In the early 1980s, some social workers came across a community of over 3,000 migrant workers (mostly Dalit) toiling away in ‘inhuman and intolerable conditions’1 in stone quarries in Haryana, India. The labourers were from Madhya Pradesh, Rajasthan, Andhra Pradesh, Orissa, Maharashtra, and Uttar Pradesh. The social workers wrote a letter to the Supreme Court of India, arguing that many of the labourers were working in bonded labour conditions and should be treated as such under the BLSAA. The court elevated the letter to the status of a petition, constituting a public interest litigation (PIL).

This pivotal moment culminated in a 90-page judgment in 1983, acknowledging the labourers as bonded labourers, which now stands as a landmark judgment, the Bandhua Mukti Morcha v. Union of India and Others, in the ongoing fight against bonded labour in India. Swift judicial action was taken to address the exploitative working and living conditions of the labourers, in an effort to safeguard their fundamental rights under Article 23 of the Constitution of India. The court asserted that ‘whenever it is shown that a labourer is made to provide forced labour, the Court would raise a presumption that he is required to do so in consideration of an advance or other economic consideration received by him and he is therefore a bonded labourer’. Consequently, the state of Haryana and the central government were mandated to release and rehabilitate the labourers.

However, the state of Haryana contested the characterization of these individuals as bonded labourers.

Chapter 5 builds on the previous discussion of procurement by analyzing how politicians’ use of career control tools can distort the allocation of public contracts. Through qualitative accounts, it documents how mayors and bureaucrats manipulate bidding processes to ensure that contracts are awarded to firms with partisan ties. Contract-level data reveals striking patterns: despite the geographic proximity of districts, over 80 percent of firms that are awarded contracts operate in just one district. The geographic concentration of contract allocation indicates that entry into procurement markets depends on cultivating ties with local politicians and bureaucrats. The chapter also shows that politicized contracting is especially prevalent in competitive districts and where mayors harbor ambitions for higher office, as these contexts heighten incentives to trade contracts for political support. Survey experiments confirm bureaucrats’ expectations that partisan firms are favored over more experienced but politically neutral competitors. These findings converge to depict procurement as a highly politicized process that undermines efficiency, reduces competition, and ultimately produces lower-quality infrastructure. By linking political ambition, electoral competition, and procurement practices, the chapter illustrates how career control mechanisms translate into the systematic misallocation of public resources.

Chapter 7 reflects on the book’s findings and their broader implications. It underscores that state capacity is not determined solely by formal rules or resources, but by the everyday power relations between politicians and bureaucrats. Investments in infrastructure, personnel, or technology matter, but their effectiveness depends on how politicians and bureaucrats interact. The book highlights the “grey zone” between fully politicized and fully meritocratic systems, arguing that most states fall somewhere in between. Ghana exemplifies this dynamic, but the theory also applies elsewhere. Comparative evidence from India and Indonesia shows similar patterns: politicians exploit career controls to extract loyalty and manipulate bureaucratic action, especially in competitive electoral contexts. These parallels suggest the argument has broad external validity. The chapter also considers how the equilibrium might shift. Reforms that strengthen bureaucratic autonomy, insulate career management, or increase transparency in procurement could reduce partisan manipulation. Yet such reforms are politically difficult, as they challenge the very tools politicians rely on. By situating bureaucratic management at the heart of governance outcomes, the chapter points toward future research on how institutional design can mitigate corruption and enhance equitable service delivery in developing democracies.

In the past four decades, the world has witnessed an explosion of debates, campaigns, and technological innovations, all aimed at eradicating what is now called ‘modern slavery’. From government agencies and humanitarian organizations to tech start-ups and academic institutions, everyone seems to be rallying around the cause, armed with satellite imagery, rescue missions, and helpline posters on airport luggage trolleys (Figure 1.1). The call is urgent, the funding immense, and the sense of mission palpable. Yet beneath this flurry of activity lies a persistent, uncomfortable question: Are these interventions really helping the people they claim to save?

The rhetoric of modern slavery often does little to help those it claims to benefit—a point that critical scholars have long argued.1 What this book offers is an ethnographic exploration of why this is the case, and why, time and again, workers find themselves returning to the very work they were rescued from. Ultimately, this book asks: If freedom is an illusion, and workers return to the work they were rescued from, what does that say about the millions invested in rescue operations worldwide? Rescue is not always wrong; in some cases, it is absolutely necessary. But the design and procedure of the process demand that we ask: Is it working? Is it worth it?

The purpose of this book is singular: to show, through the lived experiences of workers, what happens after rescue. This is not a simple question, nor is there a simple answer. In fact, the complexity of post-rescue life is precisely what makes it so difficult to package it into neat narratives or policy prescriptions.

This chapter reflects on the future of governance in an era where corporate-driven, private arrangements increasingly dominate key sectors, from artificial intelligence to biotechnology and beyond. While public power still contributes through research funding and normative frameworks, the sheer scale and speed of private actors often surpass traditional regulatory capacities. Governance today rests to a considerable extent with the internal factions of corporations—engineers, compliance teams, and public relations—who shape techno-normative frameworks with little public accountability. The chapter argues that governance by emulation offers a pragmatic, albeit imperfect, path forward. Emulating public law principles—such as accountability, self-governance, and due process—into private contexts can inject public-minded values into profit-driven structures. However, traditional private law mechanisms, such as contracts and fiduciary duties, need repurposing to address the scale and public significance of corporate governance. Similarly, the role of infrastructure, code, and technical frameworks in shaping governance must be acknowledged alongside conventional normative tools. While these developments hold both promise and peril, they also mirror the incremental evolution of liberal public institutions. By embedding public law ideals into emerging governance constellations, we may foster accountability structures capable of addressing the complexities of modern global power dynamics—marking a critical step toward a more balanced and responsive future governance framework.

When I first began this research, I thought of rescue as an idea that needed reframing. Too often, it rendered workers passive, erasing their histories as migrants and citizens. My aim was to challenge this erasure, to recover the agency of rescued workers by positioning them not only as survivors of exploitation but also as active agents navigating complex social, economic, and political landscapes.

Yet, as I followed rescued workers through courtrooms, shelters, construction sites, and city streets, it became clear that ‘rescue’ was not a single moment, nor a simple misrepresentation; it was an entire terrain of interaction among workers, NGOs, police, lawyers, and bureaucrats. In this terrain, harm and help were often entangled, and survival depended less on the moment of rescue than on what came after. Over the course of the research, however, the field pulled this project in new directions. The politics of access, the anxieties of representation, and the layered realities of post-rescue life demanded that I treat ‘rescue’ not as a solution to be critiqued, but as a site of power relations in its own right, an arena where the lines between harm and help are constantly negotiated.

Thus, the doctoral project from which this book evolved aimed at reclaiming the agency of rescued workers by framing them as both citizens and migrants, rather than as victims of trafficking. I sought out organizations that recognized the importance of migration in workers’ experiences.