Introduction
European expansion into other parts of the world and subsequent industrialisation relied largely on the exploitation of overseas unfree labour in the form of slaves and Coolies. Nineteenth-century colonial empires used Coolie labour to continue with forms of plantation economy during and after the abolition of slavery.
After the abolition of slavery in 1834, the demand for indentured labourers increased dramatically. The Indian indenture system mainly had the same general terms and conditions as in other colonies, with only slight differences. One of the central elements of the system was that emigrants had to commit themselves to a fixed term of labour beforehand by signing an agreement, popularly known as ‘Girmit’ 1 (Lal, 1983).
Girmit was a kind of contract labour, and contract labour may be defined as temporary international movements of workers which are organised and regulated by governments, employers or both (Fokken, 2018). The period may be an agricultural season, the time it takes to carry out a construction project or a specified number of months or years. Sugar production was the activity that gave meaning to the system: it dictated the economic, political, and social system, creating an authoritarian system in which labour was assembled to work together intensively to extract the sugar from the cane.
The situation that prevailed in India at that time was dire due to a combination of colonial rule, famine and natural calamities that had destroyed cottage industries, wiped out rural economies and forced workers to seek employment under the indenture system. At the same time, the West, riding the wave of industrial development, deemed Indians to be a hardworking and malleable workforce. Even though the Girmitiyas were neither enslaved people nor serfs and, theoretically, were free labourers, the restrictive nature of the contracts that bound them placed them in situations like slavery as the colonial authorities had almost total control over their bodies, according to Radica Mahase (2013). Hugh Tinker has called this a ‘new system of slavery’, arguing that slavery may have changed its form but continued to persist (Tinker, 1974). Indentured labourers were vital to the colonies’ economy because they could be exploited by means of long working hours and low wages. Wages were further reduced through massive penalties for petty offences like the infamous ‘double-cut’ system. 2
The Kafala 3 sponsorship system, on the other hand, is a labour-cum-legal relation within a particular geographic jurisdiction, where the sponsor assumes legal responsibility and representation over the sponsored migrant labour within the receiving country’s geographic jurisdiction. The flip side is that sponsored migrant labour has no legal right to enter that country’s geographic boundaries except by obtaining a sponsor. This constitutes the crux of the sponsorship system, where the state delegates the authority needed for a migrant to enter the country to the citizen-employer. The emigrant is thus linked to the Kafeel, or sponsor, in an asymmetrical power relationship and cannot withdraw from the employment agreement or leave the country without the latter’s approval (Kakande, 2015).
Before the contemporary practice of Kafala started, the British colonial authorities used this system from the 1950s to avoid any possible risk by adopting what was a prevailing local tradition to manage the necessary inflow of migrants to the Gulf. 4
Guest worker programmes or temporary worker programmes like the Kafala system segment the working class and create a pool of cheap labour populated by people who are extraordinarily exploitable and precarious because of their legal status. In these modern forms of indentured systems, the workers’ legal status is tied to the employer; there are restrictions on their freedom of movement and autonomy. Migrants are provided with little or no access to social benefits and services and are deprived of labour rights such as the rights to equal pay and decent working conditions. They are also barred from union membership and are exposed to termination and deportation for any infractions. The system reduces people to their labour value alone (Mulhall, 2022).
Under the Kafala, low-wage migrant workers are bound to one employer by contracts and visas and cannot bring their children or other family members with them unless they earn a specified threshold salary. They are subjected to hazardous working conditions, forced labour, long hours without overtime pay and wage theft (Malaeb, 2015). Most workers are indebted to recruiters, face legal or de facto barriers to unionisation, are denied access to labour protections and social services and have no real path to permanent immigration status. Speaking out against abuse almost always results in retaliation, termination, deportation and blacklisting.
The origins of the Kafala system can be traced back to the Bedouin custom of offering safe passage and protection to travellers; in Bedouin society, a tribal leader or sponsor, would vouch for a visitor, ensuring their safety and that they adhered to local norms and customs. This system was also in use during the pre-oil pearl diving era in the Gulf, where local sponsors oversaw and regulated migrant labour. Later, the British adopted and institutionalised the Kafala system as part of their administration. It became a tool for managing labour migration, particularly as the need for foreign labour increased with the region’s growing economic activities (Longva, 1999).
Since the beginning of the century, a multitude of criticism has arisen in the international media and from human rights organisations regarding the violations of the rights of migrant workers in the Gulf region, notably relating to health and safety issues, salary retention, physical abuse, inadequate housing conditions and abuses of the Kafala system to maintain tight control over foreign workers (Qadri, 2022).
The economies of these regions are heavily reliant on the migrants. Yet, the status and rights of migrants are generally weak or non-existent. They are controlled under the Kafala system, which requires migrants to be sponsored by individual citizens (Kafeel) who then hold the right to hire and cancel the sponsored migrant’s work contracts as well as permit or forbid renting property, purchasing vehicles, opening bank accounts and even travelling within and outside of the country. It is a sponsorship-based arrangement that governs the employment of migrant workers. Under this system, migrant workers are legally tied to a specific employer or sponsor, impacting their mobility and autonomy. Workers are reliant on their sponsors for visas, legal status, and often accommodation, creating a power imbalance that can lead to exploitation and abuse. When their contracts are cancelled, migrants must leave the country (Lian, 2019:4).
Methodology of Testimonio collection
This study was conducted in three stages: pre-pandemic; during the pandemic-induced lockdown; and after the migrants returned to their homes. Telephonic interviews proved to be the most appropriate method due to COVID-19 lockdown restrictions, with all the migrant Testimonios recorded, then written as notes and analysed. After the lockdown, interviews were conducted with agents who sent workers to the Gulf.
The study investigated migration from the perspective of everyday life, including work, housing, food, social networks, language, and social life. The research was ethnographic in nature, drawing on fieldwork, telephonic and video interviews, analysis of the unstructured interviews with Kafala migrants, migration agents and Girmitiya descendants and experts, use of archival data, analysis of Bhojpuri folksongs and folktales and secondary literature such as government archives, news reports published in newspapers, etc.
Testimonios, serving as the small but urgent voice of subaltern history, have significantly drawn attention to the uneven nature of history’s grand narrative and as an unstable genre located between ethnography, autobiography, narrative fiction and, as a small subaltern voice marginalised by history, a Testimonio can function in multiple ways (Beverley, 2004). It is a qualitative approach centred on first-person narratives that convey lived experiences of oppression, resistance, and survival. Unlike traditional interviews, a Testimonio is deeply personal yet collective, as the individual’s story often reflects the broader experiences of a community facing systemic injustices such as colonialism, racism or gendered violence.
In a Testimonio, it is the narrator’s intentionality that is paramount.
