The founding tale of tourism in the Maldives is a tale that is etching itself into Maldivian lore. The story goes—Italian travel agent George Corbin, searching for unspoiled lands, discovers a scattered chain of islands in the Indian Ocean. He travelled to Sri Lanka and met with Ahmed ‘Kerafa’ Naseem. They travelled to the Maldives together on a cargo ship. In the capital city Malé, Corbin met Hussain ‘Champa’ Afeef and Mohamed Umar ‘MU’ Manik. The story recounts how Kerafa Naseem, Champa, and MU Maniku toiled under the oppressive sun. Building the huts, cooking, cleaning, planning excursions and single-handedly running the entire operations. The story loves to remind us that a team from the UNDP stated the Maldives, lacking infrastructure, could not sustain tourism. Yet the tycoons ignored this evidence, fought against all odds, and established one of the most luxurious tourist industries in the world. All thanks to the passion, determination, and hard work of those young Maldivian men; who we now call the tourism pioneers.
The Maldives’ tourism founding tale is fascinating. A tale of courage and determination overcoming all odds. It is also a lie. A lie by omission for it completely ignores the historical- socio-economic conditions and the workers that truly built and sustained tourism in the Maldives
A Divided Kingdom
In tales of pioneers and tycoons; one remarks on the inherent characteristics and qualities (of ingenuity, cleverness, etc) behind their success. In other words, they had qualities inherent in their personhood that were unique to them; and that others did not possess this. It is not merely ingenuity either; but a drive, a vitality. I do not claim that the tycoons were not ingenious or clever. Instead, I believe that the story leaves out the most crucial ingredient of their success—their position in society. In other words, their class.
The Maldives was a deeply stratified society. By stratification, I refer to the division of people into different classes and the class determines one’s access to resources and power. The class stratification in the Maldives would have evolved over time; and I only write about the class structure present during the inception of tourism. I write based on Colton’s classification. The Maldivian population was, in the most simplistic form, divided primarily into three classes; beyfulhun (the aristocracy), beykalun (learned men, merchants, close associates of the aristocracy), and meehun (the common people). As with any stratified society, the meehun represents the most significant portion of the population. The divide between the capital Malé and the so-called ‘periphery islands’ (i.e. the rest of the Maldives besides Malé) is also stark. One must not ignore this divide. Islands outside of the capital are called Rajje-there meaning ‘Inside Maldives’. What a strange word to use for Malé is also obviously inside the Maldives. Yet in doing so, the language itself places Malé at the very top of the hierarchy.
Let us return to the pioneers. Subtly, the class lines start shifting in the Maldives. The aristocrats are hesitant to engage in trade and business; for this is beneath them. If the aristocrats remained at the top and the traders below; tourism shifts this order or more accurately, it blurs the lines between the two classes. Now, the pioneers either belonged to the elites or were associated with the elites. Then (and now), positions in missions abroad such as diplomatic missions are bestowed almost exclusively to elite families. Here, we trace the events again. For Corbin and ‘Kerafa’ Naseem to have their chance meeting at the Sri Lankan embassy, Naseem had to be there in the first place. Naseem being there at the right moment and at the right time and being born to the right family had a lot more to do with their role in starting tourism than their ingenuity. Consider that this was a time when a position as a junior employee at a Maldives embassy abroad would have been unthinkable for a person from a ‘common’ family. Unfortunately, this remains mostly true to this day.
After the meeting, they return and are once again greeted by members of either the elite families or those associated with the elite families. They travelled around Kaafu atoll scouting for an island to build a resort. Could a normal person from a commoner family have the privilege, time, and resources to ‘scout around’ and acquire an entire island in the first place? This is a good opportunity for us to return to what role ‘islands’ really played amongst the elites. Historically in the Maldives, elite families owned full control of periphery islands across the Island kingdom bestowed upon them by the sultan and the elite would ‘escape’ to these periphery islands for rest, relaxation, and interestingly, to seek “special therapy at the hands of island-masseuses, herbalists and magic-workers”. The periphery islands, in the hands of the elite, were already spaces for exclusive retreats and experiences that reinforced their privileged status. Of course, the elites would have easily recognized the immense potential these islands held within the global tourism industry; for they themselves have already enjoyed the exclusivity of these islands as proto-resorts for generations. Returning to the pioneers, they scout and eventually settle on ‘Vihamanafushi’. The story takes a fascinating route as the pioneers recollect how they worked tirelessly and singlehanded; building the structures, cooking, planning excursions, and so on. It was an impressive feat. The story then follows that after the first group of tourists, the flights were almost entirely booked for a year straight. Fast forward half a century later and the Maldives is one of the most luxurious destinations in the world, winning Leading Destination of the Year for 5 years in a row, All thanks to the pioneers and the tycoons, and the story ends there.
Yet what happens when we ignore the role of class positions in the story? We are raised with an unusual myth that if we all study hard enough and work hard enough, we too can be visionary entrepreneurs. Much like the tycoons. All we need is hard work and ingenuity. There is truth to this, of course, but could it also be the case that the success we find in the pioneers is much more than just hard work and ingenuity? How many of us have watched our parents work tirelessly towards a dream of something better? Many succeed and many do not. Those who ‘fail’ do not always fail because of their qualities; but because of circumstances that are designed to keep people within their class position. One only needs to stand at the shore and gaze upon the ultra-luxury resorts that dot the horizon to understand one’s place in society; that we live in a world designed for someone else.
