Surviving Colonization and Indentureship - The Caribbean Hindu Story
- authored by Shawn Binda
I carry a name that often raises eyebrows—Shawn—a reminder of colonial attempts to reshape identity. But behind it lies a much older story, one of resilience, migration, and the unyielding survival of Hinduism far from its origins in India. This is not just my story—it is the story of millions. It’s the echoes of our ancestors.
My family’s journey begins in Trinidad and Tobago, where all four of my grandparents were born. They lived on an island that became their home after their ancestors—indentured laborers from India—crossed the seas in the 19th century. In the 1970s, my parents migrated to Canada, where I was born, and where I now raise children of my own. The life I live today is the direct result of generations who sacrificed stability, identity, and even language, to hold on to their Hindu faith.
A young Shawn Binda plays the tabla at a concert in Toronto, Canada, in 2004
The System That Changed Everything
After the abolition of slavery in the British Empire, colonial powers faced a massive labor shortage. Their solution? A new system of exploitation—indentureship. Between 1834 and 1920, hundreds of thousands of Indians were shipped to colonies like Guyana, Trinidad, Fiji, Mauritius, and Suriname under contract.
Hindus performing Gau Daan puja in Trinidad & Tobago in 1997
Today, the arrival of these indentured labourers is marked as ‘Indian Arrival Day’ (also known as ‘Indian Survival Day)—mostly in the months of May and June, in the various countries of the Caribbean and other former British colonies. In the US, June is even marked as Caribbean American Heritage Month.
Around 80% of the indentured labourers were Hindus, many from villages in northern India, uprooted by famine, poverty, or debt. They arrived with little but the clothes on their backs, their sacred texts—often memorized—and their devotion. The conditions on sugar plantations were brutal. Yet amid isolation, discrimination, and cultural pressure to assimilate, Hinduism survived.
Colonial regimes implemented Anglicization policies that actively sought to erase Indian identity. Indian languages such as Bhojpuri and Awadhi were banned in schools and ridiculed as “uncivilized.” Children were encouraged—if not forced—to take English names. Hence, Shawn.
Though I chose to pass Hindu names on to my children, I’ve kept mine as a reminder of our complicated history. Language loss led to cultural erasure, and eventually, what scholars call collective amnesia—a society-wide forgetting, often driven by the pain of what has been endured.
Many descendants of indentured laborers don’t know the full story of how their faith endured. It’s not that our ancestors didn’t want to remember—it’s that survival sometimes demanded silence.
Faith as Resistance
Yet Hinduism was never completely silenced. In fact, it became a form of quiet rebellion.
Even under the harshest conditions, Hindu rituals persisted. Laborers sang bhajans in the evenings, retelling the epics of the Ramayana. Instruments like the dholak and the tabla became household treasures, passed from one generation to the next and it became my instruments of choice growing up. In 1886, colonial observer J.H. Collens wrote:
It is, nevertheless, astonishing how familiar the Trinidadian coolies are of their scripture. Even among the humble labourers who till the fields, you may often, in the evening work being done, see and hear a group of coolies crouching down in a semi-circle chanting whole stanzas of the
epic poem.
As communities stabilized, visionary Hindu leaders emerged. In Trinidad, Bhadase Sagan Maraj founded the Sanatan Dharma Maha Sabha, building schools, codifying rituals, and advocating for legal recognition of Hindu practices. His son-in-law, Satnarayan Maharaj, continued the work—fighting for civil rights and religious freedoms. In Guyana, Jung Bahadur Singh became the first Hindu elected to the Legislative Council in 1930, using his position to demand respect for Hindu institutions.
One of their greatest victories? The legal right to marry under Hindu rites and to cremate the dead. Before that, the first sanctioned cremation in Trinidad took place at a garbage dump.
Remembering is a Sacred Act
Today, I teach my children mantras. We celebrate Diwali, light lamps, and tell stories of our Deities. We remain active within the Hindu community volunteering and advocating for Sanatana Dharma. Each act is a form of remembrance, a way of saying to my ancestors: Your sacrifices were not in vain. Hinduism has survived colonization, cultural suppression, and migration. We are not merely preserving a tradition—we are fulfilling a legacy.
Shawn Binda (left) with his family at the Devi Mandir founded by his father in Pickering, Ontario, Canada in 1989.
Remembrance is important because not only are these echoes of our ancestors, they are guideposts to our future-particularly as Hindus get accused of being privileged casteist Hindus in North America or get told to go back.
And so, this story is not just mine. It belongs to every member of the Hindu diaspora who has ever felt the tension between assimilation and authenticity. It belongs to every child with an English name and a Sanskrit soul. We are the last of the living ancient civilizations. And we remember.
The author, Shawn Binda is an educator and host of a YouTube channel ‘Hindu Lifestyle’ exploring diaspora, decolonization, and spiritual identity. He shares stories rooted in Indo-Caribbean history and the ongoing work of cultural resilience. Shawn is part of CoHNA’s Advisory Board