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The Hindu
3 days ago
- Politics
- The Hindu
Temples of social justice
Recently, a political controversy erupted in Tamil Nadu on the issue of diverting temple funds for building colleges. Beyond the political debates, the issue throws light on a unique social justice model around the regulation of secular practices associated with religion. This model, predominantly developed in the erstwhile Madras Presidency, draws strength from a 200-year-old legislative framework which continues till date. It has gained more acceptance in south India. As elections approach in Kerala and Tamil Nadu, clarity on the issue will help diffuse attempts to polarise voters around it. Religious endowments law Through the Religious Endowment and Escheats Regulation 1817, the East India Company set up the earliest legislative architecture around regulation of religious endowments. When the British Crown assumed direct control over Indian territories in 1858, Queen Victoria issued a proclamation stating that the sovereign would restrict interference in religious affairs. This was necessary as there was concern about losing face from the 1857 Sepoy Mutiny, which was triggered by religious issues. However, the withdrawal of the British government from religious affairs was not complete. In fact, in the Madras Presidency, various British officials argued for continued oversight of religious endowments. Finally, the British government settled for a balanced approach: the sovereign would not interfere with practices that were essentially religious, such as rituals, but would exercise control over the lands and secular aspects of the religious endowments. The idea of the government supervising religious institutions came to be crystallised when the Justice Party was elected in 1920. One of the earliest legislative interventions by the Justicites was Bill No. 12 of 1922: Hindu Religious Endowments Act. When it was introduced in the Madras Legislative Council, it faced opposition, mainly due to the provision in the law that allowed surplus temple funds to be diverted for other purposes. The nub of the issue was whether funds provided to a temple could be used for secular purposes. The matter was debated and settled in 1925, when the law was enacted. Since then, every revised version of the plenary law, including the current law — The Tamil Nadu Hindu Religious and Charitable Endowments Act, 1959 — has retained the provision of surplus funds. Also read | Activist alleges 'criminal misappropriation' of temple funds by T.N. HR&CE Dept, Madras High Court calls for response Section 36 of the 1959 Act permits the trustees of religious institutions to appropriate any surplus funds for any purposes listed under the law, with the prior sanction of the Commissioner. 'Surplus' means any amount remaining after adequate provisions have been made for the maintenance of the temple and training of its officials. The Act also empowers the Joint Commissioner or the Deputy Commissioner to appropriate funds in cases where the original purpose has become impossible to fulfil. Endowments to temples have a long and rich history. Temples received lavish donations from the sovereign rulers from as far back as in 970 AD, when the Chola empire was at its peak. Historian Anirudh Kanisetti writes that Sembiyan Mahadevi, a Chola queen, made strategic donations of land and kind to temples. The practice continued during the Vijayanagara kingdom. Temples were not just places of worship; they were socio-cultural hubs and were also used for educational purposes. This is confirmed by the inscriptions on temple walls and the spacious mandapams (pillared halls) which were used to hold educational or cultural events. So the original intent argument would also support the theory of utilising temple resources for educational purposes. The 1959 Act has been tested and upheld by constitutional courts. Among the permissible uses of surplus funds under the 1959 Act is the establishment and maintenance of universities or colleges (Section 66). These educational institutions are also required to make available the study of the Hindu religion or Hindu temple architecture. Seen within this framework, building colleges from temple funds is not only legal, but a logical extension of these provisions. Social justice legacy The controversy around the use of temple funds cannot be restricted to discussing legal propositions, however; it also carries ideological and sociopolitical significance. In the pre-colonial era, the motivation for the rulers to support large-scale endowments was that the temples acted as channels through which State resources could be allotted for important welfare projects. Through colonial rule, the British East India Company and the Crown viewed sovereign involvement in the management of temple affairs as necessary for reasons of revenue and maintenance of local control. Over the last century, the Self-Respect Movement, which emerged from the Madras Presidency, viewed the regulation of temples and oversight of their resources as a critical feature of anti-caste reforms. Without this, there would have been no temple entry legislation in 1936 and 1947. Today, Tamil Nadu and Kerala are among the few States where governments have appointed priests from backward classes after a prolonged legal struggle. Ultimately, any argument against government control of temple affairs would be striking at the root of social justice. The role of the government in ensuring that surplus funds are appropriated in a lawful manner is settled. Any reversal of this would only result in a set back of the long legacy of social justice and religious reforms that south India has pioneered.