The situation of narration in the Testimonio involves an emergency to communicate, a problem of repression, poverty, subalternity, imprisonment and struggle for survival, implicated in the act of narration itself. The position of the reader of Testimonio is like that of a jury member in a courtroom. Unlike the novel, Testimonio promises, by definition, to be primarily concerned with sincerity rather than literariness. (Rege, 2006:14)
Since, in many cases, the narrator is either functionally illiterate or, if literate, not a professional writer, the production of a Testimonio typically involves tape-recording an oral account. This account is then transcribed and edited by an interlocutor, who is often an intellectual, such as a journalist or writer.
Testimonios can also explore the broader social, economic, and cultural contexts in which indentured labour and Kafala migration occur. By collecting and analysing Testimonios from a range of individuals, one may gain insight into the diverse experiences and perspectives of Girmitiyas, their descendants and Kafala migrants and how their lives were shaped by colonialism, capitalism, and racism (Katyayani, 2023).
Migration is the movement of people from one place to another at a specific time for social, economic, cultural, and political reasons. It is not only the change of geographical location but also a population movement that alters the social structure through its social, economic, cultural, and political dimensions. In the same spirit, this study investigates migration from the perspective of everyday life, including work, housing, food, social networks, language, and social life. It deals with orally narrated life events in the form of Testimonios while the migrants live and work in the Gulf or how the Girmitiyas lived on the plantation in the colonies. The work has tried to use thick description, combining methodologies like fieldwork, telephonic and video interviews, analysis of Testimonios with Kafala migrants, agents and Girmitiya descendants and experts, use of archival data and secondary literature to try to meaningfully situate these ideas within mainstream studies of migration. Through one-on-one interviews, participants were invited to share their unique experiences, emotions, and reflections using telephonic interviews, WhatsApp calls and Zoom meets and in-person interviews.
These interviews, organised as semi-structured conversations, enabled participants to recount their stories in their own words, allowing for a comprehensive exploration of their lived realities and expressing their perspectives. Subsequent transcription of the interviews preserved the authenticity of participants’ voices, enabling a meticulous analysis to uncover recurring themes, shared emotions, and broader insights. The resulting Testimonios, constructed from these narratives, serve as a collective representation of participants’ experiences, providing a multi-dimensional lens through which the complexities of Kafala and Girmitiya migration are examined. This methodological approach subjectivises data and contributes to a better understanding of the challenges and dynamics of these migration systems.
It is equally important to remember that using Testimonios in any study, which in this case is the study of the Girmitiya and Kafala migration systems, requires careful consideration of the ethical and methodological issues involved in their production and analysis. These narratives are often created within contexts of power asymmetry, where the narrator is vulnerable or marginalised compared to the researcher or writer. Due to this, ensuring that the Testimonio production process was collaborative and respectful and that the narrator’s voice and perspective are central to the analysis to ensure a respectful and accurate representation of their experiences is crucial (Katyayani, 2023).
For the study of Kafala migration, the individuals interviewed can be described as ‘bachelor migrants’. The application of the term ‘bachelor’ is pervasive throughout the Gulf region, specifically referencing migrant male workers of lower socio-economic standing who do not reside with their families in the host countries, regardless of their marital status. Notably, most of these individuals are married and have their families in their countries of origin (AlShehabi, 2019)
The term ‘bachelor’ represents a complex amalgamation of legal and institutional codes, and its usage carries tangible consequences for those falling under its classification. One significant repercussion is the impact on the ability of workers to bring their families with them to the destination country. This categorisation, therefore, goes beyond a mere descriptor, shaping critical aspects of the migrant worker experience (AlShehabi, 2019).
Sixteen interviews were carried out, ranging from 37 minutes to 1 hour and 13 minutes in length. Each respondent chosen for interview fell into one of four categories: first, someone who was working in any of the GCC nations at the time of the interview; second, someone who had worked in any of the six GCC nations in the past and come back to lead a retired life or had not been called back after COVID-19 and now had a shop or some other mode of sustenance; or finally, a former migrant who had become a migration agent.
Parallels between the Girmitiya and Kafala systems
There are striking similarities between the Kafala system and the treatment of labour during the indenture era, with workers assigned to spaces of oppressive and laborious work – or work not done by the natives – sometimes designated as 3D (or 4D) (Fernandez, 2021) ie jobs that are Dirty, Dangerous (Menegatti, 2016) and Difficult/Demeaning (Adaikalam, 2020).
The indentureship system was based on master–servant relationships; Kafala, too, replicates this relationship between the migrant worker and the citizen-sponsor (Sturman, 2014). Both systems are inherently exploitative (Razack, 2000). Migrant mobility is severely restricted in both cases. This segregation makes migrants feel excluded from the rest of society (Diop Le, & Johnston, 2017). During the times when migrants are indeed interacting with the local population in the GCC nations, they experience deep forms of discrimination and are subject to prejudicial treatment. Iskander (2021) posits that the Gulf experiences of Indian migrants are moulded by historical trends of labour exploitation and control mechanisms emanating from the Indian indenture system and how migrants under the Kafala system are treated is comparable to that of Indians under the indentureship system.
After reaching their destination, crises arise due to language differences and power disparities among the migrants in the Gulf. The managers collect the workers’ passports ‘for safekeeping’, thus retaining stringent control over them (Gardner, 2010a). The information asymmetry between workers and managers creates an enormous power imbalance today, just as it did a hundred years ago.
Almost all the indentured migrants who were sent to sugar colonies during the colonial times were illiterate and could hardly comprehend the contracts written in English (Jha, 2019). In precisely the same manner, the Kafala workers, or Makful, 5 cannot make sense of the tricky agreements written in Arabic or poorly translated into Hindi or English. Thus, the farm owner then (during the Girmit epoch) and the Kafeel (sponsor) today have enormous control over the labourers. The authorities are also overwhelmingly on the side of the employers. ‘While the citizens can get away with just giving a Maafinama (apology letter) if they are found in the wrong, the migrant may be deported and banned for life and can never enter the country anymore’, says Respondent 4, talking about his stay in Kuwait.
One can see the logic of plantation relations operating in the labour camps in the Gulf: a pass is needed, and being caught without a pass can land workers in jail, just as it did in the sugar estates a century and a half ago. As respondent 3 recalled, in relation to his life in Oman,
Freely walking around on the roads is not allowed, and we must adhere to the time given to us for buying things and must always keep the Pataaka (Identity cards) with ourselves in case a police wallah gets suspicious of us being illegal.
He continued:
Breaking the liaison of the Kafala relationship can get you penalised, land you in jail, and eventually get you debarred from ever entering or working in the said nation. If you want to be deported and the Kafeel has kept your papers, you must stand before a policeman who will get your papers from your Kafeel and deport you, but you will be blacklisted from entering the country again.
