. We, the PPM, decided then that we would not let it happen. Arresting a judge, the chief judge of the criminal court, that’s one thing. There was, at the same time, also the problem of interfering with the judiciary.

In all this, my position as a member of parliament worked to our benefit: we got the opportunity to run a parallel assessment of the situation, an oversight type of exercise, from within the parliament. We summoned Abdulla Ghaazee to the National Security Committee. I don’t know the date, but it was some months before he was arrested. It was in relation to a complaint filed by MDP. I was the Chair.

The issue was why Abdulla Ghaazee’s court was releasing major criminals. Abdulla Ghaazee came with tons of documents showing how cases had been filed, reasons for release—he brought some very confident print-outs. Here you can really register their dissatisfaction, unhappiness, with Abdulla Ghaazee. We had the benefit of being in possession of this knowledge.

We also summoned Moosa Jaleel to the Committee. Sorry, Moosa Jaleel was summoned to the 241 Committee, and so was Police Commissioner Faseeh. We wanted to find out the details of Abdulla Ghaazee’s arrest.

Because we were privy to this sort of information, we did not in any way want to tolerate the level of interference Nasheed was planning to run in the judiciary. We absolutely did not want to accept that. So, to free the judiciary—and because this is symbolised by Abdulla Ghaazee’s arrest—we, the PPM, took the initiative and began these protests. Other opposition parties, and the Madhanee Itthihad too, participated. We did this work for, if I recall correctly, 21 days.

In the midst of this, I went to Singapore for about a week, partly because a family medical trip had been planned. I came back on the night of the sixth.

These protests and all, they were not intended for bringing down the government. Nor were they held in anticipation of it. We wanted to continue, relentlessly continue, the protests until Abdulla Ghaazee was free. That’s why we began the protests and we were not going to stop until it happened.

So, I came back on the night of Sixth [February] around 11:00. I knew there were two protests on two sides but, that night, I did not feel like participating in either. I just wanted to retire for the night, so I went home and slept.

Around daybreak, the house phone rang persistently. A servant answered, and brought the phone upstairs. Our party Deputy Leader Abdulraheem wanted to speak to me urgently.

When I returned the call, he updated me on the situation.

“Police, from among the security forces, were protesting at the Republic Square.” Until then, I had no idea.

“Various political leaders are making statements. A senior figure from PPM should do the same. Why don’t you go on VTV to make a statement advising, or encouraging, police and military to remain within legal boundaries? Or, if you prefer, a crew is ready to be dispatched to your house.”

I decided to go to VTV. I got ready for the statement. The anchor introduced me, ‘I am in the studio with the Mulaku Atoll Member…’

At that moment, the CEO of VTV Khaleel, no Ameen, came in.

“Stop. Don’t show Yameen yet. We have already been attacked once this evening. From what we know, an MDP group has left the Republic Square and come into the inner city. If Yameen appears on VTV, we’ll be attacked again. I’d really appreciate if you didn’t do this,” Ameen said.

So I didn’t get a chance to speak. I even remained in their waiting room for a while, to give an interview when things subsided. After about fifteen minutes, they decided it was unwise for me to give an interview right then, in case of further damage to their studio.

I spent altogether about half an hour at VTV, went home, and watched television. I had overheard in VTV that a police/military confrontation was imminent. I watched until it was over in the morning, then went to bed hoping for a couple hours’ rest. But I couldn’t sleep for long. By some time past nine, I think, I was up.

I had two missed calls from Ibu, Ibrahim Mohamed Salih, Hinnavaru MP and MDP Parliament Group Leader. That was between nine and ten. I can’t tell you the exact time.

“Yameen, President Nasheed has decided to resign,” Ibrahim Mohamed Solih said to me on the phone.

“What you can do is ensure his personal protection, personal security. Guarantee it,” he continued.

“I have heard what you are saying. But President Nasheed is… I would like to hear it from President Nasheed himself… otherwise…”

“I will arrange it. President Nasheed will call you shortly,” he said.

But that call did not come that soon.

Around 10:00am, from what I recall, I received an SMS from Indian High Commissioner, ambassador Mulay. “It’ s urgent, a time of national crisis”, he said.

Mulay requested a meeting. A little background on this – I meet Mulay on his request from time to time to discuss political issues. He had requested a meeting before I left for Singapore, too.

“Perhaps when I return,” I told him. I was taking a daytime flight.

So, when he requested the meeting on this day, I agreed. When I went to see the him it was between 11:00 and 12:00. Again, I cannot tell you the exact time. The High Commissioner was alone in his office.

“Yameen, can you negotiate a three-day period for Nasheed in which to sort all this out?” Mulay said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I believe that if you personally face the security forces and the public, and give them your word, they will accept it. So why don’t you speak to them and tell them that Nasheed sent you to hear and note to their grievances and to assure them that if they gave him three days, all their grievances would fully and exhaustively addressed.” Mulay laid out his idea.

“That a very unreasonable request,” I said to the High Commissioner. “I don’t represent President Nasheed. And, I don’t agree with your belief that the security forces will listen to what I have to say. Nor can I see in what capacity I would be going there. And, I doubt if President Nasheed has suggested this. Ibrahim Mohamed Solih rang me this morning and indicated President Nasheed intended to resign. But President Nasheed haven’t confirmed yet.”

“MDP leader Didi is here. Would you mind negotiating with Didi?” the Indian High Commissioner asked me at this point.

“Negotiate what?” I asked him. “I find it a difficult, but since Didi is already here, I might as well meet him. No problem.”

“Shall I invite Thasmeen? Shall I also get Gasim here?” Mulay asked. He also answered himself.

“I think if PPM and MDP are represented, we can continue this discussion even if Thasmeen and Gasim aren’t here.”

So I agreed.

As he entered, Didi said in Dhivehi, “I have credentials to negotiate on behalf of President Nasheed.”

“Negotiate what, Didi?” I asked. “And, how do I know that you have your credentials? Do you have a letter?”

“No, I don’t have a letter,” Didi replied.

“Why don’t we speak in English, Mulay is here too,” I said to Didi. Mulay was sitting right across from me.

“I have told Didi to establish his credentials,” I updated Mulay on my discussion with Didi. “I know Didi is the party leader, but I don’t know he is an envoy of President Nasheed. He has to establish his credentials.”

Mulay agreed.

Didi called President Nasheed from his hand phone. From what I have learned since, listening to an interview Didi gave later, Nasheed did not want to talk with Didi much at that point. He asked to talk with me instead.

Didi handed the phone over to me.

President Nasheed and I had a conversation. I found him to be very cool, collected, even jolly. There did not seem to be any problem at all.

“Yameen, I have decided to step down. I have decided to resign. I am not the kind of person who wants to remain in power against the pulse of the people. I don’t want to rule by force,” he said.

“But,” he continued, “I am going to go to the President’s Office shortly—I have already invited the press—and I will resign in front of them. So I am going to the press now. If you are thinking of addressing the rally, I would like it if you did so after my announcement to the press.”

He himself said he had invited the press.

“I am going to the President’s Office to resign in front of the press,’ that’s what he said.

He even joked a bit, and said to me in English, “Yameen, you are still my friend.”

Still in English, he said,“Please ensure my personal security.”

I assured him that, but I also adde it was not advisable given the atmosphere on the island.

“My idea is to resign and head to my family home or to my wife’s residence,” he said.

“It may not be safe,” I replied. “Even if the security forces give you protection, the island is in a uproar. Why don’t you go to Arah [Presidential retreat island] or somewhere for two or three days with whomever you want? Or by yourself, if you like? That’s an option too.”

“I will talk to the security forces and with my party about your personal security and all of those things”, I added.

“If you are still my friend,” I asked him, “why then did you arrest me extra-legally two or three times for no reason?”

“I was arrested twenty-seven times,” he responded.

“How come? What? It was my brother that arrested,” I said.

“Yameen, these things happen in politics,” he said. So, I also saw Anni’s serious side.

In my assessment of the conversation there was absolutely nothing to indicate that he was that under stress. He laughed and joked. As I said, I found him a very collected person.

“I will see to the personal security issue and try to make sure no harm comes to you,” I assured him.

As soon as Didi came in, he had told me about a phone call from Ibu.

“I told him I am in a discussion with Yameen and Ambassador Mulay, so he hung up,” Didi told me. But I later heard Didi saying in an interview that Ibu told him on the phone about Anni’s decision to resign.

This [resignation] is not something I came to learn the next day. I was told this earlier the same morning. He did not confirm it to me later as I was told he would. Then the discussion with Mulay occurred.

“He has offered to resign,” I told both Ambassador Mulay and Didi at the end of the phone call with President Nasheed.

“He is going to meet the press in a few moments to announce it. So what is there to negotiate?” I said.

“In that case, shall I invite President Waheed to arrange for the oath of office and such?” Mulay responded.

“Sir,” I said, “Isn’t it too early for that? Anyway, that’s Waheed’s decision.”

That’s how the meeting ended.

My assessment of it is that President Nasheed and Mulay had a discussion about the grievances that they [security forces] might have, and wanted me to take down those grievances to get a three day respite for President Nasaheed. They thought if I were to give my word to the security forces and the public, they would listen to me. That’s how the day’s discussions went. Unfortunately, before room could be made for negotiations, President Nasheed voluntarily tendered his resignation.

**********

Did I have any information about President Nasheed making a concentrated effort towards judicial reform?

Yes, but I only learnt of that after the government had ended. I didn’t know about it before because I had been away for the most critical seven or so days of this. I was in Singapore for personal health reasons. I did not have an opportunity for spontaneous exchange of information. So, actually, I learned about President Nasheed’s intention to establish a Judicial Reform Commission—or in whatever name it maybe—only after the government changed. It was on the 8th that I came to know he had entertained such ideas. The hope was that, if the 7th had not become such a fearful day, it would have been commissioned as such. But I learned of this afterwards. On the eighth.