Maldivians are now letting go of the formal outward appearances of class such as the formal language; and this may lead one to believe that class structures no longer characterizes contemporary Maldivian society. But I, as a person from the capital, am fully aware of my position and unequal access to resources over those from the rest of the Maldives. And the tycoons and their families, I reckon, are also fully aware that they are at a level completely and utterly beyond what a normal Maldivian can comprehend. They are aware that they own entire islands to themselves—and their children and grandchildren will live off its land rent. If they reflect upon this—the absolute insanity and absurdity of owning an entire island will not be lost on them. Instead, they find ways to justify it. It is their hard work and ingenuity that lead them there. They may look at the workers, feel a bit of sympathy, feel uncomfortable, and look away. After all, it’s hard to be uncomfortable at an overwater villa. Class has never disappeared in the Maldives. The elites are gallivanting in paradise; but sorry, you were not invited.
Those Who Toil Under the Oppressive Sun
Who toils under the sun’s relentless heat so the tourists can rest in retreat?
Who waves goodbye to their family leaving behind bitter tears to serve the dreams of the privileged spheres?
Who builds these rooms of luxury in plight knowing they will never know its comfort even for a night?
Who labors in the kitchen day by day knowing that a single meal is worth a month’s pay?
The workers. It is always the workers and I do not mean only the Maldivian workers. All the workers—Bangladeshis, Indians, Sri Lankans, Nepalis, Indonesians, and so on. Oh and yes, also the European folks as well, though we must acknowledge that the workers themselves are also deeply divided into different positions in the new class stratification system.
Can we really say it was the pioneers or the tycoons that built the tourism industry in the Maldives and continue to do so? Reflect on this simple example; if the tycoons were to disappear, would the entire tourism industry collapse? Perhaps. Though what if all the workers were to collapse from exhaustion, will the tourism industry continue to function? absolutely not. We are doing a disservice to the workers when we omit them from the story of the tourism inception story. Especially the migrant workers.
A study found that Bangladeshi workers are lured into taking long-term loans to pay recruitment agencies to work in the Maldives and are forced to work in incredibly hostile and appalling conditions upon arrival. They are thus caught in a trap where they have to accept these conditions; however they may be, to pay off the long-term loans. This is a story we hear over and over again. Even in 2023, Bangladeshi workers are sometimes paid $1.40 per day for 16 hours of work; we can only imagine the conditions 10-20 years ago. Migrant workers are the very foundation of this country and subsequently the tourism and construction industry. Reflect on this and consider honestly and sincerely; who really built the Maldives tourism industry? The pioneers or the workers?
Resorts in the Maldives are entire islands onto themselves—what this looks like in practice is that the workers essentially live in their workplace (workisland?). An internal border separates the picturesque tropical landscape from the structures where workers live and their movements are also often restricted to varying degrees. Naturally, the staff themselves are also often segregated depending on their position and workers at lower positions often have to share incredibly small rooms with up to 10 people. Workers are often forced to work full weeks with no break and receive no pay for months upon months. Only in 2021 did the Maldivian government set a minimum wage, with an amount that can barely cover the living costs. Strangely enough, the minimum wage does not apply to foreign workers. Workers and unions who stand up against these terrible working conditions are battled in court and shut down by the tycoons, setting a reminder of the class positions at play in the Maldives. Whichever conditions and rights one may find acceptable or even appealing in the tourism industry—these must be attributed to the successes of workers fighting for their own rights.
What happens when we attribute the success of this industry to a few tycoons who were lucky to be born in the right place at the right time, instead of the workers? A slow death of the Maldivian spirit. A sense of alienation as workers and the people become separated from their land and from the profits derived from the exploitation of this land. The tycoons have convinced the Maldivian people that the more resorts there are, the better off Maldivians will be, thus justifying the invisible borders separating people from the islands within their own home country. Maldivians forget that this nation was built by the many, not the few. That each and every single person, Maldivian or not, built this nation together. And when we forget this, we allow the horrifying conditions faced by migrant workers and let out a gasp or two when the occasional fire chars a few unfortunate souls. We watch the tycoons and political elites reclaim more and more land in a near frenetic frenzy of building more and more resorts. But how does one fight injustices, when they themselves are exhausted and have just the energy to continue until the next day? This is the violence of the stories we tell ourselves.
An Honest Tale
Why do we continue to tell this story of the pioneers? It comes from a place of fascination and a recognition of the people that made it all possible. We can recognize the role of the so-called pioneers; but shall we glorify them? Shall we give them podiums every few years and remind them of how clever they are? I don’t think so. This story, as we tell it now, is a simple story. It is a story of a very simple narrative of a few people overcoming all odds. A classic hero story—it implies that we owe a sense of gratitude to these heroes. Well, pay one’s gratitude and let it go. This is all we owe them.
I do not think we should stop telling this story. Only that we should, as a form of gratitude and honesty at the very minimum, share the stories of the nameless workers that toiled and continue to toil every single day to build this country. Talk about the millions of sacrifices made over the past five decades by people we know nothing about; yet owe our very livelihoods to. For too long the tycoons have convinced us that the Maldives’ dependency on the tourism industry is a dependency on the tycoons themselves. They are themselves not the tourism industry. Merely its most powerful rentiers. The tourism industry will be completely fine without them. To think otherwise is to demean ourselves, to degrade our imagination of what is possible. Do you really sincerely believe that what we have witnessed so far is the only possible way? If not, then have trust that your imagination is boundless and we can liberate ourselves out of this tale.
Ijunad Junaid, a Maldivian environmental storyteller, inspires a deeper connection with the Earth through his writing. Exploring the interconnectedness of all life, he champions climate justice and illuminates the "more-than-human" world. Ijunad's work powerfully weaves together political realities, power dynamics, the ineffable beauty of the world, and the urgent need for climate action.