News Desk
On 10 November 2026, the Adhaalath Party drew a hard line. In a formal resolution targeting international real estate projects—a clear nod to the government’s flagship Rasmale’ development—the party warned that letting foreign nationals live in designated zones long-term “could raise serious concerns regarding the country’s religion, traditional values, public interest, Maldivian culture, and national safety and security.” They told the administration “not to proceed with projects of this nature.” If foreign investors wanted in, Adhaalath argued, they should stick to “holiday homes intended for foreign visitors to use during their holidays.”
Days later, the party’s Consultative Council passed a second resolution. The tone had flipped completely. Invoking Article 46.1 of its constitution, Adhaalath accepted President Dr Mohamed Muizzu’s invitation to work “as a partner in the Government for the remainder of the current term” and join the ruling People’s National Congress (PNC) as a coalition member for the 2028 presidential election.
To an outsider, passing two resolutions days apart—one attacking a signature policy, the other pledging loyalty to its architect—looks like a straight contradiction. In Malé, it is just how the game is played.
Since its founding in 2005, Adhaalath has never commanded a huge standalone vote. Despite boasting just over 7,100 registered members, the party has only ever won a single seat in the People’s Majlis—when Anara Naeem took Makunudhoo in 2014—and has sat without a single MP since 2019, failing to win a seat in both the 2019 and 2024 parliamentary polls. Its leverage comes instead from religious legitimacy and the ability to swing tight presidential races.
Over the past two decades, the party has sat in coalition with almost every major faction in Malé—from Mohamed Nasheed’s MDP and Dr Mohamed Waheed’s government, where Adhaalath famously fell out with Waheed over his refusal to give them the Education Ministry, to Abdulla Yameen’s PPM and Ibrahim Mohamed Solih’s administration.
By coming out swinging against foreign residency in Rasmale’, Adhaalath laid down its markers in public. Its grassroots base cares deeply about sovereignty, land, and religious identity. Putting out the 10 November statement—which insisted projects stay “consistent with Islamic principles and the country’s customs and traditions”—let the leadership reassure its conservative supporters that it hadn’t gone soft, even as talks with Mulee’aage were already underway.
For President Muizzu and the PNC, bringing Adhaalath inside the tent solves two problems at once. First, it quietens a loud critic on the religious right well before the 2028 campaign heats up. Second, it gives the administration’s economic agenda—especially divisive mega-projects like Rasmale’—a stamp of religious and nationalist approval. Tellingly, the second resolution praises President Muizzu for working to “reinforce religious affairs” and “defend the nation’s sovereignty,” calling the alliance vital “to maintain political stability and consolidate and strengthen national unity.” That phrasing sits awkwardly beside the warnings the party issued just days earlier.
Still, the deal leaves plenty of wiggle room. Adhaalath’s second resolution hands its president the mandate to sort out the “terms and arrangements” under Article 46.3 before signing anything final, telling him to weigh “the objectives of the Adhaalath Party, the rights of its members, and the long-term interests of the Party.”
Around Malé, leaving those terms open-ended is seen as a deliberate safety valve—a nod to whichever way the political wind blows. Those talks will likely bring up the Rasmale’ grievances, like restricting foreign property to short-term “holiday homes” instead of permanent enclaves. In reality, nothing much is going to change at the negotiating table; the loose mandate simply ensures the leadership isn’t trapped by its own red lines once the deal is done.
In Maldivian politics, coalition deals are easy to sign and hard to keep. Over the years, Adhaalath has shown a remarkable ability to bend its ideological boundaries—fitting neatly into coalitions ranging from hardline conservatism to reformist, liberal-leaning alliances—using its seat inside government to push its agenda rather than walking away.
For now, the PNC gets an early endorsement for 2028, and Adhaalath gets a seat at the table. President Muizzu is unlikely to alter his Rasmale’ blueprint just to appease his newest partner; the 10 November resolution was never going to derail a flagship project, serving instead as an opening bid in a familiar political bargain. Malé’s political landscape has plenty of other swing parties in the same mould, yet none have stirred the waters or created a ripple this season. That leaves Adhaalath as the only game in town—at least until we see what else emerges on the horizon.
