When Privilege Gets Help, It’s “Networking”; When Others Get Help, It’s “Quota”

 

When Privilege Gets Help, It’s “Networking”; When Others Get Help, It’s “Quota”

Unpacking the Double Standards of Caste Privilege in India

In India, the conversation around social mobility often reveals a stark hypocrisy. For those in the “general category” — a polite euphemism for upper castes — opportunities handed down through family ties, alumni networks, or social circles are celebrated as savvy “networking.” It’s seen as a natural extension of merit, hard work, and personal connections. But when lower castes, including Scheduled Castes (SC), Scheduled Tribes (ST), and Other Backward Classes (OBC), access affirmative action through reservations or quotas, it’s frequently demonized as unfair favoritism, a handout that undermines true achievement. This double standard isn’t just rhetoric; it’s rooted in centuries of systemic inequality that continues to shape Indian society today.

This article delves into how upper castes justify their privileges as legitimate networking while vilifying quotas for others. We’ll trace the historical factors that built these upper-caste networks from ancient times and explore why lower castes have been systematically denied the same advantages. Drawing from historical context and contemporary analyses, the goal is to highlight how caste operates as an invisible force, often unacknowledged by those who benefit from it most.

The Myth of Merit: How Upper Castes Frame Privilege as “Networking”

Upper castes in India have long positioned their advantages as the fruits of individual effort and strategic connections, rather than inherited privilege. For instance, in professional fields like tech, finance, and academia, upper-caste individuals often leverage family legacies, elite school alumni groups, and informal referrals to secure jobs or promotions. This is praised as “networking” — a skill anyone can supposedly learn. Yet, as discussions on platforms like Reddit point out, these networks are rarely accessible to outsiders, and they’re built on generations of exclusivity.

A key justification is the narrative of “meritocracy.” Upper castes argue that their success stems from superior education and skills, ignoring how caste has historically monopolized access to these resources. In the tech industry, for example, upper-caste dominance in Silicon Valley and Indian IT firms is often attributed to talent, but research shows it’s largely due to early migration waves favoring those with pre-existing privileges like English education and urban connections.

This framing allows privilege to hide in plain sight: when a Brahmin or Kshatriya gets a leg up from a relative in a high position, it’s “using connections wisely.” Meanwhile, quotas are labeled as “reverse discrimination,” eroding standards.

This hypocrisy extends to everyday discourse. Upper-caste individuals might dismiss caste as irrelevant in modern India, claiming society is now “casteless” for the privileged. But as one analysis notes, this invisibility is itself a privilege — upper castes don’t “see” caste because it works in their favor, maintaining homogeneity in elite spaces like universities and corporations.

Studies from higher education institutions reveal that upper-caste students often view their advantages as earned, while perceiving lower-caste peers as undeserving beneficiaries of quotas.

Demonizing Quotas: The Backlash Against Lower-Caste Support

On the flip side, affirmative action programs — designed to counteract centuries of exclusion — are routinely attacked as unjust. The 10% quota for economically weaker sections (EWS) among upper castes, introduced in 2019 and upheld in 2022, sparked outrage from activists who argued it further entrenches privilege by benefiting those already advantaged, while diluting reservations for historically oppressed groups. Critics from lower castes see this as a “violation” of constitutional equity, yet upper castes frame it as a fair extension of economic aid.

The demonization often boils down to resentment: quotas are portrayed as “stealing” opportunities from the “meritorious.” In media and social commentary, lower-caste success via reservations is dismissed as tokenism, ignoring the barriers they overcome. For example, in science and academia, upper castes dominate due to inherited networks, but quotas for lower castes are blamed for any perceived drop in quality.

This narrative conveniently overlooks how upper-caste “networking” functions as an unofficial quota system, reserving spots through referrals and social capital.

In essence, when lower castes get institutional help, it’s seen as charity at the expense of others. But upper-caste networking? That’s just business as usual.

From Ancient Roots: The Historical Foundations of Upper-Caste Networking

The origins of this disparity trace back to India’s ancient caste system, formalized in texts like the Manusmriti around 200 BCE to 200 CE. This varna system divided society into four hierarchical groups: Brahmins (priests and scholars), Kshatriyas (warriors and rulers), Vaishyas (traders), and Shudras (laborers), with Dalits (formerly “untouchables”) outside it entirely. Upper castes, particularly Brahmins, were granted exclusive rights to education, land ownership, and religious authority, creating early networks of power.

Over centuries, these structures evolved under various rulers, from medieval kingdoms to British colonialism. Upper castes adapted by aligning with colonial administrators, gaining access to English education and civil service roles. This built intergenerational wealth and connections: families passed down knowledge, property, and social ties, forming closed networks in bureaucracy, business, and academia.

In the modern economy, these networks persist. In Mumbai’s industrial era, upper castes used caste-based associations to secure jobs in mills and factories. Today, in global migration, upper castes dominate tech and professional diasporas because historical privileges like better schooling and urban access enabled them to capitalize on opportunities first. Economic studies show Brahmins enjoy higher education, income, and social connections, reinforcing their networks.

