A little over 17 million Indians now live abroad — the vast majority of them are migrant workers spread across nearly 200 countries. In just the past three years, a recent parliamentary report reveals, more than 1.2 million Indians have migrated to destinations where labour laws are weak or security risks persist, all in pursuit of better livelihoods.
Yet India continues to govern this massive wave of external migration through a creaky 42-year-old Emigration Act, a relic unfit for the 21st century. After two failed bids to modernise it in 2019 and 2021, the government has finally tabled the Overseas Mobility (Facilitation and Welfare) Bill, 2025. It was unveiled a few days ago and the government has invited public input until November 7.
This is a pivotal moment: Will the Bill finally deliver the protections and pathways our global workforce deserves?
Touted as a modern overhaul of the 1983 Act, it paints a rosy picture: Safe, legal pathways to overseas jobs, welfare safeguards, and a nod to globalisation’s gifts. The preamble gushes about “deepening globalisation” unlocking opportunities for Indian talent, promising a “robust and transparent framework” to protect emigrants at every stage.
But as the Bill gears up for parliamentary introduction, a closer read reveals a cruel irony. Far from empowering millions, this legislation seems to entrench vulnerabilities, offering vague platitudes where ironclad rights are needed.
It fails potential migrants by prioritising bureaucratic discretion over enforceable protections, dooming them to the same exploitation that has plagued Indian workers for decades — think unpaid wages in the Gulf Cooperation Council countries or human trafficking to Southeast Asian cyber slave camps.
If enacted as is, the Bill won’t facilitate mobility; it’ll facilitate more heartbreak.
On the job front, the Bill is deafeningly silent where it screams for specifics. Section 2(v)’s “work” definition lists categories but skips binding minimum wages, overtime, or rest days.
Surprisingly, Section 4(d) speaks of “safe return and reintegration”, but no funds, no vocational programmes. “Returnees” excludes those deported in under 182 days (Section 2(t)), ignoring short-term exiles.
Interestingly, a superficial upgrade from the 1983 Act’s emigration clearance posts, Section 10 mandates “Mobility Resource Centers” for pre-departure training, but where are the teeth? There are no enforceable standards for multilingual, accessible counselling on risks like passport confiscation or abuse. Vulnerable low-skilled workers — often from rural India — will board flights uninformed.
Section 11(vi) talks of “mechanisms” abroad, but mentions no hotlines, no embassy arbitration with deadlines.
Unfortunately, vulnerable groups get tokenism at best. Section 12(2) allows schemes for the “vulnerable” but defines none — no gender safeguards against harassment, no child protections. Women and minors, prime trafficking targets, are left exposed, defying the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW). In the Arab Gulf states, where Indians face systemic bias, this vagueness is complicity.
Worse, the Bill gives the government great amounts of discretion. Section 13 lets the Centre prohibit travel to entire countries on unclear grounds like “national security” or “public interest”, sans judicial oversight or migrant input.
Remember the 1983 Act’s narrower checks? This expands them into a black box, potentially barring livelihoods overnight and shredding Article
19’s freedom of movement.
In a world where foreign jobs sustain families back home, such arbitrariness isn’t protection — it’s a barrier to dignity.
Recruitment, the gateway to hell for many, fares no better. Section 14 sketches accreditation for Overseas Placement Agencies but kicks details to “rules”, omitting fee caps or bans on bonded contracts. The 1983 Act at least nodded to fee limits; this bill widens the chasm, ignoring ILO Convention 181’s call to regulate private agencies. The result? Debt bondage persists, as seen in the Arab Gulf where Indian workers toil unpaid for months. How does this honour “decent working conditions”? It doesn’t — it’s a green light for the middlemen who fleece dreamers.
Meanwhile, Section 17’s nod to foreign employers offers no inspections or liability for hazards in construction or domestic work — high-risk traps for Indians in the Gulf. Post-1983, we expected evolution; instead, abuses like excessive hours and unsafe sites fester, violating ILO Convention 155’s safe environment mandate.
Even the tech-savvy Integrated Information System (Section 18) spies without safeguards — no consent, no DPDP Act alignment. Privacy erosion deters mobility and stigmatises returnees, turning data into a tool of surveillance over empowerment.
Finally, penalties (Sections 20-22) hammer agencies with fines up to Rs 20 lakh but spare foreign employers, offering no insurance incentives. This punitive tilt — deterrence over prevention — mocks the ILO Decent Work Agenda.
Critics have long found fault with the 1983 Act for weak agency oversight and corruption; this Bill, meant as reform, amplifies flaws. As Parliament debates, it must demand fixes: Mandatory standards, judicial checks, ILO-aligned rights, dedicated funds. Otherwise, we’re not sending workers abroad — we’re exporting despair. India’s global ambitions deserve better; so do its people.
Kuttappan is a labour migration expert and author
The Overseas Mobility Bill has no enforceable standards for multilingual, accessible counselling on risks like passport confiscation or abuse. Vulnerable low-skilled workers — often from rural India — will board flights uninformed 
Share
