{"id":47160,"date":"2026-11-03T11:47:36","date_gmt":"2026-11-03T07:47:36","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.mauritiustimes.com\/mt\/?p=47160"},"modified":"2026-11-03T11:47:36","modified_gmt":"2026-11-03T07:47:36","slug":"beyond-victimhood-the-resilience-and-resourcefulness-of-indian-indentured-labourers","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.mauritiustimes.com\/mt\/beyond-victimhood-the-resilience-and-resourcefulness-of-indian-indentured-labourers\/","title":{"rendered":"Beyond Victimhood: The Resilience and Resourcefulness of Indian Indentured Labourers"},"content":{"rendered":"

History & Heritage<\/u><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Commemorating 2 Nov<\/u><\/span><\/p>\n

Remembering the protracted struggle of our ancestors is how we pay proper homage to those who made us who we are<\/em><\/span><\/h4>\n

By Sada Reddi<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

On the 2nd of November, we will be commemorating the symbolic arrival of Indian indentured labourers in nineteenth-century Mauritius — symbolic because it is well established that Indian indentured labourers were introduced for sugar plantations and other occupations as early as 1825. We also know that about 425,000 indentured labourers landed in Mauritius between 1835 and 1920, and of that number, approximately one-third returned to India.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/span>Indentured Labourers \u2013 Indian Immigrants \u2013 1930s<\/span><\/p>\n

The nineteenth century formed the foundational years of Indian settlement in the country and was also the most oppressive period for them. How they navigated this era offers valuable insights for us all, and we can certainly take a leaf out of their book for our own future. This brief article invites readers to reflect on and interrogate certain aspects of their history that still require further research: why they left, their apparent social mobility, and their religious and cultural resilience.<\/span><\/p>\n

The many labourers who returned to India did so in the first three decades after their arrival. They had come on five-year contracts, and upon expiry, they availed themselves of free return tickets to go back home. Most of them had come for economic reasons and had no initial intention to settle in Mauritius. Some were satisfied with conditions in the colony while others were not. Those who were content and eager to seize available economic opportunities returned to Mauritius, bringing family members and fellow villagers with them. Over time, they rose in status\u2014working as sirdars<\/em> or job contractors, or operating as small entrepreneurs\u2014and rapidly achieved social mobility.<\/span><\/p>\n

However, they were always a minority. Since there were few women in the early years, returning labourers often could not find suitable marriage partners of their proper jati<\/em> (caste), and a few married Creole women. In the alienated environment they found themselves in Mauritius, many still preferred the familiarity of their homeland. Those who married outside their kinship group would have found it difficult to return home and be accepted by their families, making settlement in Mauritius their only viable option. Many more wanted to return, but the eventual abolition of the return passage and a lack of resources pinned them down in the colony.<\/span><\/p>\n

Very often, we overlook the fact that social mobility was confined to only a minority of Indian indentured labourers. While there were a few prominent Indian landed proprietors — mostly wealthy immigrants or merchants — the overwhelming majority of Indian immigrants were landless labourers living in poverty and precarity. They depended entirely on daily wages to eke out a living and were increasingly employed as casual labour by the late nineteenth century.<\/span><\/p>\n

Richard Allen has shown that between 1851 and 1881, Indian proprietors as a percentage of the immigrant population increased slightly from 0.2% to 0.3%. In a population of 248,993, the number of Indian proprietors stood at 701, alongside 10,014 gardeners (about 4% of the population), though it remains unknown how many of these gardeners actually owned their land.<\/span><\/p>\n

This view is supported by S. Nirsimloo-Gayan, who listed 16,222 Indians cultivating maize, manioc, and vegetables in earlier decades; by 1901, this figure had declined to 5,579, though again, it is unclear whether these individuals owned the plots they farmed. She also underlines some of the difficulties faced by small planters and their relative decline: partible inheritance led to the subdivision of plots among children; small planters struggled to secure credit; and the need to invest in education and residential homes siphoned off capital from agriculture. Furthermore, changing family structures meant that traditional family labour was no longer readily available for cultivation.<\/span><\/p>\n

