We Needed Think Tanks, Not Political Parties

The idea that we needed think tanks, NGOs, unions, and associations—but got political parties instead—resonates deeply in our islands. It speaks to a feeling many of us share: that our collective voice has been fragmented, our community bonds weakened by the relentless pull of partisan loyalty. We see it in the coffee shops of Malé, where conversations that once centered on fishing techniques or island development now quickly devolve into debates over party lines. The space for neutral, evidence-based discussion—the kind that think tanks could foster—has been crowded out by political rhetoric. This is not merely an abstract concern. Consider our youth unemployment, which hovers around 25–30%. Instead of unions advocating for fair wages and training programs, we see young people caught between political patronage networks that offer temporary relief in exchange for loyalty. Or look at our housing crisis in Malé, where 40% of our citizens live on less than two square kilometers. Where are the associations that could mobilize for transparent, equitable housing policies? They are often co-opted or silenced by the dominant political machinery. Our historical strength as a nation—our 2,500 years of continuous sovereignty—was built on community collaboration, on the *fathuru* or traditional gatherings where elders and youth alike would discuss matters affecting the island. That spirit of collective problem-solving feels increasingly distant. The rise of political parties, especially in recent decades, has shifted focus from solving shared problems to winning the next election. We see the consequences in our strained healthcare system, where Aasandha insurance fraud drains public resources, and in our education system, where political appointments sometimes override merit. What would it look like if we had strong, independent NGOs focused on environmental stewardship beyond climate change rhetoric? Or think tanks that could analyze the real impacts of guesthouse tourism on our social fabric and economy? These organizations could bridge the gap between government action and grassroots needs, offering solutions grounded in local reality rather than political expediency. They could restore the trust that has eroded between citizens and institutions. There is hope, though. In the quieter corners of our society—in women’s groups organizing literacy programs, in fishermen’s cooperatives preserving traditional knowledge, in youth-led initiatives addressing drug abuse—we see glimpses of the associative spirit we once valued. These efforts remind us that our identity as Maldivians is not defined by political affiliation but by our shared commitment to each other and to these islands we call home. Perhaps by nurturing these spaces, we can gradually reclaim the civic ground we have lost.