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Translation: PPM Deputy Leader Umar Naseer’s statement to CoNI

This article first appeared on Dhivehi Sitee. Republished with permission

On 13 May 2012, PPM Interim Deputy Leader and 2013 presidential candidate, Umar Naseer, gave an interview to the Commission of National Inquiry (CoNI) on how the events of 7 February 2012 unfolded. This is a translation of the part of the interview focusing specifically on the protests of 6 February and the subsequent events that culminated in President Nasheed’s resignation.

Oh, yes. When this Mohamed Nasheed got power in 2008 he was already accused of being an irreligious man who would shatter the economy and destroy our religion. So, as a senior leader of a responsible political party, we were watching it very closely. The more we watched, the more we saw how he was establishing relations with Israel, what he was receiving from various churches to spread Christianity in the Maldives, how he was selling our natural resources to foreigners, and what he was doing to end our sovereignty.

Watching all this, we were certain that it was incumbent upon every single one of us to end this man’s rule. The question for us political leaders was whether to end it within or outside of the law. We decided to end that man’s rule from within the law. We did everything we could to achieve this goal. Protests, submitting numerous petitions to Majlis [parliament], filing court cases…we did all this continuously.

At the same time Mohamed Nasheed was issuing various unconstitutional orders. Through the government, he was also making attempts to force police and military to follow unconstitutional orders. We know he was doing this. We know a lot of people in the military, the police and the government. They were informing us.

By the evening of 6 February, we had shown very clearly to the people of the Maldives that Mohamed Nasheed is a man trying to spread other religions in the Maldives, that Mohamed Nasheed is a man who was trying to sell our sovereignty to other countries. We were able to convince every Maldivian that he had directly violated our Constitution. It took a huge combined effort over three years to arrive at this point: protests that continued for 22 consecutive nights and the many previous protests, the cases that were filed in court. It had been made blatantly clear to all Maldivians.

So, that protest on the night of the 6th , well that was a protest we weren’t planning on ending.

Before this, by the 2nd, MDP had started bringing out its paid thugs to confront our protests. These included criminals released under the Second Chance [government rehabilitation programme for offenders] and paid gangsters from all over Male’. Before we started our protests, they tried to intimidate us, coming there with knives and such like. So we were encouraging PPM activists and others to confront them.

Anyway, on the evening of 6th February, a large number of Second Chance criminals and gangsters paid by Mohamed Nasheed intended to confront us with iron rods and bars. They faced us at the Artificial Beach, where our protests started near the stage. They started their protests about 50 feet away from us, with loudspeakers. Their intention was to stop our protest. Police intervened, set up a cordon separating the two sides, and remained between them.

We were continuously telling the police that Mohamed Nasheed arrested Abdulla Ghaazee against the Constitution and that he should be released immediately. It was not just about Abdulla Ghaazee; the plan was to attack the whole judiciary.

We had information that on 8 February Mohamed Nasheed would close other courts in the Maldives, send all judges home, and acting on his own, would establish a Judicial Reform Commission. From then onwards, it would be this Commission that would appoint all magistrates. We knew this. The plan, so, was to destroy the country’s entire judicial system. We were sharing this information with various people who were in this with us.

The night of the 7th was the turning point.

If we give them space until the 8th, they would destroy the entire Maldivian judiciary.

On that day we confronted them with our—and their—biggest thugs. If attack became necessary, we were ready. That’s how we came out that night to the Artificial Beach.

The other side also brought out their full force.

The police came between the two sides—why? Because they knew that night’s would be the biggest of confrontations. I notified Faseeh [Commissioner of Police] by SMS that there would be a bloodbath there that evening if he did not monitor the situation properly. Faseeh guaranteed that police would maintain control and peace.

Anyway, on one side our people were speaking, and on the other side, they were speaking over loudspeakers, too. It did not go to a confrontation, but people on both sides were throwing things like water bottles at each other. All of a sudden we saw the police withdraw. I think Farhad Fikry was the main police officer there. I sent him a text message asking him why the police had withdrawn.

“The military are going to takeover. We have received orders from the Home Minister,” Farhaad replied.

I sent a message to Faseeh. He did not reply.

I told senior MNDF officers that the military will find it difficult to control the situation. They don’t have much training in controlling civil disorder unlike the police, an elite force in such situations. We saw the military going in, police withdrawing, and then the military withdrawing shortly afterwards. When we saw the military withdrawing, we knew Mohamed Nasheed’s plan was to get both sides agitated so he could declare a state of emergency.

That’s the plan Mohamed Nasheed had prepared for 8 February to destroy the judiciary: take it under his personal control; sack judges and other appointments made by the JSC; close all the courts; extralegally appoint people he and Maria approve of to the Judicial Reform Commission, which will then takeover all powers of the judiciary. Getting PPM and its coalition partners in a confrontation with thugs paid for by the MDP, causing a bloodbath, and then using it as an excuse to declare emergency—that was the last phase of that plan. We knew that.

I said this immediately to our supporters, that declaring emergency was the other government’s strategy. I told them this is why a fight was being prepared for.

Even as the military began withdrawing, I said to senior MNDF officials:

“We know the strategy. It is to declare emergency. We won’t obey any such emergency,” I told them.

The confrontation was imminent.

Suddenly, we saw Mohamed Nasheed’s thugs begin throwing stones. Our line retreated a bit. Soon, though, our line recovered and advanced with equal force. Throwing stones, we made them retreat. We were in very close combat when we saw police arriving at the scene.

I don’t know what sort of orders they were following, we didn’t know if any orders had been given at all. They came and sprayed tear gas on both sides and separated them. Our troops backed down and moved near our jagaha [party base]. Troops on the other side retreated.

On our side, the command was for our troops to keep advancing without attacking, and to control our territory. We received news that police were running after the MDP thugs. We were still in position when we heard the police had gathered at the Republic Square and declared their refusal to obey unconstitutional orders. This gave us much encouragement.

Why? Because that’s what we wanted. No Maldivian should follow any illegal orders.

We ordered our supporters to gather at the Republic Square, which they did. But the other military came out and stopped them from getting in. They blocked off the MMA area, Chandhani Magu intersection and Bandara Mosque. This led to a bit of a confrontation between our supporters and the military. Tear gas canisters—about 10 of them—were thrown at us. Our focus was on getting our supporters onto the Republic Square, so, we continued to engage despite the canisters.

Suddenly, those Second Chance criminals of MDP I was talking about, and MDP thugs, approached from the direction of Bandara Miskiyy [Mosque]. Armed with iron rods and bars, they began attacking our people near the MMA. Our people retreated in shock. Some tried to flee. But, when the leaders among our people advanced as one group and counter-attacked, the MDP thugs retreated. There was a lot of violence at that point. An MDP person had to be hospitalised.

We learned later that these people had been drinking alcohol. Waheed Deen [current Vice President] was the supplier. At the time, Waheed Deen was a big MDP supporter. It was inside Mulee Aage the plan to attack us near MMA was hatched. Usually they ply these people with alcohol before sending them out. That night they couldn’t get any alcohol, until they found some from Bandos [Island Resort]. Waheed Deen made the arrangements. We know that.

He is the Vice President now, but Waheed Deen is a man who made several attempts to stop our activities. It is after doing all this in vain, and when we heated things up, that he came and joined this government. These MDP thugs, drunk on the booze supplied by Waheed Deen, attacked our line and caused head injuries to about five of our people. One of our main lieutenants got an iron bar in his chest. It wasn’t put into the chest, but it caused serious injuries. About 10 of our people were hospitalised. I was informed of this by our people guarding the hospital.

That was MDP’s first attack on us that night.

Still, we continued to engage with the military. They were firing gas canisters. We kept up our attempts to get onto the Republic Square. Our purpose was to support and encourage the police not to follow unconstitutional orders. That’s a basic right the Constitution gives us, that’s why.

Amidst these attempts came MDP’s second offensive of the night. This was also carried out by a big group of drunkards. We, all our activists, got together and foiled that attack too. There were no more attacks from MDP that night.

The confrontation between us and the military was still continuing. Tear gas canisters were still being thrown. We forced them to retreat, too. Our troops continued to engage with the military. The purpose was to get to the police.

As the sun came up, we saw the military abandon their positions and leave. All our supporters spilled on to the Republic Square. Once there, we worked with the police, really. We gave them all the assistance they needed. We knew they hadn’t had any food all night, they had no water to drink, nothing. We told the police that the water, the energy drinks. All that we were supplying them, we would supply them to the military too, and to any member of the public who wanted them. So, we supplied everything to everybody.

Then, as the sun rose, we saw Mariya [Didi] and some MDP MPs forcing their way into the Republic Square. We saw them shouting at the police, almost assaulting our people. Again, there was a violent episode. Why? Because MDP people came with planks and things. Mariya and them may not have been carrying such implements themselves, but the MDP people who came with them had metal bars, rods, knives and the likes. Our people had no choice but to confront them. There was major violence. The MDP people who came with Mariya retreated.

I was communicating with the Defence Minister then.

I told him:

“Mohamed Nasheed has two options tonight: release Abdulla Ghaazee to respect the constitution or resign voluntarily.”

By then I had communicated with the Defence Minister about four times. The Defence Minister and I, we are very close. We trained together in the military, and we had been classmates. We did all our military training together. So we are very close. We were in communication with each other.

“Choose one of the two options, or face mortal danger” I kept telling Tolhath [to tell the President].

I did not mean that the threat to life came from the police or the military. There were thousands of people gathered there, they were trying to get into the military headquarters. We knew that even if they managed to get in, the military would not dare shoot them. Which means their lives were in danger. Our control was lost at the time too.

Although we were the direct moral authority, we knew that right then—with a crowd that large—things could only go the way the crowd wanted it to. We knew very clearly it wanted: Mohamed Nasheed’s resignation. It was very obvious to us. That’s what they were all calling for. It was not the police or the military who were demanding it; it was the public. The public were demanding Mohamed Nasheed to resign immediately, to release Abdullah Ghaazee immediately.

