In a landmark move that sets a precedent across the continent, Mauritius has taken a significant step forward in the fight against domestic abuse with the enactment of the new Domestic Abuse Act. This pioneering legislation, the first of its kind in Africa, broadens the definition of abuse to include emotional, psychological, economic and digital violence — recognizing that harm often goes beyond physical injuries. In an exclusive interview, the Attorney General of Mauritius reflects on the journey from a young lawyer to a national leader, sharing insights into how this groundbreaking law was shaped by a deep understanding of victims’ realities and a commitment to justice. He discusses the profound difference between practicing law and shaping it, the challenges of enforcement, and the country’s potential to serve as a model for the region in addressing domestic abuse comprehensively and compassionately.
From a young lawyer to Attorney General, what has been the defining moment of your legal career?
People expect me to name a big case. The truth is simpler. The defining moment was the day I understood that behind every file on my desk there was a human being whose life would change depending on what happened next. Once you see that, you never practise law the same way again. Everything since, every case, every appointment, including this office,has been built on that realisation. Being sworn in as Attorney General was an immense honour but it was not a destination. It was a responsibility: to make justice accessible to every Mauritian.
As a lawyer, you interpreted the law; as Attorney General, you now have the opportunity to change it. How different are these two responsibilities?
They are worlds apart. As a lawyer, you take the law as you find it. If the law is unjust or outdated, you can argue around it but you cannot fix it. You defend one client at a time.
As Attorney General, my client is the country. When I see that a law is failing people, as the old domestic violence law was failing women, I no longer have to work around it. I can bring an Act to Parliament and change it. That is a privilege but it is also a heavier burden. A lawyer’s mistake affects one case. A bad law affects everyone. Therefore, the standard of care has to be higher, not lower.
The Domestic Abuse Act moves beyond physical violence to recognise emotional, psychological, economic and digital abuse. Why was this change necessary?
Because abuse does not always leave bruises.
For too long, our law essentially asked one question: were you hit? But ask any survivor and she will tell you the violence often started long before the first blow, with humiliation, with isolation from family and friends, with control over every rupee she earned, with threats sent by message at two in the morning.
That is abuse. It destroys a person just as surely as physical violence does. The old law simply could not see it. The new Act can. When the law names something, emotional abuse, economic abuse, digital abuse, it tells the victim: what is happening to you is real, it is wrong and it is punishable. That recognition alone changes lives.
Behind every domestic abuse case is a woman, often a mother, trying to protect herself and her children. Does the law fully understand her reality?
Historically, no. The law was written in offices, by people who never had to choose between staying with an abuser and having a roof over their children’s heads.
That is precisely what we tried to correct with this Act. We asked ourselves at every stage: what does this look like for the woman living it? A woman who reports abuse is often not just fighting one man, she is fighting fear, financial dependence, family pressure and sometimes the scepticism of the very institutions meant to help her.
The Act is built around her reality: faster protection orders, recognition of the abuse she actually suffers and protection for her children, who are victims too even when they are only witnesses. Does the law now fully understand her? I would be careful with the use of the word “fully”, but it certainly understands her far better than it ever did.
Many women facing abuse also face financial difficulties. How can the justice system better protect those who cannot afford prolonged legal proceedings?
This is one of the cruellest traps of abuse: the abuser often controls the money, so the victim cannot afford to fight him.
Three things matter here. First, legal aid exists. the State can provide a lawyer for those who cannot pay one and no woman should ever believe that justice is only for those with means. Second, the protection order procedure is designed to be fast and simple, precisely so a victim does not need years of litigation and mountains of fees to be safe. Third, and this is where economic abuse recognition matters, the law now sees financial control for what it is: a weapon.
Justice that only the wealthy can afford is not justice. It is a service. We are working to make sure it remains the former.
What recourse does a person have when they genuinely feel that their lawyer is not giving their case the attention it deserves?
A fair question and one people are often afraid to ask.
First, talk to your lawyer. Many problems are problems of communication, not neglect. Ask for a meeting, ask where your case stands, ask what happens next. You are entitled to answers, it is your case, not the lawyer’s.
Second, you are always free to seek a second opinion or change lawyers. Your file belongs to you.
Third, if you believe there has been genuine professional misconduct, not just a result you dislike but real neglect, a complaint can be made to the profession’s disciplinary bodies, such as the Bar Council and the newly set up Law Practitioners Complaints Commission, which exist precisely to uphold standards.
The legal profession is a noble one but nobility is earned case by case, client by client. No lawyer is above accountability and as Attorney General, I would be the first to say so.
When institutions fail to act on warning signs, who should ultimately be held accountable? How do you ensure that these new legal protections do not remain simply words on paper?
Accountability starts at the top and I include myself in that.
Too many tragedies follow the same pattern: the warning signs were there, reports were made and the system did not move fast enough. When that happens, “the system failed” is not an acceptable answer, because systems are made of people, officers, officials, decision-makers, each with a duty to act.
And this time, that duty is not just a moral one. It is written into the Act itself. The Domestic Abuse Act makes it an offence for an officer to whom abuse is reported to fail to act on that report. An officer who ignores a victim, who sends her home, who lets a complaint gather dust, is no longer merely doing a bad job, he is breaking the law and he is liable to a fine of up to Rs. 50,000. Think about what that means: for the first time, the person behind the desk carries legal responsibility, not just the person who committed the abuse.
That is how you make sure protections do not remain words on paper. You back the words with consequences, for abusers, yes, but also for those whose job it is to protect victims.
A law is only as good as its enforcement. That is why the work does not stop when Parliament votes. It continues with training for police officers so a complaint of emotional or economic abuse is taken as seriously as a visible injury; with protocols so that warning signs trigger action, not paperwork; and with monitoring, so we can see where the chain breaks and fix it.
I did not bring this Act to Parliament so it could sit on a shelf. Words on paper protect no one. I intend for these words to work.
Do you believe Mauritius can become a model for how domestic abuse is addressed in the region?
I believe we can and I would go further: we have a duty to try.
With this Act, Mauritius has adopted one of the most modern definitions of domestic abuse in the region, covering emotional, psychological, economic and digital abuse, in line with the best international standards. Few countries around us have gone this far.
But let me be honest: a model is not a text of law. A model is results. Fewer women living in fear. Faster protection. Abusers held to account. Children growing up understanding that control is not love.
If, in a few years, a woman in Mauritius can say “I reported it and the system protected me” then yes, we will be a model. That is the standard I am setting for us.
What would you say to the woman who has suffered abuse for years and has lost faith in the justice system?
I would say: I understand why you lost faith. The system let you down. You asked for help and did not get it, or got it too late. Your anger is legitimate and I will not insult you by pretending otherwise.
But I would also say this: the law has changed — for you. The abuse you suffered in silence, the abuse no one could see, now has a name in our law. The protections are stronger, the procedures faster and the institutions are being held to a higher standard.
You are not to blame. You never were. And you are not alone. Come forward — today, not one day. The law is finally ready to stand where it should always have stood: beside you.
RUQAYAH B. KHAYRATTEE