The labour camps are situated a considerable distance from the city, where the workers reside in dilapidated buildings with six to eight individuals sharing a single room. Bunk beds are provided for sleeping and storing belongings, much like in the Coolie/Girmitiya barracks (Gubili, 2018). A company bus transports the workers to the market area for banking and remittance purposes; however, they cannot roam freely within the city limits. They must return to the labour camps by the same bus when their work is completed, as stated by Respondent 14. Harsha Walia (2021) compares this to carceral spaces (Gill, 2016), which are ‘sites and relations of power that enable and incentivise the systematic capture, control, and confinement of human beings through the structures of immobility and dispossession’.
Twenty-five million migrants work in the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC), which comprises UAE, Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, Kuwait, Qatar and Oman. These restrictions on personal freedom and mobility, combined with the fact that migrant workers are criminalised and labelled ‘absconders’ or ‘runaways’ when they leave their employers before the termination of their work contract, and requirements such as ‘exit permits’ and ‘NOCs from employers, accompanied by exploitative, squalid working conditions, some aspects of contract work under the Kafala system, suggest that they can be considered contemporary forms of indentured labour’ (Damir-Geilsdorf, 2016, p. 22).
The contract
In a 2013 report, the ILO tried to break down legal definitions of unfree labour into ‘operational indicators’, which can be summarised in three dimensions. The first of these is ‘unfree recruitment’, which means, in the description of the ILO, coercive as well as deceptive recruitment. Second, there is ‘life and work under duress’, indicated by limited freedom, withholding of wages, forced overtime or tasks, and the retention of identity papers. Finally, they point to the ‘impossibility of leaving the employer’ (Harroff-Tavel & Nasri, 2013).
Often, forms of contract labour are referred to as labour situations with voluntary entry. However, the boundaries between compulsory/coerced and voluntary entry are blurred in practice. The ILO recognises that migrant workers face endemic conditions of coerced productivity: forced labour, low wages, poor working conditions, the virtual absence of social protection, denial of freedom of association and union rights, discrimination, and xenophobia, as well as social exclusion (ILO, 2023).
It is crucial to explore the tension between the alleged ‘voluntary’ entry into the contract and the actual social, economic, and political conditions that generate forced entry and the non-exitability of the contract. Indentured and contract labourers often agree to the initial terms of their contract but cannot end or alter the duration of the contract once it begins (Tappe & Lindner, 2016).
Often, forms of coercion, such as poverty, debt, impending imprisonment, control over the working body, inherent violence or unfree labour, are necessary to bring people to agree to this form of contract (Damir-Geilsdorf, 2016).
One could argue that migrant workers to the GCC countries in the present, or the Girmitiyas in the past, consented to their offshore recruitment and, therefore, understood and consented to the working and living conditions involved. However, it is quite common that migrants are not fully informed in advance about their employment and living conditions or their actual employment.
As Ray Jureidini (2010) has noted, ‘issues of contest are irrelevant in cases of exploitation as exploitation means exploitation’, regardless of whether migrant workers have consented to offshore employment. Deception plays a crucial element in labour trafficking narratives, particularly in GCC countries where claims of labour trafficking are widespread and seemingly universal (Jureidini, 2010). The work contract here implies both security and coercion, thus creating ambiguous spaces of labour relations that can hardly be described within the scope of the free/unfree labour binary (Tappe & Lindner, 2016).
In the words of Respondent 16, employed as a lift operator in Saudi Arabia:
I signed numerous agreements and papers, including one that explicitly stated that I was going voluntarily. Additionally, it outlined a fine of 2 lakh Indian rupees or 10 thousand riyals if I did not fulfill the two-year work commitment. With a large family to support, I had little choice but to agree to the terms. I was entitled to a 45-day leave after completing two years of service.
Even though indentureship was regarded as voluntary contract labour, the movement of primarily caste- and class-oppressed South Asian indentured labour throughout the British colonies led to some of the first state interventions on migration. They facilitated the conditions for unfree labour migration.
Today, Kafala migrants are similarly bound to a designated employer or sector, and employment is a requirement for migration. Employers can dispose of migrant workers through termination and deportation when their labour is no longer required, such actions having a mutual benefit for capital and state interests in providing a regulator to control employment and demographics. Migrant workers are, therefore, either legally or de facto unable to leave their employer without losing their immigration status, making their labour indentured.
On being asked if they feel they are exploited or have lived in precarious conditions, most of my respondents said things like, ‘But a little exploitation is present everywhere’ or ‘But a little pushing and shoving, Halki marpeet ek adh peeth pe thappad (light manhandling or a slight slap on the back) is not uncommon in our line of work’ (Respondents 1, 3 and 9), In a similar spirit, David McNally writes: ‘It’s not that global businesses do not want immigrant labour. It simply wants this labour on its terms: frightened, oppressed and vulnerable’ (Ramsay & McNally, 2004:190).
The colonial exercise – Girmit to Kafala
Indian indentureship and the Kafala system both trace their origins to British colonial policies. Indian indentureship, established in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, was a product of the British need for cheap labour in their colonies, leading to the coerced recruitment of Indian workers to toil on sugar and rubber plantations worldwide. Conversely, the Kafala system emerged under British influence in the Arabian Peninsula as a regulatory framework for migrant labour, tying workers’ legal status to individual employers. Despite differing geographical contexts, both systems reflect the legacy (Iskander, 2021) of British colonialism in shaping labour practices, with Indian indentureship representing the historical exploitation of labour, while the Kafala system illustrates enduring control mechanisms in post-colonial regions influenced by British policies.
Natasha Iskander (2021) maintains that patterns of labour exploitation and control mechanisms in shaping the experiences of Indian migrants in the Gulf region are heavily influenced by the historical context of the Indian indenture system. This system involved the recruitment and transportation of Indian workers to various parts of the world, including destinations like Fiji, Mauritius and South Africa (Lal, 2012), and created a framework of structural inequalities and hierarchies that persists in the migration and labour experiences of Indian workers.
She writes that when (in 1949 and then again in 1951) the British government sent Matthew Audsley, a labour adviser to His Majesty’s Embassy and British Middle East Office in Cairo, to the Gulf to report on operations in Dukhan (a city in Qatar in which the British government had a political stake) to evaluate operations and labour conditions in the oil industry, he based his evaluation on the standards that the British government had established to regulate the migration of indentured labourers across its colonies to sugar plantations.
To address concerns regarding the treatment of indentured workers, the British government of India implemented a meticulous oversight system in 1864. She continues,
To mollify outrage at a system that its critics compared to slavery, the British government of India had created a highly detailed oversight regime designed to regulate the conditions for indentured workers, which it codified into law in 1864 (Government of India Act no. 13) and endeavoured to enforce, with varying degrees of commitment, until the end of indenture in 1917. (Iskander, 2021:49)
This law laid out a comprehensive set of regulations that covered various aspects of the labourers’ lives. It stipulated provisions for clothing and blankets, outlined the acceptable living conditions aboard transport ships and on plantation estates, specified the quality and quantity of food to be provided to the workers, set guidelines for wages and working hours, and even established health indicators to ensure the well-being of the labour force (Iskander, 2021). These regulations were primarily concerned with safeguarding the physical welfare of the workers.