That’s what I relayed to the Defence Minister.

He suggested that I go in and speak to the people, and asked for some time for the government to make a decision on Abdulla Ghaazee.

“There has been enough time. It has been 22 days. No more time to give. Now there are only two options left. Pick one, or face mortal danger,” I said.

By mortal danger, again, I mean danger from the public, the possibility that the public may force their way into the military HQ.

As these exchanges continued, around 7:00 that morning, we grew certain that Mohamed Nasheed’s rule could no longer continue.

Why? Because by then they had used up all the tools in their possession against us. All their thugs had been used. We had responded to all attacks by the thugs and destroyed everything. We had been monitoring their jagaha. The motivation and morale there was very low. We knew they were no longer capable of regrouping and launching a counter-attack. We were sure of this by about 7:00 that morning. Their last attack, like I said, was the attack by Mariya.

So we were sure that Mohamed Nasheed’s rule was at an end.

The only way to maintain it was for the military to come out and start shooting. We knew the military wouldn’t do that. I don’t think the Maldivian military would ever fire a gun again. They were blamed for shooting someone that needed to be shot in jail. We knew they would never shoot anyone after that. But we also knew they would use rubber bullets, tear gas, every other power technic they could, to disperse the public.

Once we were sure that MDP would not attack again, I said to Tolhath:

“Tholhath, all your options are exhausted. Tell President Nasheed to resign or release Abdullah Ghaazee immediately.”

He did not reply.

Later, around 8:00 am I received news that some of our people were getting ready to go to the airport, to get it back from GMR. I forbade my troops from going to the airport, and immediately called Indian High Commissioner Mulay.

“On behalf of all Maldivians gathered here, I assure you that nobody would attack Indian interests,” I told him.

President Nasheed phoned me on the Defence Minister’s phone.

“I have now decided to resign,” the President told me. “Why don’t you come in to the military HQ and discuss this with us?”

“I’ll think about it,” I told him.

There were many lawyers with me at the time. They advised me against it.

“It’s too dangerous. They might kill you. We don’t know what the situation is inside, what the plan is. You shouldn’t go in there.”

“I can’t go. Tell me what you have to say,” I told Mohamed Nasheed.

“I want to go to the President’s Office, hold a cabinet meeting, inform them of my reasons for resigning,” he said. “You have to guarantee me safe passage to the President’s Office and full protection for my family.”

“It is not our intention—leaders of the political parties—to harm your family or endanger life.”

At this stage we heard [Mohamed] Nazim was inside the military HQ. I never told Nazim to go there. He had not been a part of our political activities, nor was Abdulla Riyaz a part of it. I only knew of their presence in the HQ when they telephoned and told me so. Before that, I only heard of their presence from reports on the ground, but there was no contact between us and them.

I rang Nazim.

“This Mohamed Nasheed wants to go to the President’s Office. He must go there under full protection. Under no circumstances is he to walk.  He must be under full police protection. I would prefer if you took him in a BRDM.” My instructions to Nazim were very clear.

BRDMs are these large military vehicles.

“He will get full protection. He will go there under full protection,” Nazim assured.

This is how Mohamed Nasheed’s request to go to the President’s Office was arranged.

By then Mohamed Nasheed had told us of his intention to resign, and so had the Defence Minister.

We were watching as he went, dressed in a suit and under full police protection. We saw him in the President’s Office.

I ordered our supporters to fetch Abdullah Ghaazee from Girifushi [island]. Our supporters spoke to police on the ground and left for Girifushi on two police speed boats to bring back Abdulla Ghaazee.

“Let’s go!” our supporters told Abdulla Ghaazee. I don’t think he understood what was happening. The police put him on their phone to me.

“You are free now,” I told him. “Come to Male’.”

So, Abdulla Ghaazee was brought to Male’.

It was on TV I was watching all this.

Our troops—that is to say, our supporters—were in Republic Square. Once it was all done, Mohamed Nasheed had resigned and everything was complete, I went to the Republic Square and gave an address standing on a lorry.

“Maldives has been freed of Mohamed Nasheed.” I said. “Maldives will now see a completely different picture, God willing.”

Then we saw Mohamed Nasheed resigning, without any duress, on live television.

That’s how it happened.

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Transcript: MNDF Staff Sergeant Shafraz Naeem’s CoNI account of Feb 7 mutiny

This article was first published by Dhivehi Sitee. Republished with permission.

On 7 February 2012, MNDF Staff Sergeant Shafraz Naeem was commanding Bravo, one of the Bandara Koshi Battalion riot squads that confronted the mutinying SO police in front of the military headquarters. He resigned five days later.

“I have lost faith in the institution,” he told the Commission of National Inquiry [CoNI] later. This is Shafraz Naeem’s account of what occurred during the mutiny, reconstructed from the transcript CoNI’s interview with him on 7 July.

I was commander of the riot squad of the Bandara Koshi (BK) Battalion from the time the protests began. We were supporting the MNDF riot squad.

We were on standby till 11:30 p.m. [6 February], when we were dispatched to Artificial Beach. The police were withdrawing when we arrived. My squad placed three cordons in the area. Nobody was violent, but there was much verbal abuse.

I received an order to withdraw to Sawmill. “If we withdraw, there will be trouble,” I said to my senior, [Lt.] Ali Ihusan. We withdrew.

Shortly afterwards, we were ordered to return to the scene. Protesters on both sides—the Coalition and MDP—were hurling stones and verbal abuse at each other. We put the cordons back up.

I heard some vehicles arriving. I saw police officers screaming at everyone, the protesters, the MNDF, at everybody. They began running after MDP protesters.

“We will kill you all!” they were shouting.

We restored order, moved the media away. After thirty minutes, the police returned. They were singing patriotic songs. One officer approached me. He put his baton under my chin and let forth a string of profanities.

“You must withdraw to BK”, we were told fifteen minutes later.

“Clear the area. Get the media out. Remove everyone carrying iron rods from the scene,” Captain Amanullah ordered.

We arrived at Bandara Koshi in the early hours of the morning. About 40-50 SO officers, I am not sure exactly how many, were staging a sit-in at Republic Square. I dispatched squads to cordon off designated areas, MMA [Maldives Monetary Authority] and other spots.

Around 2:30 a.m., outside MNDF [Headquarters], I met General Shiyam. He stood watching the Republic Square.

“Why aren’t you giving orders to arrest them?” I asked.

“Go away!” he responded.

I had to ask. We had received intelligence of an intended police mutiny. After being at the Artificial Beach, I knew it was happening.

Half an hour later, all of us squad commanders received orders that no one—be it police or media—was to be allowed inside the cordons.

Some VTV or DhiTV journalists refused to leave. After an argument, we pushed them out.

“Let them in. And, let in the police once they show their ID card,” one officer,  [Major] Adil Rasheed said.

Every minute, five or six of them came in, filling up the cordoned off space. SO Officers were allowing gangsters inside the cordons, too. I saw Firusham allowing a few of them in at around 5:30.

We dispersed the crowd as far back as the Metro cafe’.

“Get the cordons inside and withdraw to HQ”, we were ordered at around 6:30.

“Why?” I asked Captain Amanullah and Major Adil. I always question orders that do not feel right to me.

“Mind your own business,” [First] Sergeant Amir Hussain said. I was told not to question orders.

“Get some sleep,” Lieutenant Colonel Fayaz told everyone once we were inside. All our armour was removed, my chest guard, everything except my shield. We had breakfast.

“The President wants to meet you,” we were told.

At the same moment, I heard police saying their Azum [pledge]. I heard screaming. And I heard the President shouting to us, “Go outside and arrest them!”

I, with about ten special forces personnel, went.

Those of us with shields were at the front, those without came behind. I was commanding from the front.

“Do not fire!” we were shouting. There were riot guns, rubber bullets, tear gas grenades.

“Do not fire until they fire!” I heard the police shouting. Each side waited to see what the other would do.

A gas canister flew towards the police.

It was fired from our side. I saw who threw it. It was Tholath, the Defence Minister.

“Do something!” he said. The canister landed. All hell broke loose.

**********

Police charged. I ordered my men to do the same. I don’t recall how many canisters we threw. Stones, all sorts of things came at us. I was hit many times. I did not give up, I stayed until I was dragged in. I was the last person in.

I was not the main lead but one of several. There were sergeants, I was a staff sergeant. I saw my lead, Lieutenant Hamid Shafeeq only inside the HQ. He was the only person I heard issuing instructions. There was no plan, all orders were ad hoc.

When President Nasheed shouted at us to go out, all command and control was lost. Nobody took charge. I don’t think anybody even cared.

We went out when the President ordered us, but once we were outside, nobody gave us orders. The Ground Commanders, who were outside with us, should have commanded. They did not. About 3-4 minutes is enough time to analyse the situation and issue orders. There would have been enough time for a plan of attack. If the canister had not been thrown.

Around 9:30, I saw a large group of men gathered near the Communications Room. “Nasheed is a criminal. Do not obey unlawful orders,” I heard them say. I reported it to my senior.

“I will handle it,” he said.

“Collect all guns!” I heard a commander saying soon after. All weapons were taken away.

Outside, I could see Riyaz, Fayaz and Nazim. Shiyam, Fayaz (Papa) and were inside.

“Tell the president he has no choice but to resign!” I heard Fayaz say to Shiyam.

“I will”, Shiyam said. He had a weird smile on his face.

I was attending to some injured soldiers when I heard joyful shouting. [Mohamed] Nazim was being hoisted up by some football coaches.

Shiyam had let Nazim in, I know.

Nazim was in the forces before. I cannot remember now, but I think he was a Colonel. He was my instructor.

“This won’t go well,” I thought. I knew Shiyam was aware of what was happening. Once, while training with Shiyam, we had a conversation about an intended naval base.

“Where are you going to get the money for it?” I asked him.

