Editorial Note

This article presents a structured legal–historical perspective on Foalhavahi (colonially known as Chagos), developed as part of the research work of Pen for Rights under the Maldivians for Chagos initiative. It seeks to address persistent gaps in the prevailing international narrative and to bring into view a layer of history that has been systematically marginalized in both legal and diplomatic discourse.¹

The Story That Is Told, and the One That Is Not

The Chagos question is frequently presented as a closed narrative: a colonial power detaches an island group, a displaced population seeks return, an international court intervenes, and a post-colonial state asserts sovereignty. The structure is neat, the actors are familiar, and the moral framing appears settled. Yet this narrative rests on a selective reading of history. It begins at a point where the record has already been narrowed and excludes a deeper, earlier layer that fundamentally alters how the issue should be understood.²

That omitted layer concerns Foalhavahi as part of the Maldivian maritime world. It predates plantation society, predates British administration, and predates the institutional framework through which the issue is now being framed and constrained.³

1946 and the Construction of Legal Visibility

The decisive moment in this process occurred not in 1965, but in 1946, when the United Nations system for decolonisation was first operationalized. Under Article 73(e) of the UN Charter, colonial powers were required to report Non-Self-Governing Territories, and through UN General Assembly Resolution 66 (1946) the United Kingdom placed Mauritius within that framework while excluding the Maldives, despite its status as a protectorate. This was not a neutral administrative act but a constitutive one. It determined which territories would be visible within the legal machinery of decolonisation and which would remain outside it.⁴

The consequences of that decision were far-reaching. Mauritius became the recognised entity through which territorial questions relating to Chagos would be processed, while the Maldives was left without procedural standing. By the time the Maldives gained independence in July 1965 and joined the United Nations in September of the same year, the institutional architecture had already been fixed. Although the British Indian Ocean Territory was created in November 1965, the legal pathway through which the detachment would be addressed had already been defined. When United Nations General Assembly Resolution 2066 (XX) considered the issue, it did so exclusively within the Mauritius framework. The Maldives was not included in the process, not because it lacked connection, but because it had been excluded at the foundational moment when legal visibility was assigned.⁵

Cartography Before Empire: A Maritime System, Not an Archipelago

Long before the emergence of “Chagos” as a single cartographic entity, the islands existed within a different spatial and conceptual framework. From the late fifteenth century through to the early nineteenth century, European maps consistently recorded two distinct maritime zones using exonyms derived from Dhivehi endonyms. Foalhavahi appeared as Polvera, Polowois, and Polvoes or Pullobay, while Kandhoo Atoll appeared as Candu. These references were not isolated anomalies but form a consistent pattern across Portuguese, Dutch, and French cartographic traditions over a period of roughly three centuries.⁶

More importantly, these were not undefined or interchangeable spaces. For approximately 250–300 years, European maps consistently depicted two distinct maritime zones: Foalhavahi (rendered as Polvera, Polowois, and Polvoes or Pullobay) situated along the Maldives Ridge (colonially termed as the Laccadive–Chagos Ridge), and a separate zone to the southwest associated with what Maldivians recognised as Theeru Raajje (Mascarene system). These names coexisted across different regions in the cartographic record, reflecting a clear spatial distinction known to navigators and maritime communities of the Indian Ocean. In the nineteenth century, however, this distinction collapsed. The designation “Chagos,” previously associated with the Mascarene system, was transferred onto the Maldives Ridge and replaced the long-standing identifiers of Foalhavahi and Kandhoo Atoll. This was not merely a change in nomenclature but a reattribution of space through cartography that erased earlier toponymy and redefined the region in line with British imperial administration.⁷

This continuity was decisively disrupted in the nineteenth century. Following hydrographic surveys conducted between 1834 and 1837 under Robert Moresby, the earlier Dhivehi-linked identifiers disappeared from official charts and were replaced by the consolidated label “Chagos.” At the same time, the islands were repositioned, both visually and conceptually, away from the Maldivian chain. This was not merely a change in nomenclature but a reorganisation of jurisdictional space. A historically layered maritime system was simplified into an administratively manageable unit, reflecting the needs of imperial governance rather than the realities of historical usage.⁸

