An article published in The Sydney Morning Herald in November 2024 exposed a series of racially motivated attacks at one of Sydney’s most prestigious selective high schools, James Ruse Agricultural. According to the report, several James Ruse students deliberately targeted their peers of Indian descent, referring to them as “slaves” and using racial slurs, including the n-word. Parents at a recent P&C meeting were made aware of these disturbing incidents, though it seems that the issue has been confined to a small circle of news outlets. To date, only The Sydney Morning Herald and Women’s Agenda have reported on the matter, meaning it has largely remained under the radar. Were it not for a recent Instagram post by Greens Senator Mehreen Faruqi, it is likely that this alarming issue would have been swept under the rug.
In many ways, racism and overt discrimination—whether digital or physical—targeting people of Indian background are still treated with a troubling level of indifference. In online spaces such as X (formerly Twitter), Meta platforms, and increasingly, Instagram, racial animus toward Indians has reached toxic levels. YouTuber Saji Sharma has produced a series of detailed videos that highlight the alarming normalisation and entrenchment of such racism. Notably, it is perplexing that this prejudice is not only perpetrated by far-right or traditionally “racist” groups but also by individuals who position themselves as political progressives and “allies” to the Indian community.
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The vilification of migrants and their descendants is, unfortunately, not a new phenomenon in the Western world. Some might even argue that it has become an ingrained tradition. However, the recent wave of grotesque racism, xenophobia, and discrimination targeting people of South Asian heritage has taken on a more insidious tone. It has become an acceptable form of social “othering” in many digital and, increasingly, physical spaces.
Popular social media platforms are flooded with videos that depict poor hygiene practices in South Asia, sparking outcries over what are perceived as “unsanitary” and “uncivilised” conditions. These portrayals focus solely on the dirt and decay, often ignoring the wider context, including the considerable efforts made by local communities to improve these situations. For instance, Kolkata’s Lali Chhangani, a food vendor who gained internet infamy after footage of unsanitary food preparation emerged, faced local calls for reform. Several residents urged him to adopt better hygiene practices, aiming to improve the image of their city and, by extension, their country. Yet, these local efforts to address such issues rarely make headlines in the West.
By contrast, the positive initiatives underway in India, such as the Bharat Clean Rivers Foundation, which works to tackle polluted waterways, or the numerous beach clean-ups led by Indian environmental groups, receive far less attention. Similarly, Bhopal, in Madhya Pradesh, has garnered recognition for being one of India’s cleanest and best-kept cities, owing much of its success to innovative public space projects and environmental health initiatives. These examples reflect a strong, grassroots commitment to tackling pollution and improving hygiene standards in India—efforts that rarely make it to the front pages of Western news outlets.
The persistence of the stereotype that Indians and other South Asians are inherently dirty, backward, and unhygienic has led to a wave of racism that is both harmful and dangerous. This vilification is rooted in the perception of Indians as “less than” others, of their communities and countries as synonymous with filth and pollution. The ramifications of such a narrative are profound. It sets a dangerous precedent, one that has been used in history to demonise and dehumanise entire populations. While the recent incidents at James Ruse Agricultural High School may seem far removed from the busy streets of Kolkata or the green spaces of Bhopal, the underlying prejudice that fuels these acts of hate is directly tied to how India is portrayed in digital spaces and the media.
These harmful stereotypes are not born in a vacuum. They are amplified by digital platforms where sensationalism, clicks, and likes drive content creation. As influencers chase followers and internet fame, the real-world consequences of these actions go largely unacknowledged. The students who endure the consequences of this prejudice, whether at school or online, remain unheard, their suffering often silenced by a system that chooses to ignore their pain.
The culture of racism that permeates online spaces is a reflection of broader societal attitudes, and it is incumbent upon all of us—particularly those in positions of influence—to challenge these stereotypes and engage in a more nuanced, empathetic conversation about race and identity. Without these efforts, the cycle of hate will continue to grow, unchecked and unchallenged.
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