“Gasim Ibrahim will give unlimited funds for the base. He will help MNDF grow,” he replied. The naval base is Shiyam’s dream project.

I don’t know what happened after Nazim went inside.

A rumour started soon that MDP was about to torch MNDF homes. Some people began to get worked up. They wanted to go outside. Shiyam and Zayed got them into a squad, and sent them out. There was nothing, no MDP people, no thugs.

It was past 11:30 then, and we heard Nasheed had resigned.

**********

The next day, I returned at about 8:30 p.m. Nothing much was happening.

“If there is any rioting,” Papa told Shiyam, “Give me two minutes. I’ll have it all under control.”

I was in Bravo when I saw police charging the demonstrators.

“Why are they doing this?” I asked my senior [Lt. Col] Nasrullah. Even he did not know.

“Shut up,” Papa said to me.

I got a lot of flak and warnings for asking questions, for following President Nasheed’s orders. I took an oath to protect the country and the president; not to beat civilians or to mutiny. I did not take an oath to follow a mutinous general. I was never a big fan of Nasheed, but it did not matter to me who the President was that day. I would have done the same for any president.

In my view this was a coup. Why? I could see it from the way they handled everything, their attitude, how cool and calm all the officers were. I could tell from how cool General Shiyam was inside the MNDF. They did nothing. This is not how a uniformed officer should behave.

I really don’t know what [Moosa] Jaleel, Chief of Defence, was doing. He was walking around, smoking, as if in a trance, unaware of what was going on around him. I had admired Jaleel, but in that situation, his mind was somewhere else. General Nilam, too. Had I not pushed him to the ground inside MNDF, he would have been hit by bricks. I am not saying that he, too, was in a trance.

Perhaps they were in shock over the mutiny.

UPDATE: In communications with Dhivehi Sitee since the above post was published, Shafraz Naeem has said the CoNI transcript is inaccurate. Among the clarifications he would like to make are the following:

  • He arrived back at Bandara Koshi the following day [8 February] at 2:30 p.m., not 8:30 p.m. as recorded in the transcript.
  • He stated that he was not a fan of how President Nasheed handled the MNDF, not that he was ‘never a big fan of Nasheed.’
  • Parts of his conversation with General Shiyam about the naval base have been left out.
  • A heated exchange between Shafraz and Co-Chair, Ismail Shafeeu, on command and control–who was responsible for its loss and how it happened–has been omitted from the transcript.
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Summary: Former President’s testimony on February 7 transfer of power

This article first appeared on Dhivehisitee. Republished with permission.

On 4 July, 2012, Mohamed Nasheed, President of the Maldives until  February 7 that year, testified at the Commission of National Inquiry (CoNI) on how his government came to an end. Present were co-chairs of the Commission Justice Selvam and Ismail Shafeeu, members Dr Ibrahim Yasir, Dr Fawaz Shareef and Ahmed Saeed. Observing for the international community were Sir Bruce Robertson and Professor John Packer.

In essence, my statement is very small… I was forced to resign. I resigned under duress. I was threatened. If I did not resign within a stipulated period it would endanger mine and my family’s life. I understood they were going to harm a number of other citizens, party members. They were going to literally sack the town. I felt that I had no other option, other than to resign.

Despite CoNI being a national inquiry looking into the highly suspicious end of a government elected by the people, all testimonies collected have been kept from the public. Having come into possession of a copy of the transcript of Nasheed’s spoken testimony to CoNI on 4 July, I have summarised its contents and shared it with you here. What is contained here is not Nasheed’s entire testimony that day, but only the parts concerning the last few hours of his presidency. Care has been taken, however, to ensure no information has been taken taken out of context, added, or deleted from the text and to remain faithful to Nasheed’s words as contained in the transcript.

President Mohamed Nasheed arrived at Bandaara Koshi at 5:00 am on 7 February 2012. Operation Liberty Shield was supposedly underway, but the place was almost deserted. About 300 personnel in total, most of them in plainclothes, milled about lethargically. There were several generals present—Chief of Defence Moosa Jaleel, General Shiyam, General Nilam, General Ibrahim Didi. The military HQ was on red alert, but most of the generals looked as if they were on holiday.

From the late evening of 6 February, Nasheed had been busy trying to control the situation from Mulee Aage, his residence. Judging from police behaviour during protests on the preceding days, the President was convinced the police must be removed from the scene. He knew plans were afoot to have his government illegally overthrown in a coup. A week earlier, he received a seven page letter from military intelligence. It outlined in detail a plot to illegally overthrow the government.

Attempting to control the situation on the evening of February 6, he had two major concerns: the police might attack MDP supporters, and they might attack the military. On hindsight, the president would come to see that he could also have arranged for MDP supporters to disperse. Other actions would have led to other consequences. But, at that moment in time, he trusted his supporters to maintain order more than he did the police. He was assured by the MDP MP leading the protests there would be no disruptions.

He ordered the police to be removed and for the military to takeover.

Seven hours later, the military was yet to take any action.

The President felt he must go to the scene. He needed to see for himself, assess what was happening. That is the kind of person he was.

Before he left, he checked with the military personnel inside the headquarters.

“We have the capacity to bring out a 1000 troops,” they assured, beckoning him.

Nasheed walked to the HQ. What he found were the generals who looked as if they were on vacation, and no plan of attack. He had suspected as much. As a history enthusiast, he had studied in detail every coup that took place on the islands in the past 200 years.

He could read the signs, he knew when a coup was brewing.

**********

Inside, Nasheed met with his Home Minister Afeef, Defence Minister Tholhath, and Commissioner of Police Ahmed Faseeh.

“What should I do?” he asked them each individually.

Each replied the police must be restrained, arrested.

Twice, the military advanced only to retreat shortly afterwards. They treated the police with kid-gloves, there was no command. As the situation deteriorated, Nasheed rang the Chief Justice and the Speaker of Parliament. He felt that all organs of the state should be present at such a crisis. Both men agreed to come.

Nasheed also rang various MDP MPs, requesting their help at the scene. And, he made several attempts to contact the Vice President.

“But, of course,” those attempts were futile.

“The Vice President should be behind the President at a time like this,” Nasheed thought. “He should have come on his accord to be here.”

Waheed did not come. Nor did he answer the phone. Perhaps he was asleep? He was still up at 2:00 a.m. in the morning, Nasheed knew. The Vice President had appeared on television then, with a statement on the events.

Incidentally, Nasheed’s wife Laila and Waheed’s wife Ilham shared the same make-up artist. Whatever the whereabouts of Waheed, through his wife’s beautician, Nasheed would later learn that by 7:00 am of 7 February, Ilham was groomed for a special occasion.

In the early hours of 31 January, Waheed had met with the opposition in his home. Nasheed sought him out in the intervening period, but Waheed avoided him. The Vice President provided the President with neither advice nor assistance. When quizzed by Ministers in their government, Waheed refused to share any information about his meeting with the opposition.

Speaker Shahid and Chief Justice Faiz never turned up.

Some MPs did respond to Nasheed’s call for help. From his vantage point inside the military headquarters, Nasheed saw how each were beaten up. The attacks on individuals soon became a barrage, spreading across the entire area. It was to continue for the next two hours.

“In the net”

Inside the headquarters, the President’s phone had very little reception. It was not because the signal was jammed, although it should have been. Jamming the signal and providing him with another phone would have been a good strategy, Nasheed thought. He saw General Shiyam on the phone, sending a constant stream of text messages and receiving many phone calls. “Who but the President should Shiyam be in touch with at that moment in time?” Nasheed wondered.

Despite the bad reception, from time to time, President Nasheed received updates from members of his government and MDP. He heard about MNBC One being under attack. He heard police and military had taken over the airport, had control of the immigration counters.

He also heard Gayoom was up all night, co-ordinating the anti-government efforts from Malaysia. According to reports Nasheed received, on receiving news that he was at the military headquarters Gayoom said, “He is in the net.”

For all intents and purposes, Nasheed was now a captive, falsely imprisoned inside the military headquarters. His security detail, the Special Protection Group [SPG], were guards, not protectors. Their leadership was changed the day before, a man called Rauf replaced the former Chief. Rauf was in charge of protecting the President and his family, but, all day he languished outside the gates. No assurances of safety were forthcoming from him.

**********

Through the course of the next two hours, Nasheed went up and came down several times. He saw MP Mariya Didi being attacked. It was astounding. He saw the Deputy Minister being attacked. He saw other MPs assaulted. He saw the police headquarters being attacked.

[Between 7:00 and 8:00 in the morning] Nasheed went outside to speak to the mutinying police. His Police Commissioner no longer believed they were police, and refused to negotiate with them. Nasheed’s attempt was in vain. He could not agree to their demands for a pardon. It was not that he didn’t have the power or the authority.

“But”, he thought, “who am I to pardon before an investigation?”

Still, he promised them he would do his best for them. His promise went unheeded by the mutineers.

Inside the military HQ, he tried to talk to the soldiers. He had tried to do the same earlier, when he took a walk inside the premises shortly after his arrival. Some of the soldiers were playing chess, he noticed. Before he could conclude his walk, General Shiyam had intercepted him.

“They don’t want you to be walking around here,” the General said. He did not give a reason. It was possible soldiers of lower ranks had been told not to obey the President’s orders.

This time he met with about fifty soldiers from the lower ranks.

“You are taking the country to the dogs. You must do something,” he wanted to tell them.

“My wife is being attacked by MDP supporters,” one of them replied.

“A policeman has been murdered,” said another.

“That is not true. We don’t do that. We are a party in government and we govern,” the President responded.

“Will you come out with me to restrain a rebellious force?” he asked.

“If even 10-20 people agreed, I will lead them out,” the President thought.

Only one of them was willing. The rest said the President should resign.

*********

Nasheed saw police re-enforcements arriving in Male’ on speedboats. The boats belonged to Gasim Ibrahim’s Villa company.