The Spinoff
3 days ago
- Business
- The Spinoff
We keep measuring the Māori economy – but what are we actually counting?
New report after new report declares the growth and potential of the Māori economy. But what even is it, and why do we keep measuring it? Last week, yet another report was released outlining the prowess and potential of the Māori economy. 'The 'Māori economy' is thriving and diversifying,' the report from WEAll Aotearoa begins, following with many impressive figures and statistics: 'contribution of $32 billion… asset base of $126bn'. So what are these numbers, how are they measured, and what purpose does dissecting and analysing the Māori economy as a standalone sector of our capitalist system serve? What even is the Māori economy? Honestly, I couldn't tell you. In its most recent report on the Māori economy released earlier this year, Te Ōhanga Māori 2023 – The Māori Economy Report 2023, the Ministry of Business, Innovation, and Employment states: 'Te Ōhanga Māori is not always a separate, distinct, and clearly identifiable segment of the Aotearoa New Zealand economy.' From what I gather, what we now call the 'Māori economy' was born not from Māori, but from a colonial lens – one that separated Māori economic activity from the broader economy of Aotearoa. Before colonisation, however, the Māori economy was the entire economy of Aotearoa. We cultivated and traded internationally, maintained thriving markets with our Pacific neighbours, and by the 1800s, were actively bartering with European and American markets. There's a quote from Mānuka Henare that often gets missed in these debates. He reminded us that the artistic flourishing of the 16th-18th centuries – the carving, weaving and tattooing – didn't come from scarcity. It came from a dynamic, thriving Māori economy. A creative economy rooted in relationships, surplus, and time to think, carve and dream. And then came colonisation… Bingo. Mass disruption and dispossession completely changed the face of the Māori economy. Christ came alongside capitalism – monocultural capitalism, to be exact. For the most part, Māori were excluded from participating in the settler economy, except as low-paid labour. The wealth of the British Crown in New Zealand was essentially built on the back of stolen resources and slave labour. This depleted the Māori economy of its capitalistic wealth. The cultural wealth of Māori was also severely depleted through tools of colonisation. Laws encouraging assimilation and prohibiting Māori from speaking our language and carrying out cultural practices amounted to cultural genocide. A majority of the Māori population was forced to shift to urban areas during the 1950s to the 1970s, taking wage labour jobs and being disconnected from whenua or collective models. During this time, Māori economic power was deliberately undermined. The Crown's policy was to assimilate Māori socially, politically and economically – not to support indigenous enterprise. Clearly things have changed. In the 1970s, we witnessed what's known as the 'Māori renaissance'. A key part of this was the establishment of the Waitangi Tribunal and the treaty claims process. The first claim to be settled was the Māori Fisheries claim, also known as the Sealord Deal. This provided an economic basis for iwi authorities to begin rebuilding their economic wealth, albeit under a Crown-controlled capitalist model. Other large-scale settlements such as Ngāi Tahu and Waikato-Tainui provided iwi with capital and assets, although this was a comparatively minuscule amount compared to the total value of loss. However, this led to many iwi creating commercial entities like Ngāi Tahu Holdings and Tainui Group Holdings, which reinvested in property, farming, tourism, infrastructure and finance. These entities are often what gets counted in Māori economy stats today, via Māori authorities. So the Māori economy is just measuring how well settled entities are doing? Seems a bit narrow. Yes, for the most part. In 2002, the IRD introduced a tax rate specific to Māori authorities, aiming to modernise the tax rules for organisations managing Maori assets held in communal ownership. In 2012, Stats NZ began defining and measuring 'Māori authorities' – the entities that form the core of the so-called 'Māori economy'. This legally recognises post-settlement governance entities – not pakihi Māori. This is one reason the data often skews toward iwi corporations and not the thousands of small Māori-owned businesses or social enterprises. What was the point of measuring this data in the first place, especially with such a narrow scope? A friend half-jokingly said to me it's to illustrate how Māori are leeching from the Crown – as crude as it might sound, there is some truth in this statement. The state wanted to understand how the capital being returned to Māori via the settlement process was being used, how it might contribute to national GDP and how Māori entities could be integrated into broader economic policy and investment. Arguably, the Crown began tracking these measures to make Māori legible to the state – easier to understand, manage, and control – first through tax and compliance, then through economic policy, and now through investment lenses. It began as a state-driven interest in managing, taxing and tracking Māori collectives post-settlement. However, it has since evolved into a strategic economic conversation, which Māori are increasingly reframing to reflect kaupapa Māori values, collective aspirations and