Historian Rachel Sturman (2014) offers an intriguing perspective on this focus on the body of the indentured worker. She argues that due to this shift in attention, the emphasis moved away from the political personhood of the labourer and towards their bodily welfare. The overarching objective was to draw a clear distinction between indenture and slavery, and to establish a comprehensive set of laws and regulations that prioritised the (bodily) welfare provision for the labourers. This approach sought to address the various dimensions of indentured labour, encompassing aspects such as working conditions, housing, healthcare, and legal protections.
Bodily welfare supplanted the notion of political personhood. Abandoned along the way was attention to the agency of the worker in entering the labour relation, and his freedom or lack thereof to abrogate the employment contract, should he so desire. (Iskander, 2021:70–71)
Iskander traces the Kafala system’s defining features, all of which stem from the distinction the British made between skilled and unskilled migrants when they governed the movement of indentured workers within the empire. The system in its current form was a product of a century of global trade and regulatory exchange and striated with imperial dictates governing the movement of people that set the parameters for the use of indentured labour She argues that:
The designation of local workers as unskilled, despite their obvious skill and value, was as much a product of the British imperial law that governed the movement of labour as it was of the hard divide between skilled and unskilled workers in the British-Qatari concession agreement. (Iskander, 2021:39)
This classification, while superficially based on skill, was often a product of broader economic and political considerations rather than an accurate reflection of workers’ abilities. The British government’s regulatory practices in the Gulf region were heavily influenced by this earlier system devised for indentured labour.
The British government favoured the employment of British citizens or individuals protected by the British Crown, primarily from India in the Gulf nations, for which they made use of the age-old Kafala tradition and moulded it into a regulatory mechanism for guest labourers. The ‘Kafala system’, is criticised by some modern commentators as being tribal and backward. However, in actuality, the Kafala system is a combination of more recent international regulatory structures that were implemented to govern and control these imported workers (Iskander, 2021:32).
Racialisation of brown bodies under systems of migration
Shirleen Datt, herself a Girmitiya descendant, having an Indo-Fijian identity where systems of bondage and indentureship are intertwined with her colonial identity of both ‘Fijian’ and ‘Indo’, writes about the restrictive Kafala system practised in the GCC nations in Born to Work: An In-Depth Inquiry on the Commodification of Indian Labour and Current Discourses of Migrant Labour Under the Kafala System (Datt, 2018).
Using an anti-racist and anti-colonial framework, she shows the historical roots of the meaning of brown skin and the colonial powers’ use of these brown bodies for labour. She accomplishes this by comparing two migration systems where the racialisation of brown bodies is particularly evident: the Indian Indenture system (or Girmitiya system) in the sugar colonies and the contemporary issues associated with the Kafala system of migration to the Gulf (Sefa Dei & Hilowle, 2018). By comparing both these systems, she comes to the conclusion that the saliency of brown skin has been produced and intertwined with notions of bonded labour as a result of British colonialism and the enforcement of the Indian indentureship system. The structural inequalities and hierarchies shaped by the historical indenture system persist in the migration and labour experiences of Indian workers, thus rendering such bodies vulnerable and prone to labour trafficking (Iskander, 2021).
The British imperial government manoeuvred indentureship as a tool not only to secure its white settler projects in its former colonies but to construct horrific systems of bondage labour embodying severe racial divides. Furthermore, the Kafala system embodies and perpetrates these colonial narratives of racial divides through the treatment of migrants. Akin to the segregation faced by indentured Indians, labour migrants under the Kafala system are subjected to spatial isolation from the local populace. This spatial segregation exemplifies the systemic challenges and parallels between historical and contemporary labour exploitation. Datt examines India’s historical ties to the indentureship systems and its role in constructing brown bodies as a labour force surplus for GCC countries, a labour force which is ready to work in abhorrent working conditions (Datt, 2018).
According to historian Rachel Sturman, the Indian indentureship and Kafala systems share numerous similarities: both systems targeted and sought labourers of Indian descent and those from the Indian subcontinent (Sturman, 2014). The historical context of indenture illuminates how systems of control, exploitation, and discrimination have been perpetuated and adapted in the modern context of global labour migration, impacting the opportunities and vulnerabilities of Indian migrant workers in the Gulf nations and similar destinations.
Indians currently represent the largest expatriate community in the GCC countries, just as they did during the indentureship epoch (Lal, 1983). Brown skin and perceptions of degeneracy are linked to specific areas in labour systems where oppressive and abusive working conditions are rampant (Razack, 2000). We can conclude that Indians have been formed as subjects ready to have their labour power extracted and exploited due to the colonial history of indentureship and its application (Lal, 1983).
When emigration from India to the Gulf first started under British rule, the recruitment of Indian workers to the Gulf was regulated by the Protector of Emigrants, an entity responsible for overseeing and managing the process. Foreign service agreements were required for each worker to ensure fair and transparent employment practices. These agreements outlined important details such as contract periods, wage rates, compensation and accommodation arrangements. Despite the efforts to regulate the recruitment process, the skill distinction in the hiring of Indian workers did not always accurately reflect their actual skill levels. Many workers were assigned roles as builders, diggers, domestic staff and clerks, regardless of their designated skill classification (Iskander, 2021:68).
Furthermore, the Indian indentureship system was exceedingly deceitful because the system embodied various forms of debt bondage to ensure that Indian indentured workers’ agency was minimal (Sturman, 2014). It also furthered racial segmentation of labour systems, providing a striking example of a racialised model of labour organisation. There has been a shift within international labour migration through neocolonial discourses, with an increased emphasis on ‘temporary’ labour migration. Globalisation and its neocolonial narratives have intensified the demand for temporary labour forces, which has profound implications for the commodification of labour (Rosewarne, 2010).
Due to the colonial histories of Indian indentureship, narratives of disposability, commodification of brown bodies and systems of bonded labour will continuously run in parallel. Under such systems, brown bodies are denied full personhood and are automatically allocated to spaces where horrific working conditions exist (Razack, 2000).
Razack (2000) created the concepts of respectability and degeneracy, in which persons grow to define themselves through their spatial location. In other words, the Kafala system allocates specific bodies to specific zones of ‘degenerous’ labour (a term Shirleen Datt (2018:50) uses to explain the kind of labour/work expected from such bodies). Brown bodies are explicitly assigned to these areas of unfair employment in GCC countries due to the exploitative character of the bonded labour system, which allocates migrants to degenerate spaces. In these spaces, migrant bodies are subjected to horrific living and working circumstances, and many workers are expected to work 12–14-hour work shifts. Furthermore, migrants are expected to work in high temperatures, and death by heat stroke and heart attack are common (Renkiewicz, 2016).