“Strange,” he thought. Never in his position as Commander in Chief had he ordered the security forces to use Gasim’s vessels. All of them were in uniform.

“We will lynch you. We will hang you,” Nasheed heard them. They had ropes.

The violence escalated to a level Nasheed had never imagined he would see in the Maldives.

“I am going to die right now if I don’t resign”, he thought. Naseem [former foreign minister Mohamed Naseem] arrived.

“Mohamed Amin was standing right here when he was lynched,” Nasheed remarked. Amin was the first president of the Maldives. His bloody end in the hands of an angry mob is described in the recently published Orchid, reminding the public afresh of violence past.

Nasheed contemplated his options. He could go out and face the crowd, leave the rest to God.

“Please don’t do that,” Naseem pleaded with Nasheed. The Minister was crying. Both of them had grown up listening to the stories of Amin’s lynching. MP Riyaz joined Naseem’s plea.

“You are being silly. You don’t need to die today. There will be a tomorrow.”

**********

“Back off! We are opening the gate!” the President heard.

Nazim, Riyaz and Fayaz walked into the HQ when the gates, earlier shut under a direct order from the Presdent, were opened. There was no reason for them to be in the building, no capacity in which they could legally enter the premises.

The President knew when Nazim had arrived, he had heard the uproar with which the man’s presence had been greeted. Through the walls of the second floor room in which he was in, the President also heard Nazim address the crowds through a megaphone. He never met Nazim or the other two men inside the military HQ. Nor did he know which part of the building they were in. Once they arrived, Nasheed could not move without being restrained by someone.

“You cannot go there,” General Shiyam said when he tried to go upstairs, to the second wing. The General, whose lack of uniform at a time when the military was on red alert appeared to Nasheed as a sign of desertion, was categorical in his order. He offered no explanation.

“Someone else…someone from the opposition…Nazim? Umar Naseer? Someone was there”, the President would later speculate. “Someone was controlling operations from the other wing of the building.”

Twice the SPG, under new chief Rauf’s command, physically restrained the president. When Nasheed heard about MDP Haruge being ransacked he felt it was his duty to go. Faisal, now a major, held him back. Their excuse was that it was not safe for the president.

They checked his belongings. He had to ask their permission to use the toilet.

“Am I under arrest?” he asked.

Nasheed realised how foolish the question sounded. “I cannot be under arrest”, he thought. “But, of course, I am,” he countered himself.

Jailed several times during Gayoom’s regime for dissent, once detained in solitary confinement for 18 months, the President was familiar with arrest procedures. If he were to use the toilet without permission, they would break in. He had experienced it first hand twice before. His current guards had ‘Forensics’ written all over them.

Among them were faces he could never forget—they belonged to individuals who had interrogated and tortured him before. Soon after Nasheed’s first child was born and while he was expecting his second, one of them had ransacked his home. The man had meticulously gone through every single toy belonging to his young daughter.

“He wants to re-enact that,” Nasheed thought.

He knew these people well. He knew Abdulla Riyaz, was aware of the type of person he is. These people were not searching for anything in specific. The President knew it was an attempt to undress and demoralise him.

“They are trying to make you capitulate,” Nasheed thought. He knew torture and punishment were their preferred tactics.

“People outside are shouting and calling for you to be lynched”, they told him.

“You are going to lynch me from the inside,” he retorted.

**********

The President made the decision to resign at the precise moment he heard the gates ofBan’deyri Koshi being opened. He could hear the din of the baying crowd right outside.

“Mr President, if you don’t resign, they will kill you. They will sack [sic] Male’”, General Ibrahim Didi had told him earlier. The General sincerely believed it was his duty to defend the President with his life. Now, he was failing miserably. Twice the military had advanced and retreated. General Didi, an honourable man, offered to resign. Nasheed observed with concern that it was not beyond the General to contemplate suicide.

“I have only a few minutes to live”, the President now thought. The situation was dire, the country was under threat. Both his life and that of his wife, Laila, were in mortal danger. Laila had no protection in Mulee Aage, she had been forced to leave with their children. He was also convinced MPs Mariya, [Ahmed Easa] and Ibu [Ibrahim Mohamed Solih] had been killed.

But, Nasheed knew it was not safe for him to resign inside the military headquarters. Once the attack on the HQ began, four large bricks were thrown into the second floor room he was in. His precise location was no secret to the attackers outside. The bricks had left large holes in the glass. Shooting into the room through those holes would be easy.

Nasheed was aware there were guns all around him. The generals had guns, he was convinced. Even if the armoury was locked, they had the keys. As Nasheed would later come to understand, guns were moved that day from Coast Guard ships, from other barracks. There are pictures showing some of the movements. He heard KK [Kalhuthukkalaa Koshi] troops were going to join the police in their mutiny. He saw the troops. He heard that when the renegade police and military took over MNBC One earlier, they used guns and were in possession of firearms.

The President knew he must leave the building. He agreed to resign.

“But”, he said, “it would be better if I do not do it from here. I must have fresh clothes, a shave.” He was looking for an escape.

It did not work. His captors had the clothes and toiletries delivered to the HQ.

His resignation speech was to be made at a press conference in the President’s Office shortly.

Resignation: “The biggest rogue letter was written by me.”

Nasheed was taken the short distance to the President’s Office in a car. A large mob, composed not of the public but of police and military personnel, surrounded the car. They were screaming. They were banging on the President’s car. There was no security, no decorum.

Nazim, Riyaz and Fayaz were already at the President’s Office.

“These people should not be here,” he thought.

The President’s staff made several vain attempts to stop the three men. Defying everyone’s wishes and all protocol, they got into the dedicated President-only lift with Nasheed. Within the enclosed space, in the presence of Riyaz and Fayaz, Nazim dictated the words that should be in his resignation letter.

In his office, the President did not put the words on paper. It did not occur to him that he should, for he had never had any intention of resigning. For him, the agreement to resign was a ruse, a way of escaping death and leaving the military headquarters.

“The Speaker wants the letter,” Nazim told him. The President hesitated. He went to the window and looked outside. The situation appeared even worse than before. He looked at Nazim. There was a tell-tale bulge in his trousers.

“He has a gun,” Nasheed was convinced. He would later make out its outlines in a picture of Nazim with his back to the camera, taken after the resignation press conference.

“You cannot back out now. You have to go all the way,” Nazim said. The President knew clearly that his life was under threat, that he would not be allowed to live.

He began writing the letter. Twice he broke down. But he knew that if he did not remain composed, if he did not maintain decorum, there would be chaos. He took care composing the letter, including only the bare minimum of what Nazim had dictated. He would only write enough to keep Nazim happy. It was all an act. Theatre. A lie to save his life.

“The biggest rogue letter was written by me,” Nasheed would say later. He was baffled when Speaker Shahid accepted the letter, it followed none of the required official documentation processes. Nasheed wrote the letter himself. There were no reference numbers, its only nod to officialdom was the emblem on the presidential notepad he used.

Shahid is the type of person who takes pride in receiving letters. Normally, he would have telephoned Nasheed on receipt of the letter. On this day, he was silent. There was no contact. Official documentation rules require proof receipt. No such record exists for President Nasheed’s resignation letter.

Before the press conference, Nazim dictated to him what he should say in his resignation speech.

“Tell the people to keep calm and remain at home. Tell them no one should come out on the streets. Ask Moosa and Mariya to remain silent. Tell other party members not to say anything. Don’t say anything about me. You must say nothing about duress. Say that you are doing it of your own accord. Of your own free will,” Nazim dictated to Nasheed.

As with the letter, Nasheed did not say what Nazim wanted. Instead, he took Nazim’s ideas and polished them up and said the bare minimum needed to save his life and country. He did not state that he was resigning of his own free will. He did not include any instructions for Moosa Manik, Mariya Didi or anyone else to stay at home.

For Nasheed resigning was not the best option. It was the only option.

Dr Azra Naseem has a PhD in International Relations

All comment pieces are the sole view of the author and do not reflect the editorial policy of Minivan News. If you would like to write an opinion piece, please send proposals to [email protected]

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Translation: Former Police Commissioner’s statement to CoNI

This translation first appeared on Dhivehisitee. Republished with permission

This is a translation of an extract from the former Police Commissioner Ahmed Faseeh’s testimony to the Commission of National Inquiry (CoNI) on the events of 7 February 2012. Despite being a national inquiry, none of the evidence has been shared with the public. Faseeh’s testimony was leaked on the Internet recently.

It was the evening of 6 February 2012. Like all other nights, there would be protests. Aware of this, we pushed protesters back from near MTCC to the market area. Displeased, they moved to the Artificial Beach. The protest kicked off around 9:00.

On one side was the so-called Coalition – PPM, Qaumee Party, Jumhooree Party, these parties. There were about 200-300 of them. On the other side was MDP—actually, it was pro-MDP supporters—with 200 or so people.

I was in and out of the Ops Room. The phone rang.

“Withdraw the police, Faseeh.” It was our Minister.

“Why?” I asked.

“Faseeh, withdraw the police. Every night, things end the same way now. They are the ones making things worse.”

A superior or not, I respond only when I am clear on what I am being asked to do, and when I know whether it can be done or not. I quickly assessed the situation. There were violent people on one side, some of them carried stones. People on both sides had planks of wood. Our troops were in the middle. We were concentrating on keeping them apart.

Around 9:30-10:00 [pm] the phone rang. It was the President.

“Faseeh, we cannot trust the police now. Every night this is allowed to drag on until about 3:00. Withdraw them.”

I dispatched Farhad Fikry, head of directorate, to take stock.

“The situation is very bad. If we withdraw, things will get worse,” Fikry reported back five minutes later.

It was around this time that I realised the President did not trust us either.

The only option was for the military to take over. Back when the protests began we made a collective request for military assistance through the Home Ministry. The law allows us to do that.

I rang Defence Minister Tholhath Ibrahim.

“Sir, here is what is happening”, I updated him. “I will not withdraw until you come.”

