Systemic scrutiny of elite travel reveals neocolonial resource extraction in Indian Ocean archipelagos

The Chagossian people, forcibly removed from their homeland in the 1960s–70s to make way for a US military base, have been systematically erased from narratives about the archipelago. Their traditional ecological knowledge—critical for managing marine biodiversity—has been replaced by militarized conservation policies that prioritize biodiversity over human rights. Indigenous Chagossian activists, such as those in the Chagos Islanders' Group, argue that the occupation is a form of ecological apartheid, where access to the islands is restricted to scientists and soldiers while descendants of the displaced are barred from return.

The Chagos Archipelago’s occupation began with the UK’s forced separation from Mauritius in 1965, a move condemned by the UN General Assembly as illegal. The displacement of 1,500–2,000 Chagossians involved burning their homes, restricting food supplies, and banning them from returning—a process documented in declassified British Foreign Office files. Parallels exist with other colonial-era land grabs, such as the US annexation of Guam and the French military base in Tahiti, where Indigenous populations were displaced for strategic or economic gain.

Pacific Islander scholars, such as those in the Pacific Conference of Churches, frame the Chagos occupation as part of a 'blue genocide,' where Indigenous stewardship of ocean territories is replaced by extractive industries and military control. In the Caribbean, the displacement of Garifuna communities in Honduras for tourism projects mirrors the Chagossian experience, with activists drawing direct comparisons to the archipelago’s militarized conservation zones. African Union leaders have repeatedly condemned the UK’s occupation as a violation of international law, linking it to broader patterns of Western resource extraction on the continent.

The Chagos Archipelago is one of the world’s most pristine marine ecosystems, with coral reefs that have shown resilience to climate change due to minimal human interference—until recent military activities introduced pollutants and noise pollution. Studies by the Zoological Society of London (2020) found that the US military base on Diego Garcia has caused significant damage to coral reefs through dredging and fuel spills. Meanwhile, the UK’s 'Marine Protected Area' designation (2010) has been criticized by marine biologists for excluding Indigenous fishing rights while allowing military activities.

Chagossian poet and activist Lisette Talate’s work, such as *The Tears of the Islands*, frames the archipelago as a living entity whose suffering is tied to the displacement of its people. In Maldivian art, the contrast between luxury resorts and the erasure of local fishing communities is often depicted in paintings and films, such as *The Island President* (2011), which critiques elite tourism’s environmental and social costs. Pacific Islander artists, like Samoan filmmaker Sima Urale, use storytelling to connect Chagossian dispossession to broader Indigenous struggles for land and sea sovereignty.

If current trends continue, the Chagos Archipelago could become a 'sacrifice zone' for climate adaptation, with rising sea levels and military activities accelerating ecosystem collapse. Scenario modeling by the IPCC suggests that militarized conservation zones may fail to protect biodiversity without Indigenous co-management, as seen in failed projects like Australia’s 'Indigenous Rangers' programs when stripped of land rights. A potential future pathway involves the UN recognizing Chagossian sovereignty, leading to the decommissioning of the US base and the restoration of traditional marine governance.

Chagossian activists, such as Olivier Bancoult of the Chagos Islanders' Group, have spent decades fighting for return and reparations, only to be met with legal obstruction and media silence. The marginalization extends to academic and policy circles, where Chagossian scholars are rarely cited in discussions about the archipelago’s future. In the Maldives, local environmental groups like Save Maldives are sidelined in favor of elite tourism narratives, while their warnings about coral bleaching and overdevelopment go unheeded.