The ‘Wind of Change’ Reaches the Chagos Islands, But What is a Fair Deal?

At a time when the very basis of the post-1945 international order seems to be falling apart, and as territorial disputes have erupted over the sovereignty of the likes of Panama, Greenland, and Canada, the dispute over the remote British-owned Chagos Islands can seem almost quaint by comparison. Yet this fixture of UK Prime Minister Keir Starmer’s foreign policy has aroused a fervour which gets at the very basis not only of international law, but of Britain’s relationship to its imperial past and continued foreign policy positioning. Simply put, Britain is desperately trying to give away its own territory, and has ignited a firestorm of domestic debate and expended political capital over the effort. Why? And what basis does this deal handover possess?

The Chagos Islands are home to the Diego Garcia military base, a joint Anglo-American air-and-sea station vital to NATO power projection in the Indian Ocean. The base was, however, conceived in sin – and a shockingly recent one at that. The island’s native inhabitants were expelled from their homes not in the fanatic island-accruing days of Captain Cook, nor in the Victorian scramble of the nineteenth century, but between 1965 and 1973. Just as the British Empire was pulling out from Africa and Asia, the Chagos Islands were severed from the then-colony of Mauritius to allow for the island’s repurposing into a Cold War power-projection arm. The local inhabitants were waved off in an official internal communiqué in terms befitting Cecil Rhodes: only “a few Tarzans and Man Fridays [the fictional Robinson Crusoe’s indigenous manservant]...of obscure origin” apparently resided there. They were loaded onto ships and relocated out of sight and out of mind, willingly or unwillingly. Many only received compensation later in the 1970s from the British government, and only if they had moved to Mauritius – not the Seychelles.

That this human cost – the expulsion of a people from their homes, and their virtual dumping in the Seychelles and Mauritius – constitutes a grave injustice is beyond dispute, and indeed is acknowledged by the British government. Yet it does not directly lie at the basis of the current negotiations. The root of the current process between the sovereign state of Mauritius and Britain comes from an International Court of Justice (ICJ) advisory ruling in 2019. Its contention was that the severing of the territory from the colony of Mauritius was legally invalid, violating UN Resolution 1514, which forbade the territorial breakup or parcelling of colonies before their independence. More vague allusions to the non-consultative nature of the breakup process were also made to support what turned out to be an overall damning 13-1 ruling against the United Kingdom. Prime Minister Starmer, a former barrister himself well-versed in international law, has accordingly argued that the ruling endangers continued Anglo-American activity on the island unless it is resolved with Mauritius; i.e., a formal lease is established while the islands are ceded.

Putting aside the moral question – whether it is inherently right for Britain to retain territory in Africa – the policy issue is fraught with complexity. The British government has sought to prove that the advisory opinion will have serious knock-on effects to their security. This includes the sudden shut-off of military radio telecommunications if the International Telecommunications Union (ITU) were compelled by a future Mauritius-instigated ruling to cease activity on the island. The handover has been questioned by some as unrealistic, particularly since the world’s leading superpower, the United States, would also be affected. Yet it does remain theoretically possible. A second reason has been that the Royal Navy would be operating in violation of the UN Convention of the Laws of the Sea (UNCLOS). However, junior minister Stephen Doughty of the Foreign Office conceded that Britain possesses special privileges under the convention’s Article 297. The UNCLOS argument is also somewhat circular: those questioning arguments based on international law would likely be no more interested in following UNCLOS on Chagos than in following the ICJ ruling. His Majesty’s Government’s argument presupposes that one believes, therefore, in following the full letter of international law.

The problem for the United Kingdom and Mauritius is that the deal carries with it tremendous baggage for all stakeholders involved. Britain is no stranger to ignoring the United Nations’ beliefs on British territorial sovereignty: Gibraltar and the Falkland Islands have long been on the UN’s Non-Self-Governing Territories list, which demands all included regions be released under the C-24’s directive. This is despite both territories overwhelmingly supporting continued union with Great Britain and possessing local, accountable governance bodies. Both sovereign parties in the negotiations have also had inconvenient changes in government during the process. The new Mauritian Prime Minister, Navin Ramgoolam, just recently appointed, desires superior concessions from Britain over the transfer, including pegging the monetary transfers of £90 million a year to inflation and potentially shortening the lease from the typical 99-year lease to just 49 years. Influential Mauritian groups, including some politicians and the head of the Mauritian National Trade Union Congress, have demanded that the Mauritian Prime Minister renege on the agreement after signing, mandate the expulsion of Western military forces, and potentially demand more money. In an increasingly multipolar world, concerns about China’s influence amid Mauritius’ growing relationship with Beijing further complicate the issue from a colonial restitution to an ongoing security assessment. The United States’ focus appears to currently be on annexing fellow NATO member states’ land, but Secretary of State Rubio has vacillated between wariness and cautious support for the deal in principle. 

Yet most important to this row is the original inhabitants of a land being debated in distant courtrooms, shadowy cabinet offices, and nationalist trade unions halls: the exiled, diaspora Chagossians. Many are elated by the idea of the territory’s handover, hoping to return to the isle of Diego Garcia and welcoming Mauritian citizenship. The Chagos Refugee Group dispatched Olivier Bancoult, a noted legal plaintiff against the United Kingdom on the issue since 2000, to meet with the Prime Minister of Mauritius in 2024, endorsing its handover to the state of Mauritius, assuming the resettlement promises of the country are honoured. But some Chagossians disagree with the principle of ceding their homeland to another state, particularly after the ex-Mauritian Prime Minister, Pravind Jugnauth, campaigned on the tourism and economically-extractive benefits of the territory without even mentioning the Chagossians. A lawsuit from two Chagossian women accusing the government of illegal action has recently been filed, with them stating that they want to “remain British.” Claudette Lefade, leader of Chagos Asylum People (CAP), had hoped the United States sinks the deal, desiring autonomy and greater economic security within the British fold instead. Frankie Bontemps, acting chair of the organisation Chagossian Voices, has criticised the entire conduct of the deal as lacking sufficient conversation with Chagos islanders by either Mauritius or the United Kingdom. 

Nevertheless, the negotiations press on, and the handover increasingly appears to be a fait accompli in at least some form. Yet the British government’s increasing inability to frame this initiative following the UN’s most famous directive – a theoretically easy position ever since Harold MacMillan declared the era of empire over in 1960 in his “Wind of Change” address –  in a cogent legal or security-based manner has eroded support and galvanised the opposition. Meanwhile, Mauritius’ endlessly-shifting positions on the deal as it battles its own internal political dynamics has drawn out the process unnecessarily and led to strong questions about the country’s trustworthiness once the ink is dried. Whatever occurs, it will be for the Chagos Islanders to build upon the result, and hopefully stand again on the beaches of Peros Banhos, where they once called home.