“No problem,” Tholhath said, “I’ll get a team ready.”

I think they took about twenty-five minutes. They are slow, not very practised on the streets. I doubted their ability to tackle the situation.

Our boys came to the Republic Square once the military took over. I think there were about three platoons. There are 30 in each platoon; and there were about 90 people.

Around 10:30, I was in my office with Assistant Commissioner Sadiq, and an older colleague, discussing the situation.

“Hear that?” Sadiq interrupted.

We went to the balcony. They were running up and down, screaming filth. I rushed downstairs from my fourth floor office. Deputy Commissioner Atheef and were running down too.

‘Ganja Bo!’ [Pothead!], the boys shouted. A lot else too.

I knew then these boys were no longer following orders.

They were leaving in lorries. Atheef managed to grab the key off one of the vehicles. Two platoons left, one couldn’t. Some may have left on other vehicles, I am not sure. I did not see that. This was Marine Drive, in front of Boduthakurufaanu Magu police [building]. I used the western exit.

I was in shock. And why wouldn’t I be? This was definitely not acceptable police behaviour.

My phone rang.

“They are going past our house towards MDP Haruge”, a close friend reported. He lives on Ameenee Magu, near Dharubaaruge.

“Police are headed West, shouting filth. We’ll destroy it, they are saying. This is about MDP Haruge. I think they are going to the Haruge. Check what’s going on!”

Soon I received information they went to the area under military control, beat up MDP people there. As if that wasn’t enough, the next platoon headed to MDP Haruge, beat more people up, vandalised the place. They did a whole lot of other things.

I felt dejected, drained, seeing such indiscipline from the police.

After doing whatever it was they did, they returned to the Republic Square. I think there were about 90 on the helipad. Some more police stood on the sides. A few Blues on standby, too. Roughly, there were about 100, 150 boys milling about.

I rang my Deputy, Muneer.

“Talk to them. Ask them about what they just did. Ask them what. Why.” I instructed him.

It was around 10:30, from what I recall. Muneer attempted to talk to a deputy commissioner.

“La ilaha ilallah!” he reported back. “Those people are beyond talking. They are barbaric; they are not following orders.”

I saw Deputy Commissioner Atheef. I was standing outside the police [building], behind the flag, on the pavement. I intended to talk to them but I saw their behaviour and changed my mind. I saw Atheef going into the crowd. No sooner did he go in, he came back out. The place was in complete chaos, I knew then. There was no discipline, no order.

Around 11:00, I called Tholhath and went to the military headquarters. The current Chief of Defence Force General Shiyam, former Chief of Defence Force Moosa Ali Jaleel, Colonel Ziyad, Tolhath, and former Brigadier General Ibrahim Didi were there.

“The police have mutinied,” I said to Tholhath. “They are not following my orders. I don’t have a force to control them. I cannot do anything until you have them isolated. I have only the Blues, who can’t control them. I am helpless.

It’s impossible to talk to them. If approached, they shout filth. That’s the level they have sunk to. They broke into MDP Haruge, vandalised it. They are acting on their own. They are not ‘right’ any more.”

“Don’t worry, Faseeh. I will do that now,” Tholhath reassured me.

Order after order was given. Jaleel also. Orders were recorded at 1:30, 2:30, 3:30, 4:30. Nothing happened.

Outside, a rumour had taken hold: the military were coming out to beat the police.

“The military are about to come out, we must confront them,” this is what was being said. Of course, it affected the Blues and all other police. The Blues moved closer, began mingling with them. Now they numbered about 300 altogether.

Around 3:30 [a.m.] Ibrahim Didi came in.

“We don’t have the capacity to control them without causing great casualties. The police will be very strong if they come with batons and gas,” he said to Tolhath.

The same thing happened many times. It dragged on.

Meanwhile, outside, they kept calling for the President to resign. They jumped up and down. They screamed. “Ganja Boa Resign!”, reverberated across the air.

Until then, I thought this was perhaps about the arrest of Abdulla Ghaazee, or about being taken into military custody. Or maybe they were exhausted and angry, forced to control protests every night.

But, listening to the “Ganja Boa Resign!” screams, I realised. It was political.

Once again, I felt dejected.

Suddenly, the President arrived. It was 4:30, 5:00.

“Do it before sunrise, or it can’t be done. This is a small thing, is it not? Even I can do it. Shall I do it?” The President was speaking to Jaleel.

“No, no,” was the reply. The military came out then.

There were three platoons, from what I can remember. They formed a line outside the entrance of the police building. Those police were on the helipad. They were shouting loudly. The place was about to erupt. A confrontation between the military and the police seemed imminent. Any announcement we made, they responded with loud screams. It was, really, specifically, impossible to continue.

The military advanced. It retreated. Advanced, retreated. Those gentlemen just couldn’t do anything. They went out, they came back in. The military failed.

Dawn had broken, the first prayer call had been sounded. I remember it as being around 5:45. Between 5:45-6:00. Or maybe it was past 6:00. Between 5:45 and 6:15 anyway. The President called me to a meeting.

Home Minister, Defence Minister, Chief of Defence Force Jaleel, current Chief Shiyam, General Didi, General Nilam were also present.

“What’s your view?” the President asked me.

“Same as before. I don’t have any power right now. The only way is through the military. And that still has not been done,” I replied.

“Why don’t you talk to them?”

“Yes, I can do that,” I said, and left immediately.

I did my morning prayer. I had been unable to till then.

“I want to meet with them,” I told my secretary. “Assess the situation.”

“There are members of public, there are others. They don’t seem right, Sir.”

I thought it better to ask four or five senior boys among them to come and meet with me instead.

Earlier the President had given me a message to relay to the boys.

“We pardon you for all the things that we can pardon you for. Of course, if you have hit somebody, it cannot be done.”

It was a good message he came with, is it not?

“There are no seniors. We are all equal, and we speak with one voice,” was their response to my request for a meeting.

“But there would be people senior in rank!” They ignored me.

I asked Head of Intelligence to find out what the mood was like among them. To negotiate.

“They would like to come and talk,” he reported back.

I waited for a long time, then went up for breakfast. It was past 7:00. The din from outside suddenly grew incredibly loud. I went up on the terrace to look. Enmass, police on the helipad were running towards Najah Art Palace. Towards the Chandhani Magu and Orchid Magu intersection. They ran hard, they were screaming.

A group of MDP people had arrived when police were chanting their pledge. The police were running to beat them up.

I don’t know…I did not bother with breakfast, I went straight to my room. Afterwards, I slipped quietly out to my office, that is, the Commissioner’s administrative office.

Outside the police gates! Outside the police gates there was chaos. The police—screaming, throwing stones…more.

“They have started damaging the police [building] now,” some female office staff reported.

I think I called Tholhath. I vaguely remember doing that. But I am not sure. I think I said to him, “They are now attacking police. Find a way to stop them.”

Some of the military, about 60 or 90, came out. In full riot gear. But they could not control the police.

The military and the police confronted each other. They damaged a military truck, threw things at the main gate of the military headquarters. If one threw a canister, the other did the same. If one side threw a stone, the other threw three back. Back and forth they went. Time passed. Some military personnel joined them.

“Superintendent Ibrahim Manik is being brought out, people kicking and beating him!” a female officer suddenly cried. It was true. They were kicking him like he was a football. I saw, but I could not look for long.

“Sir, you shouldn’t come out to investigate. They might see you and come for you. They may beat you too,” someone said.

“Jinah is also being taken out,” I heard next.

I saw people being beaten. I heard destruction, the sound of glass shattering, then falling.

“They are looking for you too. A Shahil and a Khithram were here asking for you,” my secretary said. Those two had been in the SO.

“We pretended you were not here,” she said.

There were about six boys standing guard at the door leading to my section. I was in there with the door to the Commissioner’s administrative office closed. There were two bodyguards with me, and my administrative staff. Some boys who wish me well were outside. I was protected.

They brought back news of places damaged.

“The mess room has been destroyed,” they told me.

“Who did it?”

“They did it. The police.”

When police started destroying police property, when they started beating people up, it really upset me. They were beyond control, beyond reason.

Around 10:30-11:00, Colonel Nazim, F.A [Mohamed Fayaz] and Abdulla Riyaz [current CP] arrived. If you are in the police, you know who these three gentlemen are. Two of them are ex-police. The third, Nazim, is ex-military.

“We are going into the military HQ to talk,” they announced.

“What are these people doing here? What is going on?” I wondered.

It was Nazim on the megaphone. I know his voice, he is a classmate of mine. Three years.

“We have met with the military leaders. I have ordered the president to resign. He will be resigning in the next one and a half to two hours. I have also ordered the Police Commissioner and his two Deputies to write their resignation letters without condition,” Nazim was saying.

All control was lost. I must save my life, I thought. I told my secretary to write a letter seeking an honorary retirement. I put the letter on my desk and sat there. I was afraid, I was a captive in the room. Time passed.

I think it was around 13:30 when I heard of the President’s resignation.

Around 2:00, I heard Superintendent Fairoosh was looking for me. They are based on the floor above me.

I had heard of outsiders entering the building — Hassan Saeed, Gasim Ibrahim, Sheikh Imran, these people. There had been a takeover, I knew.

I went up to meet Fairoosh.

“Sir, you have to meet all the officers,” he said. There were several in the room. There was destruction in the room, too. And in the Minister’s office. I walked across the shattered glass on the floor and sat down at the end of the table.

“This is not the worst day. It sets a dangerous precedent. It is sad,” I started.

“Are you not resigning?” Fairoosh asked.

“I have resigned. I have written the letter. But I do not know who to give it to,” I said.

Fairoosh was the automatic leader. Remember I said I ran downstairs, suddenly, at the start of all this? He is one of the boys who met me then.

“What is going on, Sir? This has to be corrected!” he said to me then. He was abrupt, brisk. Disrespectful. He had been a part of it from the beginning. Now he was asking me about my retirement.

