What it’s really like to be ‘rescued’ from modern slavery
When someone is in trouble, the hope is that they will be rescued. From Shakespeare to Superheroes, the story has been the same for centuries.
And now it has become the main way many people talk about tackling human exploitation, with a familiar and compelling tale of victims in chains and heroic rescuers.
Charities and campaign groups are at pains to claim that such rescues are “critically important to ending slavery”. Their missions, often in collaboration with law enforcement agencies, and backed by millions of pounds in funding, are widely celebrated.
But rescues are not always the happy endings they are made out to be. The reality is far more complicated.
My research in India shows that being “rescued” in no way guarantees freedom. Many of the people I spoke with had been forced to return to the exploitative working conditions that they had supposedly been freed from.
So what is it actually like to be “freed”?
I spoke to 31 people who had been “rescued” by NGOs from bonded labour in a variety of environments from construction sites and stone-cutting to domestic and sanitation work. They told me of a devastating gap between the promises of liberation and the harsh realities they faced.
For all of them, genuine freedom has remained elusive.
For example, after being rescued, workers must embark on a lengthy legal battle to secure promised compensation. Indian law promises immediate financial support to rescued workers (around £25) and additional funds (£1,000 to £3,000) and benefits (like housing, education, land) on successful completion of a trial against their employers.
But the compensation is often undermined by bureaucratic delays which can last for years. Nobody warned the people I spoke to about the situation which traps workers in a cycle of false hope and prolonged hardship.
One worker rescued from sanitation work told me:
Since my rescue [four years ago] the court has made me run around for documents repeatedly. They first asked for my [ID] and bank details, which I submitted, then a caste certificate.
To obtain it, I travelled 240 miles to my village, only to be told I needed to return multiple times for stamps. Each trip [took] me ten to 15 days, and [cost] money I don’t have.
Another person rescued from domestic work said:
The NGO promises compensation, but the court denies my bonded labour status. They say my signature is missing or that the government lawyer is absent … Once, the judge asked, ‘How is she [bonded] if she’s standing [here] in court?’
Many of the people I spoke to said the prospect of freedom seemed to slip further away with each passing year.
Some state offers of assistance were of no use. One person recalled:
After the rescue, the state offered me [a three-wheeled taxi] on loan for rehabilitation in my village. But I don’t know how to drive.
They said, ‘We have no other work for you. Drive the [taxi] if you can.’ What if there was an accident? So I returned to Delhi to do the same work [as before].
Far from being a fresh start, the post-rescue experience often feels like a painful repeat of the indignities they faced before. It tends to reaffirm their status as members of a marginalised caste, continued in their interactions with NGOs, state officials and legal representatives.
One person who was rescued from a stone-cutting mine back in 1983 said:
Nobody in the government listens to the poor. The poor will die waiting. We’ve been fighting this case for 37 years.
Another worker rescued from sanitation work in 2017 commented:
I have suffered so much. Can these powerful people [state officials] endure such suffering? No.
They wait an hour and grow impatient. We sit from 5am until night, answering the same questions – who we are, where we come from, why we are here. What is the use of such freedom?
Reality and red tape
Workers dependent on daily or weekly wages cannot afford to wait for compensation.
One worker rescued in 1983 told me:
[Our] case is going on. Some are working in construction, some as domestic workers. We cannot keep sitting around. What will we eat otherwise? We can wait for court decisions, but in the meantime, we have to do something.
As a result, workers often return to similar exploitative conditions. But even then, many are not able to keep their jobs. A domestic worker rescued in 2018 shared:
I took a job in Delhi to be near the court for court hearings. However, due to repeated hearings, I had to take [time off]. Due to this, the employer fired me.
No one willingly chooses to work in conditions of exploitation. Yet for many, my research suggests, the painful reality is that such work – however brutal – is the only option.
Overall, my research highlights the inadequacy of the bonded labour legislation in India in addressing the exploitation of workers. It also casts doubt on the idea of rescue as a “silver bullet” to exploitative work globally, given the millions of dollars invested in anti-trafficking and “modern slavery” raid and rescue.
Just rescuing people is not the answer. The promise of liberation must be paired with sustainable support that empowers workers to thrive – otherwise the so-called “rescue” is merely a temporary escape from an otherwise unbreakable system of exploitation.
NGOs and activists worldwide should avoid making false promises of immediate “freedom” after rescue. Rather than treating rescue as a quick fix, they should focus on long-term, sustainable solutions to labour exploitation. For without them, the cycle of exploitation is bound to persist.
Pankhuri Agarwal received funding from the Socio-Legal Studies Association to conduct fieldwork for this project.