Despite serving as the Chief Judge of the Criminal Court, the country’s highest trial court for all major criminal cases, in practice, neither the Chief Judge nor the court itself wielded real authority.
From the onset of my tenure, I was determined to rectify this, using whatever the power I had been allocated to respectfully challenge the authorities, and reverse existing statutes that were outdated.
To this effect, I issued a series of directives focused on strengthening the courts, and, more importantly, bolstering the rights of individuals.
A particular directive focused on the latter was my decision that handcuffs must be removed when an accused party is presented in the courtroom. Even in instances where the accused has a history of violent tendencies, the authorities in charge of their transport would be required to inform the court in advance, actively seeking an exemption, and the court’s permission to have the handcuffs remain in place during their visit to the courtroom. As you would expect, this decision was respected and enforced by court officials and judges as soon as it was issued.
Several days after this new directive went into effect, however, two Indian nationals were brought to court facing criminal charges. Both were handcuffed. Court officials informed the prison representatives of the new directive and asked them to remove the handcuffs before the trial could commence. The prison representatives initially resisted, countering that the two standing trial were violent offenders, and that they could not remove handcuffs without approval from their superiors. The court officials were unswayed and dismissed the protest in kind. Finally, the authorities acquiesced, and agreed to remove the handcuffs.
But, the problems had just begun! To my astonishment, the prison guards accompanying the suspects did not have the handcuff keys with them, and they had to return to the prison to retrieve them. When they ultimately returned to the court, the keys were, for all practical purposes, useless! The handcuffs had become so rusted that the keys were rendered ineffective, leaving us all to wonder just how long the suspects had been subjected to the handcuffs. Concerned, we inquired to this point, and were simply told that the measures taken had been necessary to prevent self-harm.
A saw was eventually needed to cut off the handcuffs. So much time and energy had been wasted through this process that the scheduled hearing had to be cancelled. As they awaited their return to the prison, the suspects remained in the waiting area, peacefully and without incident, until their transfer arrangements were in place.
The following day, I was shocked and saddened to learn that one of the suspects had taken his life, hanging himself from a ceiling fan. The news had a profound effect on me. Despite the fact that my handcuff directive – which was confined exclusively to the courtroom – had no bearing on how the prisons chose to handle the prisoners within the prison compound, I felt disheartened that the authorities had not properly reinstituted their own safety protocols following the suspects’ departure from the court.
Even though the episode was indeed tragic, and one that I recall with sorry today, in the immediate aftermath, my mind became consumed with increasingly pressing matters. The pace of the country’s political and legal developments from mid-2003 onwards was such that I had very little, if any, time to actively revisit the incident (or indeed, many other defining moments during my tenure as the Chief Judge of the Criminal Court).
It was around this time, in 2003, when a young prisoner was tortured to death by security officials in Maafushi prison. In an effort to cover up the atrocity, authorities tried to rush and bury the body in a hurry, but the family, along with a group of young citizens, prevented them from doing so, and forced the authorities to leave the battered body for everyone to see. When the public saw what had happened, they were furious. And so were the prisoners in Maafushi itself. They rioted, and the prison’s security force, for the first time in the history of the country, opened fire, killing several, and seriously wounding dozens.
Later that year, the incumbent President (President Maumoon Abdul Qayyoom) was re-elected for his 6th consecutive 5-year term in office. Following his election, I was appointed as the Attorney General on 11th November 2003, the sole new and fresh face in a seasoned, veteran Cabinet.
My schedule kept me busy, and I focused my time on introducing far-reaching reforms pertaining to the legal and political rights of citizens, as well as broader institutional reforms. I reached a point, however, where it became clear that reforms were no longer possible, and it was at that time that I resigned, and ran as an independent candidate for President in the 2008 presidential election; the first free and fair election in the country’s history. While my aim had been to win, I was proud to have finished 3rd in the six-candidate race.
On November 11, 2008, my election competitor, President Nasheed, was sworn in. In an act of unity, and to onboard my supporters, President Nasheed appointed me as his Special Advisor. Midway through his term, however, Mr. Nasheed resigned, and his Deputy, Dr. Waheed, assumed the presidency. He too retained me as his Special Advisor.
President Nasheed’s resignation had been marked by violent protests across the country, including vast destruction of government and private properties. During this violent and volatile period, I had the opportunity to engage with Indian government officials frequently.
One such official was a gentleman by the name of Mr. Agarwal, a senior official at the Indian Ambassy in the Maldives. One day, he came to see me while I was working in the President’s Office, where my own office was then located, seeking my help in freeing two Indian prisoners who had been languishing in a local prison for several years. He informed me that the group had originally consisted of three individuals, but one of them had apparently committed suicide, while handcuffed. You can imagine my surprise when I realized my prior knowledge of the story I was being told.
Mr. Agarwal further explained that he never believed the official version of events he had been told. To reiterate his point, he showed me a photo of the body of the deceased, lying on the floor of his prison cell. His hands were clearly in handcuffs, even in death. Mr. Agarwal asked the simple, but appropriate question, “How can a man wearing handcuffs hang himself?”
I related my own personal experience with the deceased, and the other two suspects, in the Criminal Court, and how it had been my directive that forced the authorities to remove their old, rusty handcuffs, by force. Mr. Agarwal was stunned to learn that I too, a man of the law, had also been led to believe that it was the removal of the handcuffs that had allowed this poor soul to hang himself. Clearly, foul intentions had been at play.
After our meeting, I worked with Mr. Agarwal and the Indian Ambassy to free those remaining two individuals, and finally send them back to their families, closing a chapter marked by grief, but allowing them to start a new, hopeful chapter for the remainder of their days.