“I intend to retire, but I do not know who to hand the notice in to,” I replied.

Shortly after, I heard Fairoosh was now the Acting Commissioner. I was shocked. My retirement was yet to be accepted. They took it upon themselves. Apparently, they even took a vote. Sadiq’s name was proposed, he withdrew it. Anyway, it was Fairoosh that was selected.

This is how things happened.

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Comment: Origins of the Special Operations police

This article was first published on Dhivehisitee. Republished with permission.

An especially trained squad known as Special Operations were at the forefront of the police mutiny that ended in the resignation of President Mohamed Nasheed on 7 February. Together with riot police squads, they have since led violent attacks on protesters and re-introduced into Maldivian society the culture of impunity and violence of the pre-democracy era. Although their abuse of power and violations of human rights have been documented by local and international institutions, there have been no prosecutions or disciplinary actions against them.

Late last year, Nasheed’s Police Commissioner Ahmed Faseeh gave evidence to the Commission of National Inquiry (CoNI) on the events of and surrounding 7 February 2012. Although it was a national inquiry held for the benefit of the public, none of the statements and evidence submitted to CoNI have been made public. A transcript of Faseeh’s evidence, however, was leaked online recently.

He provided members of CoNI with a detailed description of how the SO was created in 2004, as a means of crushing the Maldivian people’s uprising against dictatorship and their agitation for democracy. This is an English language translation of the evidence, reconstructed in narrative style. The only changes made are to style, facts remain as shared by Faseeh:

“Police Commissioner Adam Zahir summoned me to his office. It was about two weeks before the 12/13 August 2004.

On 1 September we will be placed under the Ministry of Home Affairs,” he said.

“If we do not get a good force ready by then, we could be severely weakened. We must do everything that can be done to cope. So we must have a plan. Faseeh, why don’t we find someone who can build muscle?” Adam Zahir asked me.

“There is only one person in Male’ with a gym for building muscle. His name is Kesto Haleem, he is the owner of Muscle Load,” I replied.

Adam Zahir asked for more details.

“His name is Kesto Haleem. He may have been a student of yours. He was in Majeediyya School, four batches before us,” I told him.

“We must know him to see. Must have been in a class of mine. Get him over quickly,” he said.

I called Haleem and the three of us met in Adam Zahir’s office the very next day. From what I remember, it was around late afternoon.

“I want to put some muscle on about 30 boys.”

“That’s no problem”, Haleem said immediately. “They can be trained in my gym. For free. All you have to do is get the meds.” Zahir agreed.

The day after, Haleem told me he wanted to take ‘Before’ and ‘After’ pictures of the boys. They were called to the Police Theatre Hall, looked at, and measured. Work began on preparing the team.

Only a few days later, I think it was 12,13 August, vast crowds gathered at Republic Square.The boys stood with me outside the police gates, to protect us and to protect the headquarters. They had not yet had any training; they were green. But, these boys — about 30 or 35 from what I recall — made a line in front of the Hussein Adam building, blocking its entrance. I stood behind the line, around the middle. There was a stabbing. I was cut only a little. Two of the boys were stabbed, the one in front of me, and one a bit further away.

About two months later, the boys were all muscled up. They were ready. Within six months, they were what you would call “pumped.”

“This isn’t enough. We must also teach them something about special operations,” Adam Zahir said. “Why don’t we talk to Thailand?”

Thailand is a friendly country. Our police relations are very good. Discussions with a Thai General secured us 16 placements at their Police Commanding School. I even went to the opening ceremony. From what I recall, I went with F.A [Mohamed Fayaz, current State Minister for Home Affairs]. It is a tough school, and the boys trained rigorously for about two months. They returned from the Commander School and became what is commonly referred to as the Star Force. STAR Team is their real name—Special Tactics and Rescue, that’s what STAR stands for.

That’s how they came into being.

In truth, STAR Team is the name of Singapore’s elite force.We followed the Singaporean model because it is most suitable to a place like this. It is an island nation, they are at the forefront of law enforcement. I, too, graduated from Singapore. That’s where we took the STAR Team from and, actually, we worked within the democratic process.

There were many challenges. We did not really know much at the time. Also, around the same time, it became essential to train riot squads. There were only two individuals with riot control training. From what I recall, one of them was called Superintendent Asheeth. Initially it was with Asheeth’s assistance that we laid the foundations, introduced recruits to what riots are, taught them methods of confrontation, took them through the drills, explained the system to them. That is how they were trained.

MDP was very active on the streets. They were protesting day or night, whatever the area of Male’. Even if a banner was lifted, the cloth must be confiscated—that was the policy. No banners could be hung, those were the orders from the top. When I was head of that department, this is how orders came down: “Remove the banner! Remove the pot! Remove the fish!” For instance, if we cooked bon’baiy, an order might come to have the bon’dibaiy pot removed. Next thing, the pot would be in Dhoonidhoo. Really. That’s how things were.

So, these are the boys.

My second point relates to how they were recruited. When we separated from the military, our population was about 400. When that includes personnel based elsewhere in the country, Male’ is left with only about twenty. We had no choice but to recruit a large number of police. There was no time for a proper recruiting process. People were given crash courses, some training, and sent out on to the streets.

We did not have the opportunity to recruit the kind of people we wanted. Although educational requirements demanded at least two passes in the London O’Level exams, we had to ignore that. Civil unrest was on the rise, time was of the essence, and we had no choice.

I would like to raise two points in relation to this. The boys that we recruited for the riot squads and the Special Team—or STAR Team—were not the type of people we wanted to recruit. We became more certain of this when Dhivehi Observer, a website, started carrying regular video clips of police, intensely criticising their actions. It was bad for our reputation, and became a matter of great concern to us.

“Watch their actions to check what they are really like,” Adam Zahir told me.

I went to a scene personally, and with increasing concern, relayed the allegations to the Direct Commander.

“We really have to look into this. This is ruining our reputation. If they confiscate a camera, they shatter it. If they get hold of a person, they spray him. Or, after bringing the person under unnecessary control, they hit him.”

There were several such incidences. There was no integrity then. No Police Integrity Commission.

Under Adam Zahir’s orders, I therefore sent an undercover team to observe them secretly. Their language was filthy, their vocabulary was obscene. They use the Lhaviyani word all the time. If they got hold of someone, they hit them.

Adam Zahir changed their command. That was one, one and a half, or two years before the term ended in 2008. That is why I wanted to talk about this. They are connected to the events of 7 February; that is why I have gone into such detail.

We did not get the kind of people we wanted, the kind of people we would have been proud of.

Back then, they thought they were in charge of the police, that they were the only people running the police. In fact, this attitude of theirs and the ego that accompanied it, created major motivational problems throughout the police. They were all puffed up, that was their attitude.

This was also of great concern to me. Adam Zahir did suggest having them replaced, but at a time like that, it was very difficult to do so. Before it could be done, government changed. In fact, under the new regime, I tried very hard to shuffle them, rehabilitate them, change their language.

When I became Commissioner on 17 November 2008, one of my greatest concerns was the murder rate in Male’. I think from 2007 to this day, there have been 41 murders in Male’. Cold blooded murders in a tiny society. A very very serious issue. I tried using them to tackle the problem.

But these people, these members of the STAR Team or Special Operation, regard routine police work as outside of their duties. If assigned to any other task, they jeopardise it, create chaos. They’ll hit someone, spray someone in the mouth, cut someone’s hair—something, they will do something disruptive. Nor do they want to do anything physically demanding. They do not want to arrest anyone by doing the dirty work, every day routine work, by asking questions. That’s not something they like to do.

I think, from what I have shared, you will know by now who these people are, how they came into being.

Dr Azra Naseem has a PhD in International Relations

All comment pieces are the sole view of the author and do not reflect the editorial policy of Minivan News. If you would like to write an opinion piece, please send proposals to [email protected]

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Comment: Justice has little to do with the impending prosecution

This article was first published on Dhivehisitee. Republished with permission.

With former President Mohamed Nasheed taking refuge at the Indian high Commission in Male’, the international community’s strange apathy towards the ongoing fight for democracy in the Maldives has been stirred, if not entirely shaken. As Male’ waits to find out how India will respond to the Maldivian government’s request to hand Nasheed over to the police today, it is worth looking at the intricacies of small island politics where personalities loom large. What is at stake, and equally importantly, who are the players?

Mohamed Nasheed, the first democratically elected president of the Maldives, is holed up in the Indian High Commission in Male’. Seeking refuge in Indian diplomatic premises was a smart move by the former president, a veteran democracy activist. It not only provided him sanctuary and forced India’s involvement, it also provided India – smarting from Male’s recent insults and shabby treatment of GMR — with the opportunity to do a policy U-turn without embarrassment.

Nasheed has now been at the Indian High Commission for a week. If he leaves, his next long-term residence is most likely to be the prison island of Dhoonidhoo. The current government is prosecuting Nasheed for arresting Chief Judge of the Criminal Court, Abdulla Mohamed, in January 2012, a month before the coup. The pursuit of Nasheed through the courts began in July last year. Several summons and arrest warrants have been issued, cancelled and enforced since. In October last year, the police made a deliberately high profile arrest of Nasheed while campaigning on an island far from Male’. The last arrest warrant, issued on Monday, five days after Nasheed took refuge at the High Commission, expires at 4:00pm today.

Nasheed, an Amnesty prisoner of conscience who spent several years in jail for dissent, has said the prosecution is politically motivated. The purpose, he says, is to ensure he cannot run in the presidential elections scheduled for 7 September. Any sentence will disqualify him from the race. If Nasheed is prevented from running, there will be unrest like the country has never before seen. He is loved by many, more than he is loathed by coup-makers and their supporters. His Maldivian Democratic Party (MDP) has over 47,000 members, and they are all ardent supporters.

