Hurt people hurt people

The phrase 'hurt people hurt people' echoes through the narrow streets of Malé, a quiet truth whispered behind closed doors and in crowded cafés. It’s a cycle we see playing out daily in our islands, where the wounds of the past—political betrayals, economic injustice, the sting of nepotism—are not allowed to heal. Instead, they fester, becoming the very tools with which we lash out at one another. Why does a nation blessed with such natural beauty struggle so deeply with its own soul? Consider the young man who watches his family’s small business crumble under the weight of unfair competition from politically connected enterprises. He grows up with a simmering resentment, a hurt that one day may drive him to seek power not for service, but for retribution. Or the student who cannot afford higher education because subsidies were handed out as political favors, not merit. That hurt doesn’t vanish; it transforms into apathy or, worse, into the very corruption it once despised. We are creating generations of the wounded, who in turn wound the systems meant to protect us. Look at our public sector, bloated with non-working political appointees. Is this not a form of institutionalized hurt? Those denied jobs based on merit feel the injury, while those given sinecures learn that loyalty, not competence, is rewarded. The cycle perpetuates: the hurt of exclusion begets the hurt of inefficiency, which then hurts every citizen through failing healthcare, unaffordable housing, and crumbling infrastructure. Our national health insurance, Aasandha, is abused by overcharging—a direct injury to the public purse, stemming from a system that no longer believes in fairness. What of the 'India Out' campaign? Is the fervor there not partly born from a deep-seated hurt—a perception of historical slights and economic dependency? When people feel their sovereignty has been compromised, that hurt seeks an outlet, sometimes in ways that may not serve our long-term interests. And in the shadows, the drug epidemic among our youth is a scream of pain, a hurt so profound that it turns inward, destroying futures before they begin. The solution must start with breaking this chain. It requires a conscious shift from seeking revenge to fostering healing—in our families, our communities, and our government. Can we create spaces where grievances are heard without escalating into further harm? Can our leaders model accountability instead of perpetuating the very nepotism and corruption that cause so much hurt? The answer lies not in ignoring the pain, but in acknowledging it, addressing its root causes in our governance and economy, and choosing to build rather than break. For if we do not, the cycle will only tighten, and hurt people will continue to hurt people, leaving our nation forever circling the drain of its own unresolved anguish.