indigenous economic thinking. And what is it actually telling us? That we're outside the general economy? There is an argument that by measuring the Māori economy, we're saying we need to be tracked separately because we're not good enough to stand on equal footing. Personally, I don't buy the warm fuzzy intent. As mentioned above, I suspect it started as a way to quantify what Māori were 'costing' the nation – to calculate the burden, not the benefit. Even now, those numbers get weaponised: 'Look how wealthy Māori are. Why do they still need support?' It's a setup and it flattens the story. Success in a few iwi boardrooms does not always trickle down to every whānau struggling with rent in Māngere or Moerewa. Worse still, when handled carelessly, these metrics can reinforce the ceiling. They frame success as: 'That's a great Māori business,' instead of just, 'that's a great business.' As stated in the WEAll Aotearoa report released this week, 'too often the success of Māori businesses is conflated with the Māori economy, when it is more appropriately conceptualised as Māori businesses operating within a global capitalist economy.' But there are economic benefits to measuring this data, right? Progressive procurement policies, legislative support for indigenous businesses, etc. Yes – there are some real benefits, but they depend on how we measure. To truly deliver, data must be disaggregated – by region, by business type, and by iwi lineage – so we understand the diversity within Māori enterprise. Māori must be empowered to define what counts as success – both profit and wellbeing, GDP and cultural strength. To drive real change, we need public/private partnerships to fund business support, procurement pathways, and legislation shaped by Māori data. Measuring the Māori economy enables DEI strategies, justifies indigenous business support, fosters inclusive economic development, strengthens infrastructure, and reveals systemic gaps. But it only works when Māori are designing and owning the data narrative. The data has helped some of us unlock capital, attract co-investment, and push for equity in government policy. Measurement, if wielded wisely, can be a tool for mana motuhake.
Hamilton Spectator
4 days ago
- General
- Hamilton Spectator
Bronze plaque highlights Colchester's Snider House history
During the latter part of the 1700s, the government of King George III granted United Empire Loyalist families land in Upper and Lower Canada for their loyalty to the crown. John Snider was one of those awarded land, granted Lot 73, just west of the Village of Colchester in 1798. Property for which the family still has the original deed. The farm originally extended to Gore Road. The Town of Essex recognized the house by installing a Bronze Plaque as part of its Heritage Plaque Program last Wednesday morning. Essex's Heritage Plaque program was implemented to raise awareness of the historical and cultural resources within the municipality. Through the program, significant cultural resources, such as buildings, structures, and cemeteries, may be identified by a bronze or aluminum interpretive plaque. The bronze plaque identifies those public or private resources that have been formally designated under the Ontario Heritage Act. Snider originally settled in Colchester in the 1790s, after his family's escape from Pennsylvania, following the American War of Independence. 'Like other United Empire Loyalists, Snider refused to fight alongside the revolutionaries during the American War of Independence, remaining loyal to the British Crown,' Essex Mayor Sherry Bondy relayed. Snider migrated north immediately following the conflict to avoid persecution. In 1813, he built a colonial home designed in a loyalist architectural-style, with inspiration from a log house. It is a rare example of this design still existing. It is located on the Lake Erie shoreline, which now stands as one of the oldest houses in all of Essex County. 'The house showcases the types of materials and construction methods of the era and its connection to one of the area's first settler families,' Bondy added. On the morning of September 10, 1813, a group of skilled carpenters were building a roof on the home that would soon house the John Snider family. The family story notes they could faintly see smoke rising and hear canons firing in what became known as the Battle of Lake Erie; a significant naval battle of the War of 1812. Snider, born 1747, passed away on May 17, 1828. He and his wife, Elizabeth, are buried at the nearby Tofflemire-Snider Cemetery. His family continues to maintain the homestead he built on the Lake Erie shoreline in Colchester over 200-years ago. Today, 'the property has potential to yield information on the lifestyle of some of the earliest settlers in the area and showcases the parcels that were often granted to United Empire Loyalists that were often granted to United Empire Loyalists by King George III,' Bondy continued. Last year, the Town of Essex recognized the Snider house for its architecture and historical significance, providing it with formal designation under the Ontario Heritage Act. Getting that designation was something seventh generation Snider House homeowner, and direct descendant of John Snider, Kathy Dowling, has wanted to get for quite some time. 'We always had passion for this house, and did everything we could to preserve it,' Dowling said. When she was little, she recalled there being no running water or electricity at the homestead. Her grandfather, Kenneith, used the home, until, in his senior years, moved to Florida with his wife as snowbirds. 