Recognition and Exercise of Sovereignty

The argument for a Maldivian connection to Foalhavahi is not confined to cartographic evidence. It is reinforced by documentary sources that demonstrate both recognition and exercise of authority. In the sixteenth century, Sultan Hassan IX of the Maldives, later styled Dom Manoel, was acknowledged in Portuguese records as sovereign over the Maldive Islands and associated island groups identified as “Pullobay.” Within the evidentiary framework of Maldivian research, this corresponds to Foalhavahi. This recognition, formally sealed and registered by the Portuguese Viceroy in Goa in 1561, constitutes contemporaneous external recognition of Maldivian sovereignty extending into these southern maritime zones.⁹

Equally significant is the evidence of sovereign action. The French traveler François Pyrard de Laval records that upon receiving reports of piracy, referred to in Maldivian tradition as Fereithaa (Pirata / Pirate), with Fureytha representing a northern dialectal variant, the Maldivian king dispatched organised military expeditions to Foalhavahi (Chagos). In the southern atolls, where these attacks occurred, eyewitness descriptions of sea-borne raiders and their manner of approach were often conveyed in figurative language, including references to “giant cats” or “giant crabs” to describe their camouflaged movement as they came ashore and advanced inland. As such reports travelled over time to Malé, the king understood them in their proper sense as accounts of piracy; however, among wider audiences in the north, these figurative descriptions were sometimes taken literally and came to be associated with supernatural sea-borne entities. Pyrard’s narrative, recorded in the northern Maldives, appears to reflect this interpretive layer. This demonstrates not only awareness of the territory but the active exercise of authority over it. In legal terms, this is evidence of jurisdiction and enforcement.¹⁰

Disruption, Depopulation, and Reconstitution

If the earlier record reveals presence and authority, the later record reveals disruption. The Indian Ocean was not a stable environment during the early modern period. Repeated incursions, including raids, slave-taking expeditions, and maritime violence, had profound effects on island communities. These incursions, remembered in Maldivian history as “Fereithaa Erun”, contributed to the capture and removal of populations and the depopulation of islands across the region.¹¹

By the early nineteenth century, these processes had intensified. During the 1810 British seizure and depopulation of Diego Garcia, archival records indicate the removal and transfer of inhabitants, followed by the reorganisation of the islands under plantation systems. This was not a continuation of existing social structures but a reconstruction under colonial conditions, involving the introduction of imported labour and the imposition of new administrative categories.¹²

In this process, identities were obscured. Colonial records referred to populations as “Îlois,” “Ilien,” and so-called “Moors.” The terms “Îlois” and “Ilien” are French words simply meaning “islanders,” while “Moors” was a broad designation used for Muslims. In colonial usage, however, these terms were treated as ethnographic identifiers, thereby concealing origins and obscuring the identities of Indian Ocean maritime peoples, including those of Maldivian origin. The apparent absence of Maldivians in later records is therefore not evidence of non-existence but the result of displacement and reclassification. The historical record, when read carefully, reflects rupture rather than continuity.¹³

Self-Determination and the Limits of Colonial Outcomes

The question of population identity is often framed in contemporary discourse as a basis for determining sovereignty. However, international law draws a critical distinction between internal and external self-determination. Communities established through colonial processes possess internal rights, including the right to return, to cultural preservation, and to participation in governance. They do not possess the external right to determine sovereignty or to detach territory from its historical context.¹⁴

To collapse this distinction is to risk legitimizing the outcomes of colonial restructuring. If displacement, depopulation, and demographic replacement are allowed to define sovereignty, then decolonisation becomes a mechanism for reproducing colonial outcomes rather than correcting them. The legal framework must therefore be attentive not only to present populations but to the historical processes that shaped them.¹⁵

