“Between a rock and a hard place, where will we go?”

In “The Great Abandonment,” directors Shirley Abraham and Amit Madheshiya offer a searing indictment of the injustices experienced by migrant labourers at the hands of the Indian government during the country’s first Covid-19 lockdown from March to May of 2020. Set in Mumbai, the film vividly captures the day-to-day hardships migrant workers endured during the pandemic against a backdrop of bureaucratic indifference and systemic neglect. Through firsthand accounts and evocative cinematography, the film not only amplifies the voices of the marginalized but also exposes the deep-rooted inequalities and injustices prevalent within India’s labour system.

Perhaps the film’s greatest accomplishment is that the narrative is conveyed almost exclusively by the migrant workers themselves. Aside from a few contextual observations provided by a third-person narrator, the film's plot is driven by the firsthand accounts of migrant workers trapped in Mumbai during the lockdown, lending a voice to this often overlooked sector of India’s population and granting them agency in shaping their own narrative. The migrant labourers interviewed in the film not only describe in detail the trials they have endured during the pandemic—including homelessness, poverty, food insecurity, and police brutality—but also offer insightful perspectives on the role they play in society and the inequities they experience. One recurring theme the workers highlight is the stark disparity between their indispensable contributions to society and the pervasive mistreatment they endure from both their employers and the government. As one labourer comments, “Don’t labourers’ lives matter? We’ve been reduced to begging. If we abandoned Mumbai, this damned city would starve.” It's a bitter irony that while migrant labourers feed Mumbai’s growth, the city lets them starve.

The film’s narrative is further enhanced by certain cinematographic choices. One of the most compelling such narrative devices is the juxtaposition of human suffering with the empty platitudes of the political elite. In a particularly moving scene, we see Afsanah, a young labourer, stranded on the street with her family, contemplating walking back to her village. As Afsanah buries her head in her hands, wiping away her tears with her chunni, a politician’s words echo, “I apologize to the citizens of the nation…especially my poor brothers and sisters… I’ve prohibited you from stepping outside, but I’ve given you an opportunity to look within. Here’s your chance: stay in and look within.” When contrasted with Afsana’s dire condition, his words ring hollow, serving as a reminder of the vast chasm between the rhetoric of the ruling class and the lived experiences of the poor. As one labourer in the film aptly observes about the rich and powerful, “we can build their homes but we can’t go inside them… dogs, of course, sleep in the owners’ beds.”

Despite being only 27 minutes long, the film also manages to capture some of the nuance inherent in this story, presenting migrant labourers and the systems they navigate as multifaceted entities. First of all, running beneath the narrative are palpable currents of communal tension between sectors of Mumbai’s migrant labour population. In one scene, a female labourer, who identifies herself as a brahmin, comments that, “with value systems you can tell communities apart.” She then accuses a young Muslim labourer and her family—who are camped out on the same pavement as she is—of being unshowered and dirty. This scene highlights that despite their shared suffering, these communities are still held captive by prejudice, which is perhaps exacerbated by the proximity forced upon them by the circumstances of the lockdown. The film also delves into the hierarchical structure of this system, shedding light on the myriad abuses migrant labourers endure at different levels. Beginning at the top, the film criticizes the government for suspending labour laws during the pandemic, which exposed labourers to exploitation and effectively rendered them “slave labour to industrialists.” As a member of the All India Trade Union Congress interviewed in the film observes, the suspension of these labour laws in turn emboldened contractors, who could fire labourers on a whim and withhold their pay without repercussions. Yet, the cycle of abuse extends even further. In numerous scenes, we see labourers being subjected to violence at the hands of the police. In one instance, policemen threaten to beat labourers who are anxiously waiting for buses at a depot; in another, the police punish labourers walking back to their villages by making them hop by the side of the road. In unpacking the hierarchical injustices within the labour system, the film underscores the urgent need for systemic reform to ensure dignity and fairness for all labourers.

In conclusion, “The Great Abandonment” serves as a powerful testament to the struggles of India's migrant labourers, whose voices are too often silenced by the cacophony of political rhetoric and societal indifference. Through its intimate portrayal of their experiences during the Covid-19 lockdown, the film lays bare the harsh realities of exploitation, prejudice, and systemic neglect that pervade their lives. Ultimately, the film stands as a call to action, demanding justice, empathy, and solidarity for those whose labour sustains the very fabric of society yet are all too often forgotten or disregarded.