Over the past few months, politicians, media commentators and democracy scholars have dissected the contours of the Best Loser System (BLS) and laid out multiple arguments in favor of or against its abolition or revision. While opinions and interests vary greatly about the relevance and applicability of the BLS today, one central generally-agreed premise is that the BLS relies on 1972 census data and this poses a logical, ethical and moral dilemma. The Supreme Court of Mauritius and the United Nations Human Rights Committee have also shared reservations about the reliance on such out-dated data. If the BLS is to ensure fair and adequate representation of today’s Mauritian society, then maintaining the status quo is evidently illogical. But conducting a new population census – which would be the mathematical solution to resolving this quagmire, is generally accepted as politically impossible. How then should we tackle this conundrum?
I propose we widen the scope of the debate, exploring not the present but the past in search of a way out of this political deadlock.
The BLS was introduced in the move towards independence to appease the fear of a Hindu hegemony by Muslims and Creoles, and guarantee fair representation of each group which co-existed on the island. At the time, there were marked differences in the way of life of each group, separately largely along linguistic and religious demarcations. Each group saw in the BLS a means towards societal preservation and financial sustenance.
As laid out in the first schedule of the Constitution, section 3(4) “ the population of Mauritius shall be regarded as including a Hindu community, a Muslim community and a Sino-Mauritian community; and every person who does not appear, from his way of life, to belong to one or other of those 3 communities shall be regarded as belonging to the General Population, which shall itself be regarded as a fourth community.”
Others before me have already questioned, at length, the validity of this section, arguing that, 1) while applicable in pre-independence Mauritius where inter-group mixing was infrequent and where identity was strongly associated with language and religious practice, it is today obsolete; and 2) there is a lack of clarity regarding the term “way of life”.
Today, not only are inter-group mixing much more frequent, but identity in post-independence and modern Mauritius is also significantly more complex and less intrinsically connected to language and religion. Today, two generations of social evolution since independence, Mauritian Kreol is the single most-used language in the country, unifying villages, towns, the rich and the poor. In my own household, we light lamps for Divali, break the Ramadan fast with dates, share Foon Paws for the Spring Festival, and put up a Christmas tree every year. Would I be Hindu, Muslim, Sino-Mauritian, or Creole… or am I simply a Mauritian? And my household is no exception; today, almost all Mauritians embrace multiculturalism in their daily lives. Dare I say that there is one dominant Mauritian way of life shared by all. We all work in the same office parks, shop in the same malls, drive through the same traffic jams daily, celebrate all public holidays, consume the same media, relax at the same beaches on weekends, dance to the same music, and nurture relationships with anyone, irrespective of gender, creed or colour.
We thus reach another deadlock. With one Mauritian way of life and a set of unworkable ethnic demarcations, how can the BLS maintain its relevance in post-independence modern Mauritius? Are there distinguishable “communities” today that need political guarantees for their “fair and adequate representation”?
The rational answer is quite simple : we should update, not the census, but how we imagine ourselves as a society? In our democratic state, which distinct Mauritian “communities” fail to be fairly and adequately represented in public and political life? In quite the same fashion as political philosophers like John Stuart Mill and Alexis de Tocqueville have pondered in the past, so do I today, asking which minorities in our country deserve our democratic protection against the theoretical tyranny of the majority?
Others before me have attempted answering this question. In fact, many commentators have discussed the representation of women in politics, rightly annexing gender as a key element of identity in local politics. By all standards, women today are underrepresented in public and political life. It can be argued that there is a “way of life” associated with women in Mauritius – not in a stereotypical way, but rather a sociological one. In patriarchal Mauritius, the gender gap still exists, gender-based violence still primarily affects women, child-rearing and household labour is still unevenly distributed between genders, and the list goes on and on. Even though I am no expert on gender equality, I believe it would be difficult to disagree with the claim that women in Mauritius constitute not a demographic minority but certainly a socio-political one.