'This place was always bustling,' Dowling said of family usage. In speaking of John's story of landing in Colchester, Dowling said at first, they were not going to fight in the Revolution. 'They had promised the Queen at that time that they would never fight against the Crown.' At that time, Dowling said John was second-generation of Pennsylvania. He was a blacksmith. When the War began, his family declared loyalty to the Crown. Her family keeps connected to this history because her grandfather, and mother, shared the stories of their forbearers often. 'It is such a beautiful place to be,' Dowling said of the house that still stands strong today. Family lore noted that at one point, some odd and ghostly activities were taking place in the home. Dowling explained a picture of a young woman was found in the attic. When the frame was taken apart for cleaning, a second picture of another woman was discovered, and later displayed in its own frame. Those ghostly encounters ended at that point. Essex MP Chris Lewis was pleased to attend the event to acknowledge the local history of this building and the family who has preserved it by presenting a certification of recognition. For more information about the Town of Essex's Heritage Plaque program, log onto Error! Sorry, there was an error processing your request. There was a problem with the recaptcha. Please try again. You may unsubscribe at any time. By signing up, you agree to our terms of use and privacy policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google privacy policy and terms of service apply. Want more of the latest from us? Sign up for more at our newsletter page .
ABC News
6 days ago
- Politics
- ABC News
Spiritual sovereignties and questions of equity: How churches should respond to the Yoorrook Justice Commission - ABC Religion & Ethics
The idea that Aboriginal peoples possessed certain rights was well established in legal theories of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, but these theories had little to with actual practice in the colonial histories of New South Wales and Victoria. The humanitarian concepts of Indigenous rights still allowed for the British Crown to assert imperial sovereignty in any part of the world not previously 'discovered' and claimed by a Christian prince. The Colonial Office in London could argue in 1839 that the English version of this Christian doctrine of discovery was more humane than its American counterpart, where theft of Indigenous lands was said to be covered by a 'decorous veil of law'. In light of the recent reports issued by the Yoorrook Justice Commission, it is clear that the legal history of Victoria not only failed to live up to any humanitarian ideals, but that the churches, in particular, now owe reparations for profiting from sales of Aboriginal lands. When the Aboriginal protectorate system was introduced by imperial authorities in 1837, it was designed to minimise the harms of colonisation while at the same time allowing the assumed benefits of civilisation and Christianity to flow into the colonies. The Aboriginal protectors were to defend 'the rights and interests of the Natives' and guard against 'any encroachment on their property, and from acts of Cruelty, of oppression or injustice'. But what did this mean specifically for the churches? It was resolved that Aboriginal people would not be allowed to sell land, neither to 'private adventurers' — like the notorious John Batman — nor to church leaders promoting public welfare. Under the imperial Sale of Waste Lands Act (1842), one provision provided powers to set aside land for the 'the Use or Benefit of the aboriginal Inhabitants of the Country', and this became the foundation for the establishment of Aboriginal reserves. Under the very same section of this Act, colonial authorities could reserve 'Sites of Places of public Worship'. On the face of it, the churches and Aboriginal people were given equivalent standing in the eyes of colonial law in the sense that each was due special consideration as a matter of public interest. Retrospectively, one might also acknowledge that the churches and Aboriginal polities each articulated their own notions of spiritual sovereignty. The violence of settlement When the barrister John Quick published an overview of settlements in the Port Phillip District in 1883, he divided the history into four distinct periods. He admitted that the initial settlement 'preceded government control in Australia; when land was selected and taken possession of by the first comer on the old principle of Roman Law, quod nullius est occupanti conceditur .' His Latin clause resonates intriguingly with the terminology of terra nullius , but the reference here is to private acquisitions, as in Roman law. Quick was talking about illegal squatting, dignified here with a decorous Latin phrase. He was not actually invoking a doctrine of terra nullius . According to Quick, during the second phase of settlement, administrators attempted to restrain 'the unlicensed occupation of waste lands, and proceeded to impose upon the occupants payment of a nominal rent, reserved upon a yearly license'. The imperial Sale of Waste Lands Act arrived in 1842, and the control of land was turned over to the separate colony of Victoria when it was created in 1851. An official review a few years later concluded that the early system of squatting was conducted 'in default of laws' and that