Shirleen Datt (Datt, 2018) raises certain questions, asking how certain bodies become constructed in ways that they are assigned to spaces of oppressive and laborious work and how the brown body, specifically, becomes constructed in ways that enable it to be subjected to spaces designed for degenerous work. She draws parallels between the two systems, arguing that both systems target and continue (in the Kafala system) to target labourers of Indian descent and those from the Indian subcontinent (Storbeck, 2011). After investigating the ‘historical ties of labour trafficking in India’, she claims that the way the ‘British enforced indentureship system constructed and conceptualised brown bodies as mere labour commodities, contextually and specifically in systems where debt labour is apparent’, is also reflected in the treatment of brown bodies in Kafala system.
Migrant worker programmes are a form of legalised segregation. Such forms of indentureship facilitated by the state legally sanction the stratification of labour with migrant workers cast as racialised outsiders. Despite working alongside citizen workers, migrant workers are differentially included in the nation-state (Mezzadra & Neilson, 2013). Migrant worker programmes, therefore, represent ‘internal segregation’ in host countries. As Respondent 4 says about Kuwait:
There usually are very rare instances when we get to see a citizen in bazaars/public places, as the time of our outing/shopping/visiting banks is well defined and we cannot go roaming about on the streets at any time we desire, but even in those scenarios the citizens keep their distance from us and never talk to us or even acknowledge our presence.
In the context of GCC countries, the racial identity of individuals is constructed within spaces designed to reinforce notions of degeneracy, low-skilled labour, and bondage. This construction perpetuates the perception of individuals of Indian descent or those with brown skin as inherently suited for menial labour in harsh working and living conditions, reminiscent of the experiences of indentured Indians during the colonial period.
Migrant worker programmes make it clear that borders do not collapse (Casas-Cortes et al., 2015); rather, border imperialism segments labour and acts as a spatial fix for capital accumulation. Migrants thus represent the ideal workforce; they are commodified and exploitable, flexible, and expendable.
The devaluation of migrant workers is driven by the specific devaluation of the racialised bodies performing the work. ‘Migrant worker programs are not only racially discriminatory; they are themselves a race-making regime’ (Walia, 2021). The term ‘race-making regime’ refers to a system that creates and reinforces racial categories and hierarchies through social, political, and economic practices. Some scholars argue that migrant worker programmes are a form of race-making regime because they create and reinforce racial categories and hierarchies by privileging certain groups of people over others based on their nationality, ethnicity, or citizenship status. This can lead to discrimination, exploitation and marginalisation of migrant workers, who are often subjected to poor working conditions, low wages, and limited access to social services and legal protections (Aranda & Vaquera, 2015).
Migrant workers are racially constructed and ordered through the very design of these programmes as a distinct and segregated labour regime. Racialised divisions are supplemented by divisions between citizen workers and migrant workers, which Sandro Mezzadra and Brett Neilson term the ‘multiplication of labour’, emphasising the heterogeneity of labour bifurcated by a border (Mezzadra & Neilson, 2013).
Denying permanent immigration status to migrant workers and their racialisation as ‘foreigners’ normalises racism. This distinct ordering of legal but deportable labour generates structural hierarchies between racialised migrant workers and citizen workers, further affixing race to citizenship. Migrant worker programmes are regimes with intense control, discipline, and surveillance not only of labour conditions or immigration status but also of the totality of life.
Regularly reported incidents involving migrant workers include the seizure of identification documents and passports, long and tedious working hours, wage theft, forced labour, violence, imposition of curfews, denial of access to visitors and phones, food shortages and being locked in and unable to leave employer-provided housing, all of which render them immobilised (Jureidini, 2010).
Migrant worker programmes manage surplus populations and discipline labour through racial and social ordering, citizenship regulation, and restrictions on capital-labour relations in national labour markets.
Tactics of circumventing the system under Girmitiya and Kafala
The concept of ‘infrapolitics’, coined by James C. Scott (1990), refers to forms of resistance and agency that operate beneath or outside the realm of formal politics or overt protest. It encompasses a range of tactics and strategies individuals and communities employ to resist domination, exploitation, and control by more powerful actors, such as the state or dominant social groups. These tactics often take place in the private sphere, within informal networks, or through subtle acts of noncompliance, evasion, or subversion (Scott, 1990).
Rather than perceiving ‘resistance as an organisation’, Scott looks at less visible, everyday forms of resistance such as ‘foot-dragging, evasion, false compliance, pilfering, feigned ignorance, slander and sabotage’. He also argues that resistance is ‘a subtle form of contesting public transcripts’ by making use of prescribed roles and language to resist the abuse of power – including things like ‘rumour, gossip, disguises, linguistic tricks, metaphors, euphemisms, folktales, ritual gestures, anonymity’.
Scott’s concept of infrapolitics challenges traditional notions of political agency and activism by emphasising the significance of everyday acts of resistance and the agency of individuals and communities who operate within the margins of society. It draws attention to the importance of understanding the complex dynamics of power and resistance in social and political life, particularly in contexts where formal avenues of political participation may be limited or inaccessible.
He introduces the idea that oppression and resistance are in constant flux and that by focusing just on visible historical ‘events’, such as organised rebellions or collective action, subtle but powerful forms of ‘everyday resistance’ or infrapolitics can be overlooked. His research found that overt peasant rebellions are relatively uncommon, do not occur when and where expected, and often don’t have much impact (Scott, 1987: 29).
During colonial times, Girmitiya migrants engaged in such subtle acts of resistance in their daily lives, such as working at a slower pace, pretending illness, or disobeying orders from plantation overseers. Migrants maintained their cultural practices and traditions despite attempts by plantation owners to suppress them. Practices such as music, dance, storytelling, and religious ceremonies served as forms of cultural resistance and solidarity, helping migrants to preserve their identity and sense of community in the face of adversity (Badal-Caussy & Dawosing, 2023). Religious gatherings and cultural celebrations allowed Girmitiya migrants to express solidarity and resistance. These gatherings were not only occasions for spiritual fulfilment but also served as spaces for community building.
Over time, Girmitiyas developed their own languages or dialects, such as Fiji Hindi, Trinidadian Bhojpuri and Sarnami Bhojpuri, which served as tools for communication and solidarity amongst themselves. These languages also allowed migrants to communicate without being understood by plantation overseers, enabling them to organise and resist exploitation, and, despite the efforts of plantation owners to dehumanise and exploit them, Girmitiya migrants actively negotiated and asserted their identities as individuals and communities.
