On Friday night in the congested capital Malé City, the government crossed a line it cannot uncross.

Thousands of protesters, men, women, youth, and elderly began flooding the Artificial Beach area in Malé City as early as 7pm, to voice their growing dissent against the Muizzu administration. Despite weeks of intimidation and orchestrated efforts to stifle public mobilization, citizens poured into the streets with unyielding energy, forming a sea of defiance at the city’s edge.

The government’s grip on control faltered. Faced with the strength of public resistance, authorities scrambled to contain the crowd. At Majeedhee Magu, riot police formed a blockade, wielding shields and barricades in a futile attempt to halt the advancing tide of protesters.

When physical barriers failed, police escalated their response, deploying clouds of pepper spray directly into the faces, mouths, and eyes of peaceful demonstrators. The chemical assault left many incapacitated, coughing, gasping for air, and falling to the ground in agony. Several were rushed to hospital, one in critical condition.

But the most disturbing act was yet to come.

As chants grew louder and the public refused to retreat, police activated a powerful sonic device, releasing a sustained, high-decibel audio assault on the crowd. What had previously been a brief attention-getting sound blast at protests morphed into something unprecedented, a prolonged, deafening roar designed not to communicate, but to silence and subdue.

This, is a chilling act of suppression that has left citizens rattled and observers alarmed.

This weapon was a Long Range Acoustic Device (LRAD), known globally as a "sound cannon." Though marketed as non-lethal, its effects are anything but harmless. Emitting sound at volumes reaching 150 to 160 decibel, louder than a fighter jet engine at takeoff, LRADs are capable of causing extreme discomfort, physical pain, and permanent hearing damage. Even from a kilometer away, the sound can be punishing.

By Saturday, protestors were still reporting aftereffects: ringing ears, nausea, and severe headaches. The attack wasn’t just heard, it was felt in bones and bodies.

In a country where protest is often the only avenue left for a silenced public, the deployment of an LRAD against peaceful demonstrators is more than just an escalation. It is a declaration, that the state is willing to risk the health, safety, and dignity of its people to suppress their voices.

Security experts confirmed that this marks the first known use of LRAD technology in the Maldives in such a manner, a blatant abuse of power that violates the norms of civilian policing. There was no warning, no standard operating procedure disclosed, and no indication of legal authorization for deploying such a device in a crowded urban area, especially against unarmed civilians.

The deployment of an acoustic weapon raises deeply troubling questions: Who approved this? What guidelines, if any, were followed? Was the government aware of the risks to children, the elderly, and the medically vulnerable living nearby?

The psychological impact of sonic warfare is not theoretical. During World War II, Nazi forces used air-raid sirens to terrorize civilian populations. In modern times, LRADs have been used to deter pirates off the Somali coast and to repel migrants at Europe's borders, never before in the Maldives, and never against its own people for exercising their right to protest.

On Friday night, a peaceful rally became a battlefield. The sound was not just noise, it was a message: dissent will be punished.

As citizens continue to demand accountability and justice, one thing is clear, the line between law enforcement and state violence has been dangerously crossed. The government must answer for the weaponization of sound against its own people. And the Maldivian public, once silenced, is now more awake than ever.

This was not law enforcement. This was state-sanctioned harm.

Despite still being a democracy, the sirens have sounded, and the message is deafening. What matters now is not just what the state is willing to do, but what the people are willing to accept. Will Maldivians allow the weaponization of fear to become the new normal, or will this moment become a line that is never crossed again?