Chagos treaty stalls as elderly displaced islanders fear running out of time

Olivier Bancoult remembers a funeral where mourners scattered sand from Chagos into an elder's grave—a final gesture toward a homeland the dead man would never see again. For Chagossians displaced from their Indian Ocean islands decades ago, that image carries the weight of a question that grows more urgent each year: Will they live long enough to go home?

In May 2025, Britain and Mauritius signed an agreement that promised to make return possible. The treaty grants Mauritius sovereignty over the Chagos archipelago while preserving Diego Garcia, the largest island, as a military base for the United States and Britain. It would allow resettlement on the other islands. But the agreement has not entered into force. It sits in a kind of diplomatic limbo, blocked by opposition from the Trump administration and delayed by parliamentary procedures in London.

The history that created this crisis spans decades. In 1965, Britain separated the Chagos archipelago from Mauritius, three years before Mauritius gained independence. Britain then established a military base with the United States on Diego Garcia. Between 1968 and 1973, British authorities removed an estimated 1,400 to 1,700 Chagossians from the islands. Some were resettled in Mauritius, others in the Seychelles, and still others eventually made their way to the United Kingdom. Britain made it illegal to return without permission. The islands were emptied.

Now, those who were removed are aging. Chagossians born on the archipelago range in age from 58 to 100. Bancoult, who leads the Chagos Refugees Group, speaks plainly about what the delays mean: "We are growing old, and we have lost several Chagossian elders this year alone." The treaty's promises feel abstract when measured against mortality. In September, renewed talks between British Prime Minister Andy Burnham and Mauritian Prime Minister Navin Ramgoolam raised hopes that the agreement might move forward. But hope and time are not the same thing.

The legal case for Chagossian rights is strong. The International Court of Justice issued an advisory opinion in 2019 supporting the archipelago's return to Mauritius. The International Tribunal for the Law of the Sea issued a judgment in 2021 backing that position. The 2025 treaty itself represents a formal agreement between two governments. Yet none of this has been enough to overcome the political obstacles. In January, Trump called the agreement "an act of great stupidity" and questioned whether it adequately protected Diego Garcia. In April, the UK government told Parliament that the legislation needed to implement the treaty could not be completed during the parliamentary session that ended on April 29. The bill stalled.

The dispute has fractured the Chagossian community itself. The Chagos Refugees Group supports the treaty and Mauritian sovereignty. But a second-generation Chagossian named Misley Mandarin, based in the UK, favors resettlement under British rather than Mauritian control and has received backing from the Reform UK party. Chrisyl Wong-Hang-Sun, a PhD researcher in anthropology at the University of Edinburgh, notes that displacement and migration have made it harder to preserve Chagossian culture. During her fieldwork, diaspora members expressed concern about losing words in Chagossian Creole and recipes that cannot be recreated abroad. For descendants like Wong-Hang-Sun herself, the islands remain a place of longing rather than memory.

Mauritius has kept the substance of recent negotiations largely private. At the United Nations General Assembly in September, Foreign Minister Dhananjay Ramful stated that Mauritius' sovereignty over the archipelago was "non-negotiable" and described the 2025 agreement as a vindication of international law. But beyond official statements, few details have emerged about what the talks actually contain or where they might lead. International relations consultant Bruno Donat, who has worked at the UN, argues that Mauritius should pursue sustained engagement with diplomatic partners—the African Union, small island states, the Commonwealth Secretariat, sympathetic voices in the US Congress—rather than relying on high-profile moments alone.

Diego Garcia itself remains the most contentious element. The treaty would keep the military base open for an initial 99-year period. Lindsey Collen of Lalit, a Mauritian political organization that has opposed the base for decades, worries that the agreement would deepen Mauritius' entanglement with US military operations. She points to strikes launched from Diego Garcia against Iran, which Mauritius has publicly stated breached international law. For Bancoult, these strategic questions matter less than the simple fact of time running out. "We are opposed to war, ethically, but we are also running out of time," he says. The Chagos Refugees Group hopes to soon celebrate the 101st birthday of one of its members. Whether he and others like him will see the islands again depends on decisions being made in London and Washington—decisions that move slowly while the people waiting grow older.