This negotiation of identity was a form of resistance against the dehumanising effects of the indenture system. Many Girmitiya migrants brought with them traditional knowledge and skills from their homelands, which they used to adapt to their new environments and resist exploitation and, despite the risks involved, some migrants attempted to escape from the plantations or sought ways to evade the terms of their indenture.
These methods were particularly effective in situations where violence was used to maintain the status quo. These forms of resistance require little coordination or planning and are used by both individuals and groups to resist without directly confronting or challenging elite norms. They occur in the shadows, outside of the employer’s knowledge (Scott, 1990).
In Foucault’s thought, resistance refers to the ways in which individuals and groups challenge, contest, or subvert power relations and dominant discourses within society. While Foucault’s earlier works focused primarily on the mechanisms and operations of power, his later writings increasingly emphasised the role of resistance as a crucial element in the dynamics of power.
He rejects the idea of power as a monolithic force imposed from above and instead emphasises its dispersed and relational nature (Foucault, 1984). Similarly, resistance is not seen as a singular or unified act but rather as a diverse array of practices and strategies deployed by individuals and groups in various social contexts. According to him, resistance can take many forms, ranging from overt acts of defiance to subtle acts of subversion or evasion.
It can occur within institutional settings, such as prisons or schools, as well as in everyday life through practices of self-care, autonomy, and creativity (Lawlor & Nale, 2020:432–34). Importantly, Foucault’s notion of resistance is not solely focused on oppositional struggles against oppressive systems but also encompasses how individuals carve out spaces of autonomy, agency, and self-determination within systems of power. Resistance, therefore, is not only a reaction to power but also a creative and transformative force that shapes social relations and institutions.
During the Girmit era, indentured labourers expressed their discontentment and challenged the oppression and dominance that formed the bedrock of the system. They defied the planters, masters and other colonial authorities by deliberately undermining their authority. The patterns of such resistance varied according to location, individuals, and leadership, ranging from indolence and absence from work (known as deserting), threats made to planters and destruction of plantation equipment to strikes, demonstrations and, rarely, violence (Mahase, 2008).
Resistance was also articulated through everyday activities and popular culture. Even though there was Indian solidarity in the form of Jahaji Bhai Bahin 6 (ship brothers and sisters) relationships, instances of combined resistance, like the Hosay riots 7 , were few and far between. The colonial authorities downplayed such resistance, and it has not been recorded, leaving a gaping hole in the history of indentureship, since even the workers did not leave behind written resources, with a few exceptions such as Munshi Rahman Khan (Prakash, 2006), Bechu (Mangru, 1999) and Totaram Sanadhya (1991). This lacuna needs to be addressed, because such resistance often led to structural changes in the colonial system, demonstrating that these labourers were able to exhibit some form of agency.
Nevertheless, there were instances where workers resorted to strikes, abandoned the plantation or engaged in violent acts against oppressive authorities in an attempt to escape their hostile circumstances. However, most of these efforts were not aimed at ending indenture or achieving any long-term goals (Gounder, 2011; Tupas, 2013), and such acts were mainly individual reactions to the oppressive policies of the planters rather than concerted efforts to eradicate the system. These kinds of resistance were sporadic, localised, often unstructured and spontaneous, based on individual rather than collective behaviour, and swiftly suppressed. The workers’ housing arrangements provided little opportunity for them to interact with their counterparts on other plantations. Moreover, even if collective riots and resistance occurred, the authorities swiftly quashed them and imprisoned the participants.
Despite this, cultural solidarity among the workers was evident, and cultural resistance (Badal-Caussy & Dawosing, 2023) was subtle yet powerful. They supported each other in times of need, and culture became an avenue through which they expressed their dissatisfaction with the situation (Jha, 2019). The authorities tolerated their cultural activities to keep them content and compliant as long as the activities did not become hostile or threaten peace.
One example of cultural resistance was the workers’ adherence to their diluted traditions, such as the Hindu religious practices connected with the Ramayana, in which the Girmitiyas identified with Lord Ram, who was also exiled from his home. They showed solidarity through festivals like Diwali, Eid and Muharram, which are celebrated by both Hindus and Muslims.
However, whether it was through individual resistance or rarer collective efforts like strikes, such actions brought some changes from time to time in the policies of the estates, such as elevated wages or better working conditions. Some Girmitiyas wrote letters to the Protector of Immigrants and nationalists back in India and other such sources, like Kunti’s letter, 8 Totaram Sanadhya’s autobiography and Bechu’s Testimonio (Seecharan, 1999) drew the attention of the nationalists, the government of India, and the colonial office to the need for bringing an end to the indentureship system.
These acts of resistance challenge the ‘Tinkerian paradigm’, which for decades depicted Indian indentured labourers as passive, helpless and docile, merely striving to improve their immediate living and working conditions under the harsh control of plantation employers and colonial officials. This view minimises their capacity for active/passive resistance (Hassankhan Lal & Munro, 2014).
Despite the constraints imposed on them, migrant workers often find ways to preserve their cultural and religious practices as a means of resilience. Religious gatherings, cultural celebrations, and communal events offer opportunities for Kafala migrants to express their identity, strengthen social ties, and uphold their dignity. These practices serve as important channels for reaffirming their identities and maintaining connections with their home countries and communities, providing a sense of continuity and belonging.
Migrants to the Gulf have negligible direct agency since all workers are legally bound under the umbrella of the rigid contract-based employment called the Kafala system and have limited bargaining power to demand reform. To counter a variety of these policies, migrant spaces of resistance operate both inside and outside the structures of law, making for a kaleidoscopic range of formal and informal protests (Walleser, 2018). But, Walleser argues: ‘the migrants must proceed cautiously to avoid the coercive policing powers of the security apparatus attached to the state’ (Walleser, 2018:29). Protests do occur routinely within the system; however, they are usually quickly confined by the state policing apparatus. Those without residential status, such as refugees and migrants, must keep a low profile and find other means to resist.
Asserting their rights with their Kafeel can result in a harsh response. Migrants’ attempts at protest are often met with immediate deportation, as they do not have any right to form trade unions. Even in Bahrain, Kuwait, and Oman, where trade unions are permitted, participation by foreign workers is strictly limited.
Significant restrictions are applied to the job, such as a prohibition on forming a worker’s union, a prohibition on strikes, and the complete absence of legal protection, in addition to other restrictive measures. Any collective identification among immigrants, such as regarding themselves as a class of workers vs a class of citizen-employers, is difficult to establish, and in the sphere of the native-migrant articulation, migrants must enact whatever role was ascribed to them by the citizens and adopt the status and identity that accompany such roles (Longva, 1999).
