The 2016 biographical drama ‘Lion’, directed by Garth Davis and based on Saroo Brierley’s memoir ‘A Long Way Home’, tells the emotionally powerful story of a five-year-old Indian boy who becomes lost, is adopted by an Australian couple, and later embarks on a search to find his biological family.
At its core, ‘Lion’ is a story of identity, memory, and belonging. Yet, beneath its emotionally engaging narrative lies a deeper critique of postcolonial power dynamics, particularly the enduring ideology of the civilising mission. This concept, once used to justify colonial conquest and cultural domination, re-emerges in more subtle, modern forms – such as transnational adoption, humanitarian intervention, and Western-centric notions of ‘saving’ the third world. Through its nuanced portrayal of Brierley’s displacement, adoption, and eventual reclamation of his cultural identity, ‘Lion’ interrogates and critiques the assumptions underlying the civilising mission and exposes the emotional and cultural costs that often accompany such interventions.
Understanding civilising mission postcolonial
Historically, the civilising mission (or mission civilisatrice) was an ideological cornerstone of European imperialism, used by colonial powers to rationalise their expansion into Asia, Africa, and Latin America. Colonisers claimed to be bringing enlightenment, reason, Christianity, and progress to ‘uncivilised’ or ‘heathen’ peoples. In reality, this ideology masked the extractive and exploitative nature of colonial rule, providing a moral cover for domination, cultural erasure, and violence. The mission was fundamentally asymmetrical, grounded in a belief in Western superiority and the infantilisation of the colonised peoples. Postcolonial theorists such as Edward Wadie Said, Homi Kharshedji Bhabha, and Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak have dissected the discursive power of the civilising mission. Said’s Orientalism (1978) highlights how the West constructed the East as passive, mysterious, and backward in order to assert control, while Spivak’s influential essay ‘Can the Subaltern Speak?’ (1988) reveals how colonised subjects were denied agency, voice, and subjectivity under imperial systems. The civilising mission then, was not only about territorial conquest but also about epistemic violence: the imposition of Western norms and the suppression of indigenous worldviews. In the postcolonial world, this ideology persists in more insidious forms, embedded in the development discourse, global charity, and cross-cultural encounters often characterised by structural inequality.
Brierley’s adoption: Rescue or recolonisation?
In ‘Lion’, the adoption of Brierley by an Australian couple appears on the surface to be an act of kindness. Sue and John Brierley open their home and hearts to a lost child from India, offering him a safe and materially comfortable life. Yet, when examined through a postcolonial lens, their decision reflects an underlying saviour complex characteristic of the civilising mission. Sue Brierley’s rationale – that she chose adoption over childbirth to help children from poor countries – reveals a perception of the global south as a site of suffering that must be rescued by the benevolence of the West. This narrative positions Westerners as morally superior agents of salvation, while portraying children like Saroo Brierley as helpless victims without viable futures in their own societies.
Moreover, the adoption severs Brierley from his language, culture, and family history. His identity is reshaped within the framework of Western middle-class values and expectations. This cultural assimilation aligns with colonial patterns wherein colonised subjects were taught to reject their own traditions and adopt the customs of their colonisers. The Brierleys’ home, though loving, becomes a space of domesticated Westernisation, where Brierley’s Indian identity is silenced or relegated to the background. He is renamed, reoriented, and repositioned within a narrative that emphasises Western rescue and transformation. The film does not suggest malice on the part of the adoptive parents, but, it does point to the structural power dynamics that allow such adoptions to be framed as unquestionably noble. In this way, ‘Lion’ invites viewers to reflect on whether such acts of transnational adoption might constitute a form of postcolonial recolonisation – one that is emotional and cultural rather than territorial.
Cultural erasure and the psychological cost of the mission
The film powerfully illustrates the psychological toll that such dislocation and assimilation can take. As Brierley grows into adulthood, he begins to experience a deep sense of disorientation and internal conflict. Though he appears outwardly successful – studying at university, integrating into Australian society – he is haunted by fragmented memories of his past. The onset of his identity crisis reflects the enduring scars left by cultural erasure. Unlike the civilising mission’s assumption that Westernisation is the endpoint of human progress, Brierley’s experience reveals that such transformation is not liberatory but alienating.
Brierley’s crisis can be read as a symbolic indictment of the civilising mission’s failure to recognise the emotional and existential value of indigenous cultures. The narrative challenges the idea that material comfort and Western values are sufficient for human flourishing. Brierley is not at peace until he begins to reclaim his lost identity, which undermines the notion that being “civilised” means shedding one’s origins. His longing for home is not just geographical; it is ontological. The film shows that the loss of culture is not merely a cost but a wound – one that continues to bleed long after the physical act of dislocation.
Brierley as the postcolonial subject
One of the most compelling aspects of ‘Lion’ is its depiction of Brierley’s agency in reversing the trajectory of the civilising mission. Rather than remaining a passive recipient of Western benevolence, Brierley reclaims his voice and identity. He uses technology – specifically Google Earth – to trace his birthplace, thereby blending Western tools with a deeply personal, non-Western goal. This act of digital mapping becomes a metaphor for reclaiming narrative control. In colonial narratives, the colonised subject was often rendered voiceless, with their identity shaped by external forces. In contrast, Brierley asserts his subjectivity by choosing to confront his past, find his mother, and reconcile the two halves of his identity.
This shift in agency represents a broader postcolonial turn – an effort to move beyond narratives of victimhood and toward self-determination. Brierley does not reject his adoptive parents or the life that they gave him, but he also refuses to suppress his origins. His journey challenges the binary logic of the civilising mission, which posits the West as saviour and the non-West as lacking. Instead, ‘Lion’ portrays identity as complex, hybrid, and irreducible. It refuses to frame Brierley’s Western upbringing as superior or final, instead emphasising the need for multiplicity, memory, and cultural integration.
Beyond benevolence: A postcolonial reckoning
In conclusion, ‘Lion’ offers a compelling and deeply human critique of the civilising mission and its modern incarnations. While the film resists simplistic judgments of individuals – portraying Sue and John Brierley as compassionate and sincere – it exposes the broader ideological patterns that continue to shape cross-cultural relationships in a postcolonial world. Through the lens of Brierley’s adoption and his eventual journey home, ‘Lion’ reveals the limits of Western benevolence and the emotional violence of cultural erasure. It challenges the idea that Western intervention is inherently redemptive and instead affirms the resilience of indigenous identity, memory, and belonging.
By centering a story of reclamation rather than rescue, the film subverts the colonial script and invites viewers to reflect on the power dynamics embedded in acts of charity, development, and adoption. Brierley’s story reminds us that true humanity lies not in saving others by rewriting their stories, but in honouring their right to tell their own. In doing so, Lion joins a growing body of postcolonial cinema that seeks to undo the civilising mission – not with rage or rejection, but with remembrance, resistance, and the quiet, powerful return to one’s roots.
(The writer is an attorney and a lecturer of Law at the Colombo University)
………………………………………………..
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect those of this publication