Apart from gender, age is another element of identity which deserves attention. Across all age groups, the youth constitutes a second distinguishable socio-political group, characterised by a “way of life” that is singular to that group. Coupled with a stark lack of representation in public and political life – 0% of MPs today are aged below 35 – they are faced with socio-political challenges specific to their age group: growing disconnect between education curriculum and labour market demands; low political will to curb the perennial brain drain; galloping “smart city-fication” excluding the youth from participating in real estate, and the list goes on and on. Could the lack of political representation of the youth be at least part of the reason why youth issues are generally stagnant and down the list of political priorities? If we agree with the saying that the youth of today are the leaders of tomorrow, should their voices not be meaningfully and fairly heard in our democratic agora?
The third underrepresented socio-political group is defined this time not by gender or age, but by physical ability, or lack thereof rather. Indeed, about 7% of the Mauritian population comprise people with disabilities. That is nearly 1 disabled person for every 15 Mauritians. Yet, their voices are quasi-inexistent in public and political life. Last year, I vividly recall @juliadrack, a young Tiktoker with mobility issues, who spoke out against a security upgrade at the Trianon underpass as it didn’t allow sufficient clearance for her wheelchair to pass through. Her moving story, seen by over 60,000 viewers, is but one single example of how our public infrastructure, our cities and villages, and our society are designed largely oblivious to the needs of people with disabilities. Again, I find it hard to dispute the claim that people with disabilities have a distinct “way of life”, characterized unfortunately by barriers to socio-economic mobility, discriminatory and exclusionary practices, hindered access to public transportation or even beaches. Have we ever imagined how someone in a wheelchair could autonomously get out of their home, use safe sidewalks to find a wheelchair-accessible bus stop or metro stop, and ride safely to any beach? Likely impossible. So I ask, are their rights to enjoy nature’s gifts any lesser to ours?
Last, but definitely not the least, there is another socio-political group, making up of an estimated 10% of the population, that also suffer from underrepresentation. This community can be defined not by gender, age, or physiology, but sexual orientation. Like me, about 1 in 10 Mauritians, are not heretosexual. The LGBT community is perhaps the only socio-political minority group (of those mentioned in this paper) that imagines and organises itself as a “community”, advocating for equal rights under the Constitution, but are still facing significant social stigma, acts of intimidation and discrimination, and a lack of legal recognition for same-sex relationships. Despite notable progress made in terms of political advocacy, media visibility and evolving perceptions, this 10% of the population remains underrepresented in public and political life. Today, my fiance and I are homeowners, yet unlike many couples before us, we could not benefit from the Home Ownership Scheme since we are not legally married. Despite functioning as any other household, I cannot list him as my dependent and thus benefit from tax deductions all other heterosexual married couples do. Over and above tangible impacts of our inability to marry whomever we love, social stigma, discrimination and other exclusionary practices still exist in many social spaces. The 2022 Afrobarometer report revealed that more Mauritians would prefer having foreign workers or immigrants as neighbours rather than Mauritians who are homosexuals. Almost 40% of respondents said they would dislike having homosexuals as neighbours. Would this still be the case if the LGBT community would enjoy fair and adequate representation in public and political life? Would a representative of the LGBT community not be a voice in favour of the rights and wellbeing of said community? In fine, is this not what the BLS was devised to do? To ensure fair and adequate representation for minority groups which would otherwise feel left out of public and political life.
My argument is simple: retain the BLS and apply its principles relative to new and true socio-political minorities which are unfairly and inadequately represented in politics. The system has served us well since independence, appeasing pre-independence social fears and fostering a society where multiculturalism is alive and well. Let us do away with outdated ethnic divisions that have no bearing on our way of life today. Let us be bold and not shy away from accepting that 2026 Mauritius is not pre-independence Mauritius; that our sense of identity today is multi-faceted; that our democratic Constitution has a duty to protect the rights of minorities, however they be defined, against the tyranny of the majority; that ALL members of our society deserve to feel included in the making of modern Mauritius.
KELVIN SUDDASON