landholders received — under the crude licensing system managed by Crown Lands Commissioners — only provisional rights to the areas that they claimed. The sale of Crown land was an entirely different matter from leases. Thus even in the second phase of settlement as described by Quick (before the invention of leasehold tenure), the licensing system lacked integrity. It was a time of extreme violence. One survey suggests that around eleven per cent of the Indigenous population died in massacres in the Port Philip District between 1836 and 1851, without any of the settler perpetrators being convicted. The Yoorrook Commission notes that research is ongoing, but concludes that 978 Aboriginal people were killed in Victoria between 1830 and 1859. Clearly, the Aboriginal protectors failed in their obligations to defend Aboriginal people from 'encroachment on their property, and from acts of Cruelty, of oppression or injustice'. When leases of 'unsettled land' were first created, the lawmakers did not set out to exclude Aboriginal people from a pastoral run. The Australian leasehold tenures were unlike the leases in England which did indeed provide exclusive rights. An imperial theory imagined that these colonial leases could protect Aboriginal access in leasehold areas to 'the trees and water thereon as will enable them to procure the Animals, Birds, Fish and other food on which they subsist.' But in practice, exclusion was the order of the day. It was only after the 1996 Wik v Queensland judgement that the historic technicalities in colonial law were rediscovered. Subsequently, it has been more explicitly asserted by the courts that pastoral leases did not extinguish native title. 'Wastelands of the Crown' The peculiarity of the Australian leases may also be related in some ways to the influential view of the philosopher John Locke that only land under the plough could secure exclusive rights. When 'waste land' was enclosed for farming, the added efficiencies were effectively, in Locke's view, a gift to the economy. But the Chair of a Victorian Select Committee in 1859 highlighted a key problem with this theory of efficiency: The rapid settlement necessary upon the country being occupied by flocks and herds was more unfavorable to the Aborigines than if it had only been gradually taken up for agricultural purposes. In short, most of the land was not actually taken by the plough, as suggested by Locke's agrarian ideology — it was stolen by the pastoral industry. Although Locke's approach to property was regularly invoked in the Australian colonies, a broader understanding of his arguments concerning 'the vacant places of America' reveal their striking inconsistency with the development of Australian law. In Lockean dreaming, property in the soil would arise from the plough, not from pastoral runs or from waste lands pre-emptively claimed by the Crown. Locke's Two Treatises of Government provided, in fact, a substantial critique of monarchic power. Locke contested the readings of Genesis 1, for example, that had found in the biblical text a sanction for the Crown's authority. He located the early chapters of Genesis in the 'state of nature', where resources could be taken from the natural world — in this philosophical imagination — without compromising the interests of others. Contrary to a common assumption about monarchy, legitimate government could only arise from express consent to a social contract. But clearly, such consent was never actually sought from Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people at the foundation of the Australian colonies. Thus, the Australian practice of selling Crown land effectively turned Locke on his head. Disciples of Locke, if they were blessed with consistency, should have been calling for treaties long ago. The very idea of 'wastelands of the Crown' was always a legal fiction, and the assertion of a feudal Crown in the Australian colonies was problematic even according to English law in the eighteenth century. Treaties as truthful social contracts It is difficult to see how the current legal conundrums can be remedied without a new federalist approach to constitutional arrangements within which the First Nations can become genuinely self-determining. Treaties are the most promising way to establish truthful social contracts that can embrace different concepts of sovereignty and different cultures of relationship with land and Country. The outcome of a new treaty process in Victoria needs to move beyond the joint management of national parks — easily conceived under feudal tenure — to provide significant landholdings with the 'full and beneficial ownership'. This would not be a matter of the Crown achieving entirely new standards of justice or of awarding new rights to Aboriginal people on the basis of race. It would be a matter of compensating the descendants of the First Nations who lawfully governed the lands now known as Victoria and who were forcibly dispossessed of their estates. Implications for the churches The legal inequities in Victoria are especially evident when the vast landholdings of the churches are considered. These holdings have been acquired by various means, but a foundational source of wealth was, ironically, the State Aid to Religion Abolition Act (1871). Up to this point, the provision of resources by the state had been generous. While this Victorian legislation stemmed the tide of aid to churches, it also addressed the previous grants of land, providing that church 'Denominations may dispose