All the respondents employed in private companies in my research were aware of the fact that going on strike or forming a trade union is strictly prohibited. As Respondent 13 put it:
Unionbazi is forbidden here, and so is going on strikes. If you have to talk to someone, go alone. Don’t go with 3–4 workers to your senior as it will be deemed as strike or unionbaazi.
Making a union is a very bad thing here. It’s even better not to talk about it. You won’t even realise that you have been blacklisted, and you all will be sent back to India by the first flight and banned from entering for the next three years.
Respondent 16, who worked in Saudi Arabia, became visibly uneasy and hesitant when asked the question, ‘Are trade unions allowed in the country?’
Respondent 12, who previously worked in Muscat, the capital city of Oman, as an accountant and had since been transferred to Pune, in India, still working for the same company, stated:
Trade unions are not allowed there. Such things are very strictly taken as being a rebellion kind of activity against the kings/governments.
All respondents gave a very short reply to this question, to the effect that trade unions are not allowed and one would be quickly deported if anything of the sort came to light.
There are many workers in the Gulf who are still living there, despite the fact that their contracts have expired. In some cases, the contract may have expired because they are ‘runaways’ who have left their posts without permission because of non-payment of wages, sexual abuse, physical torture, or other reasons that provoked them to ‘abscond’. In other cases, the Kafala tenure may have ended, and the fault clearly lies with the Kafeel.
Kafeels are responsible for covering the cost of sending any migrant they employ back to their home country. However, in some instances, the Kafeel retains the migrant’s passport and, rather than providing payment for the return ticket or outstanding wages, returns the passport on the condition that the migrant does not pursue claims for their unpaid wages or travel expenses. Consequently, migrants are often compelled to accept the return of their passports, forfeiting their rights to claim wages or the cost of their journey home. These undocumented workers devise tactics to survive in those hostile situations through informal practices.
Under the Kafala, there are strict regulations for employers, too. They are expected to file a report with the authorities in the case of the expiry of a migrant’s contract and must file an absconding report in case of runaways, which can be a time-consuming process (though this is now easier in some cases because of features of e-government service, such as the ability to file reports via a smartphone, as in Qatar). If they fail to do this, heavy fines are levied on them.
The system produces significant responsibilities for both the employer and the migrant, even though these are much more demanding of the migrant. To protect him/herself from government action, the citizen holds control very tightly over the migrant. This situation can thus motivate both parties to look at alternative ways to function.
One of these is the free visa system, also known as the Khalli-Walli, whereby the migrant is free to choose any employer. At the same time, his legal sponsor is paid to keep up the facade of legal sponsorship. While the actual employer benefits from being exempted from legal and administrative responsibility, the paid sponsor derives profit from the work of his so-called Makful. The migrant can use this technique to sell his services to anyone he prefers and not be solely bound to his Kafeel. It must be noted here that such practices are not legal and the fear of being caught looms large for such migrants.
Respondent 2 described a concept known as an ‘Azaad visa’, which allows an individual to work independently and earn money from any location nearby, while also requiring them to make a monthly payment to a designated Kafeel. While the individual is not directly employed by the Kafeel, the arrangement is advantageous for the Kafeel, as they do not have to put in any effort to manage the individual’s work. Instead, they simply provide the individual with an iqama, or work permit.
Respondent 5 recounted the story of some migrants from his company who, after their permits expired, fled to take low-paying, informal jobs as ‘Khalli-Walli’ in companies/factories with fewer checks and a higher number of workers, which made it harder for authorities to catch them.
In cases where there is a dispute between the Makful and the Kafeel, after some time, the workers may attempt to reclaim their passports by offering the money (to the Kafeel) they earned while working as Khalli-Walli. If this negotiation fails, they may seek assistance from the police, who would intervene to retrieve their passports from the Kafeel and facilitate their return to their home countries. However, if the Kafeel holds significant political or financial influence, the workers might find themselves unable to retrieve their passports, leaving them stranded and undocumented in the country.
Respondent 5’s nephew secured an ‘Azaad visa’ by paying 1500 dirhams 9 to a sheikh in Sharjah, who became his Kafeel on paper. This arrangement allowed him some flexibility in selecting and leaving his job, and he worked in hotel maintenance and did other such odd jobs for eight years. However, he was obligated to make regular payments to his Kafeel. Presently, he is employed in the Seychelles.
One would assume that this is a beneficial setting for all the parties involved, but it must be kept in mind that it is an illegal practice and thus there is a constant risk of legal prosecution (Gardner, 2010b). Such irregularities signal the broader frictions between the restrictive system of Kafala and the need for more flexible labour laws in the GCC states. These informal methods put both the employer and the employee at the fringes of the law, causing much risk to both.
Social/care networks
Nevertheless, similar to the Jahaji Bhai Bahin 10 relationships forged during the Girmit can be observed in the Gulf returnees’ relationships with each other. Three of my respondents (13, 14 and 15), hailing from the same villages, migrated to Saudi Arabia during a similar timeline, came back for vacation during COVID-19 and were never called back after COVID-19 restrictions eased as they had passed the cut-off age favoured by employers. They had developed a special kind of camaraderie, meeting up with each other during the day, and have now planned to move to Canada to work. Respondent 13 said:
We have a WhatsApp group, and we keep in constant touch with each other as we have lived in similar situations for many years alongside each other as part of a group of at least 25 such returnees, and now we are going to Canada to work.
Strong informal care networks in the Gulf nations rely primarily on ethnic, class, gender, national and class categories. These are an integral part of the migrant’s life, some examples being charities and religious groups and various expressions of class solidarities (Kathiravelu, 2012:103). These are fostered by the organisation of the population in the GCC under the Kafala which is hierarchical and stratified, with a segregated physical environment of surveillance under which they are made to live
While the GCC is dependent on migrant labour to survive and exist, citizenship is not given to any as the divide between the national and the other is made use of to construct their national consciousness. Earlier, free healthcare was provided to everyone, but now it has been limited to the nationals. This autocratic welfare state can trace its origin to Bedouin tribal politics, where the state’s profits are divided between the citizens so that the leadership is not questioned. The ever-present fear of deportation has been used as an effective way of keeping migrants in check, discouraging any public expression of discontentment, which is not only socially shameful but financially disastrous for the migrants (De Genova & Peutz, 2010).
Called ‘guest workers’, these migrants are needed but not wanted, and their participation in social and political life is severely constrained. Their living spaces are highly segregated, with the working class consigned to living in camps at the city’s edge. In contrast, the upper- and middle-classes live in gated societies, creating a situation in which inter-class networks are highly unusual.
These care networks function in informal ways, existing outside of the government-made structures of control. Care can be seen in networks, relationships, logic and acts that express solidarity and connection in the everyday lives of the migrants (Kathiravelu, 2012:106). These ‘uncolonised spaces’ exist at the peripheries of the shining cities because the formal rules do not sustain civility, sociability, and ethics of care.