Silence, Constraint, and the Maldivian Position

The relative absence of the Maldives from formal assertions of sovereignty over Chagos has often been interpreted as acquiescence. Such an interpretation overlooks the structural constraints within which the Maldives operated. Having been excluded from the decolonisation framework in 1946, the Maldives had no procedural avenue through which to assert its claim when the issue was later addressed. By the time it joined the United Nations, the relevant processes had already been shaped.¹⁶

As a newly independent state with limited diplomatic reach, the Maldives was not in a position to challenge the established framework. Its support for the United Kingdom’s rejection of Mauritian claims must therefore be understood within this constrained context. It did not constitute endorsement of British sovereignty but reflected the limited range of positions available within an already structured system.¹⁷

An Incomplete Resolution

The current movement toward transferring sovereignty of Chagos from the United Kingdom to Mauritius is routinely presented as the completion of a decolonisation process, though this characterization rests on an incomplete historical and legal record. It is also now being presented as a purportedly final settlement. Yet a settlement built upon a framework that excluded a relevant historical claim cannot be considered complete. It resolves one dimension of colonial injustice while leaving another unaddressed.¹⁸

The Maldivian claim does not emerge as a new assertion but as a reintroduction of a historical reality that was excluded at an earlier stage. Its consideration is not an expansion of the dispute but a necessary step toward its proper resolution.¹⁹

Conclusion: Recovering the Missing Layer

Foalhavahi did not begin in 1965, nor did its history begin with plantation society. For centuries, it existed within a Maldivian maritime sphere characterised by continuity of naming, navigation, authority, and use. That continuity was disrupted through piracy, depopulation, colonial intervention, and administrative reclassification, and was subsequently excluded from the institutional framework through which the issue is now being framed.²⁰

The central problem is not that this history has been disproven, but that it has not been fully examined. A resolution that rests on an incomplete record cannot claim finality. To address the Chagos question meaningfully requires not only legal adjudication but historical recovery, bringing into view the layers that were silenced at the outset.²¹

Footnotes (UN-Ready)

1. Pen for Rights, Maldivians for Chagos Research Initiative Background Notes (2023–2026).
2. International Court of Justice, Legal Consequences of the Separation of the Chagos Archipelago from Mauritius (Advisory Opinion, 2019).
3. UN General Assembly Resolutions 1514 (XV) and 1541 (XV) (1960).
4. UN Charter, Article 73(e); UNGA Resolution 66 (1946).
5. UNGA Resolution 2066 (XX) (1965); UK Colonial Office records on BIOT formation.
6. Early Portuguese, Dutch, and French nautical charts (15th–18th centuries), Bibliothèque nationale de France; British Library; Dutch National Archives.
7. Comparative Indian Ocean cartographic records (1498–1800s), including Laccadive–Chagos ridge mapping traditions.
8. Robert Moresby hydrographic surveys (1834–1837), British Admiralty records.
9. Portuguese State Archives (Goa), records relating to Dom Manoel (Sultan Hassan IX), 1561.
10. François Pyrard de Laval, Voyage to the East Indies (1619).
11. Indian Ocean piracy and slave trade records (17th–19th centuries), British and French archives.
12. British National Archives, Prize Court and Diego Garcia transfer records (1810).
13. Colonial administrative records on “Îlois” populations, Seychelles and Mauritius archives.
14. UNGA Resolution 1514 (XV); doctrine of self-determination in international law.
15. Crawford, James, The Creation of States in International Law (2nd ed., 2006).
16. UN decolonisation reporting framework (1946–1965); absence of Maldives in NSGT listings.
17. Commonwealth-era diplomatic constraints of small post-colonial states.
18. ICJ Statute, Article 59; advisory vs binding authority distinction.
19. Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties (1969), Article 34.
20. Historical cartographic and maritime usage records (15th–19th centuries).
21. UN Charter principles on decolonisation and self-determination.