Since Nasheed sought refuge, several ‘delegations’ from various constituencies have presented him with bouquets, some wrapped in silk, almost on a daily basis. Yesterday they brought him bouquets, or at least tried to, until the police blocked their way with barricades.

Nasheed had been ‘the people’s president’, mingling with the young, the old, the rich and the poor with equal ease. When he takes to the streets, they follow him. Now, sensing he is in danger, they march on the streets of Male’ every evening, calling for his protection. Several have stated — with all seriousness — that Nasheed can only be taken into custody over their dead bodies. At an MDP press conference in Colombo, Sri Lanka, yesterday, former Foreign Minister Mohamed Naseem announced the party would boycott the elections if Nasheed is prevented from running under any pretext. That is close to 50,000 people, a large chunk of voters among the 350,000 population who would not participate in the election.

Mohamed Waheed Hassan Manik, the current president, along with a group of nameless men “all… of the same level” who now rule the country, meanwhile, are depicting Nasheed’s presence at the Indian High Commission as a ploy to avoid facing the charges against him. Waheed said he was “dismayed” Nasheed remained at the Indian High Commission, instigating “street violence”, his view of the nightly demonstrations by Nasheed’s supporters.

Waheed used to be Nasheed’s Vice President but, when offered the presidency by coup-makers in January, promptly betrayed Nasheed and hastened to take oath as President of the Maldives. A PhD graduate from Stanford University with a long career in the United Nations, he was seen by the international community as someone who would ‘stabilise’ the volatile atmosphere created by the coup.

He has since aligned himself closely with the ideologies of the Islamist Adhaalath Party, overseen curtailment of several fundamental civil and political rights, disregarded blatant human rights abuses by security forces, and partaken in the xenophobic and nationalistic campaign to oust India’s GMR. Waheed loves Twitter, has intimate personal chats in public with his family on various social media and, although seemingly composed and calm most of the time, can surprise with fist-pumping, rebel-rousing speeches when excited.

Unlike Nasheed, Waheed has very few supporters. His party has just over 3000 members with no representation in parliament. It is a common joke that his supporters consist of his wife Ilham, his children, and one loyal advisor (among two). He recently launched his presidential bid at his wife’s house, but is yet to reveal whether he will compete as an individual or form an alliance with someone else. With so few supporters, and lack of potential allies, he has very little hope of winning, especially with Nasheed in the race. Based on past and present behaviour, it is clear that he would gladly participate in any political prosecution of Nasheed.

Waheed is not the only one. All of the presidential candidates would like to see the back of Nasheed. Former President Maumoon Abdul Gayoom, who returned to the political centre-stage after the coup, has said he is “embarassed” by Nasheed’s decision to take refuge at the High Commission. He must also feel frustrated. Gayoom and his fellow authoritarians’ control over the Maldives’ judiciary is now well exposed and often discussed. If Nasheed can be brought to court, all three judges, hand-picked from among the worst on the bench, would arrive at a guilty verdict with ease. They would impose a hefty sentence.

With Nasheed inside the Indian High Commission, international law has got in the way. Gayoom’s party, PPM, has not yet decided on their presidential candidate. Would it be Gayoom the septuagenarian? His politically active daughter, currently State Minister for Foreign Affairs, Dunya Maumoon? His brother Abdulla Yamin, against whom there are corruption charges amounting to US$800,000? One of Gayoom’s two sons? With Nasheed in the race, the times ahead will be tough for any member of the family. With him gone, the field is wide open.

Gasim Ibrahim and Ahmed Thasmeen Ali are also in the running. Gasim is one of the richest men in the country. He has shares in almost everything that makes money from five star hotels to the humble onion. He owns not just several resorts but a fleet of assorted vessels, an airport, and a hefty reputation for being a womaniser. Gasim never attended school (and is one of the country’s worst public speakers), but was recently awarded an honorary doctorate in entrepreneurship from the Open University of Malaysia in recognition of his mega-tycoon status.

Gasim invests heavily in education, although his reasons for doing so are often far from altruistic. Attending one of his schools means towing his Jumhooree Party line – student and staff alike. He provides scholarships and loans for university education abroad for many, several of whom then enter into a life-long relationship of patronage with him. He recently described the power relations between him and the people as that of “master and servants.” Although without any training or experience in law or even a remotely related discipline, he now sits on the Judicial Service Commission (JSC), the chief overseer of the judiciary. Many of Nasheed’s supporters have asked: how can Nasheed have a fair trial when Gasim, his rival in the presidential race, sits in the JSC with its control over the judiciary?

Thasmeen’s party, the DRP, was Gayoom’s party before Gayoom split and formed PPM. While some maintain that DRP is ‘more democratic’ than PPM, with Thasmeen at the helm, the party participated in — and condoned — events of 7 February that ended democratic governance. Unlike his competitors – Nasheed, Gasim, Gayoom (or whoever Gayoom anoints from the shortlist) all of whom generate intense emotions among people – Thasmeen is mostly regarded with indifference. He rarely makes headlines, and is often discussed among rival supporters and democracy activists in relation to unpaid debts of millions owed by a family business.

DRP itself, however, still has a significant number of supporters. Last December Gayoom’s PPM overtook DRP in numbers to become the second largest party, but two days ago, DRP once again became the second largest party with 22,687 members. But, there is only a difference of 64 members between the two parties. The truth is, there is little that differentiates members of the two parties — some support PPM because it’s Gayoom’s, and others support DRP because it was Gayoom’s. Unlike Gayoom’s embarrassment and Waheed’s dismay, Thasmeen was “saddened” by Nasheed seeking refuge. Just like them, however, he sees Nasheed’s act as “unnecessary”, and a ploy to evade justice.

Apart from the candidates, there are also several petty chiefs who would like Nasheed behind bars. Several of them, frighteningly, work in law enforcement. The Defence Minister Mohamed Nazim, Police Commissioner Abdulla Riyaz, and Minister of Home Affairs Mohamed Jameel Ahmed, for example. All of them would love it if Nasheed simply disappeared.

Jameel, the Home Minister (also present during the police mutiny on 7 February), is from the island of Fuammulah, an atoll unto itself, located furthest south of Male’. Jameel has a PhD in Law from London’s SOAS University, but has a shockingly tenuous grasp of the fundamentals of democracy, even rule of law. Jameel is known to have a vicious temper, having flown off the handle in public on several occasions, earning him the nickname Angry Bird. It would not be an exaggeration to say Jameel hates Nasheed.

In a pamphlet he co-authored with Hassan Saeed (with whom heads the Dhivehi Qaumee Party (DQP), another small party of little consequence) he accuses Nasheed of attempting to undermine and destroy the Islamic faith in the Maldives. Saeed is Jameel’s long-time friend (they live in the same apartment building) and he is also one of Waheed’s special advisors (the disloyal one). Nasheed had Jameel arrested for defamation after the ‘hate-pamphlet’ was published, but Criminal Court Chief Judge Abdulla Mohamed (the same judge for whose arrest Nasheed is currently being prosecuted for), released him.

For Jameel, it is payback time. Having Nasheed arrested and prosecuted before the elections is imperative, he has said. On Monday, Jameel told Times of India that “I would be the happiest person to see Nasheed contest and lose.” Jameel’s two fantasies are mutually exclusive, but will end with the same desired climax: Nasheed will not be President again.

Nazim the Defence Minister and Abdulla Riyaz the Police Commissioner fear that should Nasheed be re-elected they, and not Nasheed, would be heading to Dhoonidhoo. Nasheed has called them traitors and openly declared his intention to prosecute them, if he is re-elected. They, with the current state minister for Home Affairs Mohamed Fayaz, commandeered the security forces during the police mutiny on 7 February 2012. To avoid jail time, they must imprison Nasheed. All three lost their positions during Nasheed’s government, and all bear personal grudges.

Is Nasheed’s life in danger?

Yes, says all Nasheed’s supporters. Last week, pro-MDP TV channel, Raajje TV, aired a video that was all the confirmation they needed. Nasheed, less then 24-hours after he resigned, was being brutally manhandled by a squad of about twenty policemen. They are all dressed in full riot gear. One of them has the former President, their Commander in Chief only a few hours previously, by the collar, hand across throat. In a move that supporters have likened to the movements of Neo, the protagonist in Hollywood hit movie The Matrix, Nasheed is seen sliding away from their grasp and fleeing for his life.

The policemen after Nasheed are members of an ‘elite’ squad named Special Operations or SOs. These are the same men who led the police mutiny on 7 February. According to the CoNI testimony of Nasheed’s police Commissioner, Ahmed Faseeh, the SOs’ origins explained their present: They were the ‘Star Force’, put together in a rush to control the uprisings in 2004 against Gayoom’s dictatorship.

To sum up his description of the squad, most SOs are men recruited into the police straight from the streets, given muscle enhancing substances (suspicions focus on steroids), made to pump iron, taken to intensive training in a foreign country, and brought back home for the sole purpose of ‘crowd control’. Then, as now, according to Fasyh, they were a tough squad to control. Back under Nazim and Riyaz, the SOs have happily reverted to form, taking up pre-democracy tactics of violence and brutality with ease and abandon. And, as seen in the video, they have no respect for Nasheed, or his life.

All things considered, is Nasheed’s prosecution politically motivated? Yes. Apart from all the reasons above, the current regime has failed to implement any steps recommended by the international community to reform the judiciary. Judge Abdulla Mohamed, whom Nasheed arrested citing national security, and against whom their are many allegations of misconduct and criminal activities, not just remains on the bench as the Chief Judge of the Criminal Court, but is also a part of the regime’s inner circle, attending government functions and officiating at various events.

Questions remain over the legality of the Hulhumale’ Court where he is to be tried, and all calls to redress Article 285 of the Constitution have been willfully ignored.

Justice appears to have very little to do with the impending prosecution.

Dr Azra Naseem has a PhD in International Relations

All comment pieces are the sole view of the author and do not reflect the editorial policy of Minivan News. If you would like to write an opinion piece, please send proposals to [email protected]

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