Having prior contact with migrants from the same village, town, community, and language helps create a kind of fraternity, but due to their own precarious condition, they can only be of limited assistance to each other. Still, such friendships and family networks offer an established means of recruitment, and these networks help in the upward social mobility of the migrants.
Low-income migrants have developed strategies to cope with the disadvantages of being marginalised by the state itself. There are rotating credit unions to help a community member in times of need, such as a sick parent or a sister’s marriage back home. The workers also give each other advice on how to deal with the realities of life in the foreign land, using their waasta (connections) to get a fellow a good-paying job, shielding the illegals and undocumented migrants or helping runaways to reach the camp where their community can ‘look after their own’ (Longva, 1999).
One example concerns migrants from the North Indian state of Bihar, predominantly hailing from regions such as Buxar, Bhojpur, Arrah, Gopalganj, and Saaran, who form tight-knit communities amongst themselves. Communicating in their native Bhojpuri language, sharing traditional meals, and cultivating a sense of familiarity, these migrants create spaces that evoke memories of their families and hometowns. Their cultural bonds are reinforced through the celebration of festivals like Vishwakarma Pooja and Diwali, albeit in a manner mindful of maintaining peace and harmony in their surroundings (as recounted by Respondent 3 concerning his stay in Kuwait). Bhojpuri serves as a powerful connecting link among migrants, facilitating warm greetings and easing adjustments, particularly when individuals from the same village secure jobs or accommodations together. For instance, Respondent 3 mentions encountering 15–16 migrants from his village, Javhi-Jagdishpur, in Muscat, exemplifying the tight-knit networks that foster a sense of belonging and support among Bihari migrants in the Gulf.
Some churches help people of the same faith, while charities and many NGOs distribute food, clothes, toiletries and other items. A shared gender and nationality presage a greater likelihood of solidarity.
Despite the risks involved, some Kafala migrants may seek legal assistance or support from human rights organisations, labour unions, or advocacy groups to challenge abuses and violations of their rights. While legal avenues for recourse may be limited, these efforts can help shine a spotlight on the injustices of the Kafala system and pressure authorities to enact reforms. These networks can serve as channels for organising resistance, sharing strategies for coping with challenges, and advocating for improved working conditions.
Within this context, migrant communities emerge as essential nodes of support, offering a complex array of functions crucial for the well-being and integration of individuals in unfamiliar environments. These communities provide a vital sense of belonging and solidarity, particularly for migrants grappling with the challenges of navigating foreign cultures and systems. Shared experiences, language and cultural practices within these communities foster bonds of mutual aid and support.
Moreover, migrant communities serve as practical networks through which information and resources are shared among members. In the complex landscape of migration, where access to reliable information can be limited, fellow community members often serve as trusted sources of guidance on matters such as employment opportunities, housing options, and legal rights. Such networks facilitate smoother transitions for migrants, enabling them to navigate the intricacies of life in their host countries with greater ease.
There is also some scattered evidence that some labourers have refused to come to work due to reduced or withheld wages. In such cases employers are quick to threaten them with not returning their confiscated passports or deporting them (Fakih, 2019). But, recently, in cases of extreme labour conflicts and discontentment, resistance often takes rough shape in the form of labour strikes, as was seen during the making of the Burj Dubai Tower, and, since then, has garnered some media attention. Quite surprisingly, the authorities decided to agree with the workers rather than deport them en masse, which is the usual punishment for strikers and protestors. This shows some germination of workers’ collective bargaining under the shackling Kafala system.
Conclusion
In 2020, when major construction conglomerate Saudi Ogler laid off hundreds of Indian migrants, they were left stranded, starving, and helpless in their confined labour camps for days together, bringing back a grim reminder of the Coolie lines of the past. Bound by the contract, workers in both systems faced similar difficulties – including wage theft, immobilisation, lack of rights and different forms of violence and precarity.
Even a hundred years after the abolition of indentured labour, the learning from this exploitative system of servitude remains pertinent; the legacy of indentured labour continues to shape contemporary labour dynamics, particularly in Gulf regions where the Kafala system is prevalent (Rajappa, 2017).
It is worth noting that the history and voices of the indentured labourers are relevant to present times. Today, Indians form the largest expatriate communities in the GCC nations (comprising Bahrain, Kuwait, Oman, Qatar, Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates) and often work under exploitative conditions in the unskilled and semi-skilled sectors where numerous employment opportunities exist and the migrants face both economic opportunities and precarious living conditions. Far from being a peripheral issue, migration is deeply intertwined with the fabric of the society.
The complexities of past and present bonded labour blur the distinctions between slavery, Coolie labour, and ‘free’ wage work. Michael Zeuske’s (2019) concept of intersecting plateaus of slavery suggests that abolition was merely a temporary interruption in a long history of labour exploitation, highlighting the continuity of exploitative labour practices. In this view, post-abolitionist regimes of bonded labour are seen as manifestations of global inequalities and capitalist relations.
The impact of the Kafala system on Bihari migrants from Bhojpur and Buxar reverberates far beyond the construction sites of the Gulf states, profoundly affecting their families and communities back home. Through interviews conducted with family members left behind, it becomes evident that the economic contributions of migrant workers are central to the livelihoods of their family members. Remittances sent by migrants sustain households, finance education, and provide crucial support during times of need.
The advent of the COVID-19 pandemic caught the Gulf migrants from Bihar off guard, disrupting their plans and presenting unforeseen challenges. Many had embarked on their journeys with high hopes of securing better economic opportunities, often relying on loans or borrowed funds to cover the costs of migration. However, as the pandemic spread rapidly and countries implemented strict measures to contain it, these migrants found themselves in a precarious situation. With economies grinding to a halt, job opportunities dwindling and borders closing, they faced uncertainty about their employment prospects and financial stability. Moreover, the sudden halt in economic activity left many migrants stranded far from home, with limited access to support systems or resources. The burden of debt repayment loomed large, intensifying their already precarious situation. The lockdown imposed in India due to COVID-19 had a significant impact on migrant workers, who were unable to earn a living or return to their villages.
The challenges faced by Bhojpuri migrants in the Gulf region included unemployment, wage theft, non-payment of salary (where sponsors issued threats to lodge a false complaint with the police against the worker, resulting in their prohibition from entering the GCC in the future if they insisted on getting their dues), and the failure of employers to cover the cost of return flights to India, which is contractually required, during the pandemic.
The precarious nature of migrant labour under the Kafala system casts a shadow of uncertainty over these lifelines as families grapple with the unpredictability of the migrant member’s employment conditions and well-being abroad under the Kafala system. Rooted in control and exploitation, this system highlights the necessity of scrutinising the Gulf Cooperation Council countries’ involvement in perpetuating such practices (Renkiewicz, 2016).