For many Indians, social advancement was attainable primarily through independence from the sugar estate sector. Wider access to education and the abandonment of agriculture by younger generations meant that much of the land was eventually liquidated or converted into residential plots for extended families.<\/span><\/p>\n

Even today, most descendants of Indian indentured labourers live on land bequeathed by their ancestors, and only a small number of professionals and entrepreneurs have successfully bought their own plots for home construction. What remains remarkable and admirable is that, despite living in extreme poverty, they successfully resisted the forces of Westernisation and Christianisation, thereby safeguarding their dignity and cultural identity. How they managed to do so requires further investigation, though a few suggestions can be advanced.<\/span><\/p>\n

In the nineteenth century, Indian labourers were grouped with the descendants of ex-apprentices at the very lowest rungs of the social ladder, and were looked down upon with contempt as barbaric and lacking in civilisation, culture, and religion. Colonial newspapers of the time advocated a ‘civilising mission’ to provide moral education\u2014a transparent euphemism for Christianisation\u2014purportedly to ‘raise them to the level of civilisation,’ boasting of having done so to some extent for Africans and Malagasy. Yet, those very same newspapers fiercely opposed compulsory education for Indian children, fearing it might liberate them from plantation labour.<\/span><\/p>\n

What colonial authorities truly sought was not just moralisation to impose their beliefs and lifestyle, but rather a class of docile workers to serve their economic interests, even advocating the use of Indian missionaries to achieve their ends. Language became a primary tool for colonisers to erase the native languages and religions of the Indian labourers. English, French, and Creole were utilized toward this end, and their vocabularies were co-opted to distort and dismantle Indian religious beliefs.<\/span><\/p>\n

By translating Hindu philosophical ideas into these languages, the colonisers altered their core meanings. Brahman<\/em> was translated into “God” or Bondieu<\/em> in common parlance, thus distorting the concept of the supreme being; similarly, Atman<\/em> was translated into “soul,” which carries a fundamentally different meaning in Hindu philosophy. However, resistance to this process of proselytisation and westernisation was mounted by retaining core concepts in Indian languages to preserve the authenticity of their beliefs.<\/span><\/p>\n

Since communication in a multi-ethnic society is never unidirectional, Hindu and Muslim beliefs also penetrated colonial vocabularies, neutralising total assimilation by embedding native concepts into interlanguages and daily community spheres. Places of worship like shivala<\/em>, mosque, or kovil<\/em> were commonly used instead of “temple,” \u00e9glise<\/em>, or “pagoda.” Indian vocabulary was extensively adopted across various domains, resulting in everyday terms such as chowtaree<\/em>, vindoo<\/em>, corromadee<\/em>, mayaat<\/em>, and azaan<\/em> — hundreds of words that punctuated daily interactions.<\/span><\/p>\n

This cultural and religious resilience was so powerful that Indian ideas permeated other languages as well. Basic karmic concepts were expressed through common sayings like “one pays for one’s misdeeds on earth,” alongside the sentiment that all religions lead to the same Supreme Being. Hindus also viewed nature as an expression of the divine rather than something separate from humanity to be tamed or controlled. Similar attitudes prevailed in the rejection of western medicine, with both hospitals and schools viewed with suspicion as repressive institutions.<\/span><\/p>\n

In short, whenever there was a practical need to embrace western vocabulary, it was done strategically — loaded with distinct internal meanings for different religious communities rather than blindly internalizing colonial assumptions. Even Divali (or Teebavali<\/em>) was not viewed merely as a secular festival of lights, but bore deeper, distinct religious meanings for various Hindu communities.<\/span><\/p>\n

These aspects of Indian implantation in the nineteenth century still await social and cultural historians to fully unravel. While historical focus has largely centered on economic history, cultural and religious history has been largely left out. On this special day of the 2nd of November, it is important for descendants to reappropriate their history to better understand the challenges our ancestors faced and how they confronted them against all odds.<\/span><\/p>\n

Too often, we tend to emphasize victimhood without looking at the other side of the coin. Yes, victimisation was real, but resilience, resourcefulness, agency, and innovation were always present too. It was a long, protracted struggle that is well worth understanding for its valuable insights, reminding us to appreciate our legacy and pay proper homage to those who made us who we are today.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

Mauritius Times ePaper Friday 30 October 2026<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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