of trust lands granted by the Crown and apply proceeds to denominational purposes'. After 1871, previous grants of church land became, by means of a simple process of registration, the property of ecclesial trusts. If equity had been the order of the day, Aboriginal reserves would similarly have become the property of First Nation trusts, managed in culturally appropriate ways. Instead, the reserves became the sites of notoriously tyrannical management — often in the hands of Christian administrators — and after the amendment to the Victorian Aboriginal Protection Act in 1886, a weapon for breaking up families. Children of mixed ancestry were deemed white at the stroke of the legislative pen and removed from the missions and reserves. The Aboriginal estate in Victoria was steadily diminished. The time has now come to turn that tide, and at the very least, restore every acre ever designated for an Aboriginal reserve (or perhaps negotiated equivalences). In the case of the churches, the Yoorrook Commission recommends that every piece of church land acquired 'for little or no consideration' be returned to the Traditional Owners of that land. Any attempt on the part of churches to reduce this to a biblical 'tithe' would be manifestly unjust. Negotiations about historic buildings may well be necessary. A recent legal development can also be considered in this context. The High Court of Australia has recently handed down a decision of great significance for questions of compensation. The decision in Commonwealth of Australia v Yunupingu (12 March, 2025) relates to a claim lodged by the Gumatj Clan in the Northern Territory, but the outcome raises questions for the entire native title system in Australia. Notably, Mabo v Queensland (1992) excluded a land grant to the London Missionary Society from consideration. But now the past acts of the Commonwealth subject to compensation include the historic grant of a lease in Gumatj country to the Methodist Missionary Society. This new ruling raises the question why the history of Crown grants of land to churches in Victoria should not also be subject to compensation claims. Quite apart from the niceties of law, however, if the churches are to be faithful to their own constitutive values and theology, they will need to lay aside state-endowed privileges and compensate the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people who have been wronged. Professor Mark Brett is a non-Indigenous biblical scholar who teaches at the University of Divinity. Naomi Wolfe is a trawloolway woman who teaches history at the Australian Caltholic University. They both live and work on unceded Wurundjeri Woi Wurrung Country.
India.com
13-07-2025
- Business
- India.com
East India Company, which ruled India for 200 years, is now owned by an Indian; his name is..., business is...
Indian-born British businessman Sanjiv Mehta is the current owner of the British East India Company. (File) The East India Company established the British rule in India, and ruled the Indian subcontinent and other major parts of the world for nearly centuries, expanding the British Empire to the point where its was said that the sun never sets upon it. But what happened to the East India Company following disintegration of the British Empire after the second world war? Who is the current owner of this once world-conquering trading company? Let us delve into these interesting questions and find out more: When was the East India Company established? The East India Company was established in England on December 31, 1600 AD as a trading company under a special charter from the British Crown which gave it extraordinary powers and privileges to establish the crown's dominance in other parts of the world, especially in India and East Asia. Initially, the company established trade relations with Indian rulers, but gradually used its growing military and political influence to capture territory, culminating in the Battle of Plassey on June 23, 1757, which led to the establishment of British dominance in Bengal and laid the foundation for company eventual control over all of India. What happened to British East India Company after India's independence? After the Battle of Plassey, the British East India Company rapidly increased military presence across India, gaining complete control over vast swathes of territory. However, its policies of oppression led to a growing sentiment of independence among the native, resulting in the 1857 revolution, the first war of India's independence. Following the 1857 revolution, which was dubbed by the British as a 'sepoy mutiny', the British Crown ended the British East India Company's rule and transferred the administration of India directly under the Queen of England. The British rule in India came to an end on August 15, 1947, as the once-mighty British Empire and the British East India Company became a shadow of their former selves post World War 2. Notably, the special charter which gave the rights to the East India Company, was completely abolished by the British Crown in 1874. Who currently owns the East India Company? Ironically, the current owner and CEO of the East India Company is an Indian, the nation it ruled for nearly 200 years. Sanjiv Mehta, an Indian-born British business tycoon. Mehta is currently the CEO of East India Company which now has business interests in the luxury goods sector, selling gift hampers, luxury tea, coffee, and other food items, including several types of beverages as well as luxury homeware.
