We Celebrate HSC Laureates. But Who Celebrates the Rest?

Opinion

The issue is not that we celebrate excellence. The issue is how narrowly we define it

By U.Dasin

Every year, Mauritius pauses for one of its most cherished national rituals: the proclamation of HSC laureates. It is a beautiful moment. Families cry. Schools celebrate. The nation feels proud. And rightly so. Excellence deserves recognition.

Each year also brings stories that remind us why this ceremony matters so deeply. Stories of resilience, hardship, and extraordinary determination. This year, one particularly moving example was that of Shaivi Boodhun of Loreto College Quatre Bornes — orphaned at the age of 12, raised by her grandmother, and now a laureate at 18. Stories like hers reaffirm one of our deepest national beliefs: that education can transform lives.

And yet, once the applause fades, an uncomfortable question quietly remains: what about everyone else? Every year, roughly 40 to 50 students are elevated to national prominence. Yet more than 10,000 young Mauritians sit for the same HSC examinations. Around 70 to 75 percent will pass. Many will have strong results. Some will miss the laureate cut-off by only a handful of marks. But once the national celebration ends, most of them will step into a very different reality — one marked by what might be called a quiet prestige gap. The issue is not that we celebrate excellence. The issue is how narrowly we define it.

Mauritius has long suffered from what could be described as academic tunnel vision. Our national narrative still instinctively celebrates the doctor and the lawyer. But what of the software architect building exportable digital systems? The sustainable farmer innovating food security? The digital artist working in a global creative economy? When these paths remain absent from our national rituals of recognition, we risk sending an unintended message to thousands of young people: your talent matters, but it matters less.

This becomes painfully visible in scenarios many Mauritian families quietly recognise. Imagine three sisters sitting for the HSC in the same year. One becomes a laureate. The other two do not. In an affluent family, all three might still access overseas education. In a middle-class or lower middle-class family, however, divergence can quickly become life-defining. One daughter is celebrated, funded, and globally mobile. The others may enter labour markets where upward mobility is slow and uncertain. Their effort is not less real. Their dreams are not less valid. But opportunity is not equally distributed.

This is where the debate around brain drain becomes too simplistic. Perhaps a more accurate frame is brain circulation. Many high-performing Mauritians abroad do not remain overseas out of disloyalty, but because the structural incentives are difficult to ignore. In specialised fields such as biotechnology or artificial intelligence, salaries abroad can be four to six times higher than local equivalents, even as the cost of living in Mauritius continues to rise. The question, therefore, is not how to stop young Mauritians from leaving, but how to make returning a rational and attractive choice.

One possibility would be to think more ambitiously about national talent itself. Imagine a National Talent Registry that does not simply track laureates, but maps high-performing Mauritians across the world. Imagine pairing that with research grants, relocation incentives, or industry leadership opportunities designed to help returning professionals build local ecosystems. Brain drain could become strategic talent circulation.

The conversation must also move beyond government alone. If Mauritius truly believes in meritocracy, then excellence must be democratised socially, not only recognised officially. The private sector has a critical role to play. Why, for example, do many top firms wait for the state to identify laureates before offering scholarships? Why not create social mobility scholarships aimed at students who demonstrate exceptional resilience, discipline, and potential — even if they are not at the very top of the national ranking lists?

Ultimately, education policy alone cannot resolve these tensions. Mauritius must confront deeper structural questions about who controls economic opportunity, how privilege reproduces itself across generations, and how open elite professional networks truly are. For those familiar with the country’s social history, intergenerational privilege — often linked to class and also racialised histories — is not theoretical. It is lived reality. And structural change in this domain is, by nature, slow. Mauritius today lives with a paradox. We celebrate education as the great equaliser, yet structural inequalities remain deeply embedded. We produce brilliant young people, yet many must leave to fully realise their potential.

If the country wants to retain talent in the long term, reform must be broader than scholarships. It must include building world-class tertiary and research ecosystems locally, recognising technical, vocational, and creative excellence as national assets, encouraging private sector co-investment in social mobility, and actively creating pathways for diaspora talent to return and build industries at home.

Until then, the annual ritual will continue. We will celebrate our brightest, and we should. But quietly, year after year, many of those bright young Mauritians will build their futures elsewhere — not because they want to leave, but because they feel they must.

Mauritius Times ePaper Friday 13 February 2026