Caste-based segregation in cities further cements this, with upper castes clustering in affluent areas for mutual benefit.

These factors — rooted in ancient hierarchies and amplified through history — have created a self-perpetuating system where upper castes “network” effortlessly, often without recognizing it as privilege.

Barriers to Entry: Why Lower Castes Don’t Have the Same “Networking” Privileges

Lower castes have been systematically excluded from building similar networks due to entrenched discrimination and resource deprivation. Historically, they were barred from education, property ownership, and social mixing, enforced through untouchability and violence. This legacy persists: lower castes face poorer schools, underfunded institutions, and exclusion from elite networks.

Economically, caste restricts access to finance and entrepreneurship. Dalits and OBCs encounter discrimination in hiring, loans, and business partnerships, limiting their ability to form robust networks. In rural areas, landlessness and manual labor trap generations in poverty, while urban migration favors those with prior advantages — often upper castes.

Socially, caste homogeneity in elite spaces makes integration difficult. Lower castes report invisibility or outright bias, with upper castes refusing to collaborate or mentor. During crises like the COVID-19 pandemic, lower castes suffered disproportionately due to lack of safety nets and networks. Macroeconomic analyses estimate that caste discrimination reduces entrepreneurial potential and overall growth, as lower castes are denied the capital and connections upper castes take for granted.

In short, lower castes aren’t just starting from behind; the system is rigged to keep them there, without the “networking” luxuries afforded to others.

Toward a More Equitable Future

Recognizing this double standard is the first step toward dismantling it. While quotas provide essential redress, true equity requires addressing the invisible networks that perpetuate upper-caste dominance. As India evolves, conversations around caste must move beyond denial to acknowledgment — only then can networking become a tool for all, not just the privileged few.By examining these dynamics, we see that privilege isn’t always overt; it’s often woven into the fabric of society. For a nation aspiring to meritocracy, confronting caste head-on is non-negotiable.

The Bystander Apathy in India: When Human Suffering Turns into Entertainment

In the bustling streets of India, where chaos reigns supreme and traffic moves like a lawless river, a chilling reality unfolds all too often. Imagine this: a pedestrian is struck by a speeding SUV — a Thar, perhaps — careening through the crowd. The victim lies on the footpath, bleeding profusely, screaming in agony, their cries piercing the humid air. Passersby glance momentarily, then avert their eyes and continue on their way, as if the scene is just another pothole to sidestep. If a crowd does form, it’s not to render aid but to gawk at the “tamasha” — the spectacle. Phones emerge not to dial emergency services but to capture videos and photos, turning a life-or-death moment into viral fodder for social media groups. This isn’t fiction; it’s a grim snapshot of societal indifference that plagues the nation, where empathy seems extinct and human lives are reduced to entertainment value.

This barbaric behavior raises profound questions about the state of humanity in India. Why do people ignore the pleas of the injured? Why does suffering amuse rather than alarm? Drawing from numerous reports and studies, it’s clear this isn’t isolated but a widespread phenomenon rooted in psychological, legal, and cultural factors. A 2013 survey by the SaveLife Foundation revealed that 74% of Indians are unlikely to help an accident victim, even when alone or with others. This apathy, often termed the “bystander effect,” explains how individuals in a group assume someone else will step in, diffusing responsibility until no one acts.

Real-Life Horror Stories: From Ignorance to Exploitation

Tragic incidents abound that illustrate this heartless detachment. In 2017, a man in Delhi was run over multiple times by vehicles while lying injured on the road; motorists and pedestrians alike ignored him, leading to his death. Similarly, in 2021, a man stabbed his wife to death on a crowded Delhi street, with bystanders filming the assault rather than intervening. These aren’t anomalies — in fact, research shows that in India, bystanders are far less likely to help strangers compared to protecting loved ones, amplifying the isolation of victims.

The crowd’s role often exacerbates the problem. Instead of calling an ambulance or police, spectators pull out smartphones to record the gore. Why? For the thrill of sharing “shocking” content among friends or on platforms like WhatsApp and Instagram. This voyeurism turns personal tragedy into public entertainment, a disgusting twist where a person’s final moments become memes or group chat fodder. As one report notes, urban desensitization has made us immune to violence and accidents, treating them as background noise in our chaotic lives. In a country where road accidents claim over 150,000 lives annually, this behavior isn’t just negligent — it’s complicit in preventable deaths.

The Roots of Indifference: Fear, Psychology, and a Broken System

At the heart of this issue lies the bystander effect, a psychological principle where the presence of others discourages individual action. In India, it’s compounded by practical fears: 88% of people believe good samaritans face harassment from police or hospitals, including endless questioning, legal entanglements, or demands for payment. A national study on impediments to bystander care highlights how attitudes from law enforcement deter help, with many fearing they’ll be blamed or dragged into court.

Cultural and societal elements play a role too. In fast-paced cities like Delhi or Mumbai, life’s hardships breed a survivalist mentality — why risk your own stability for a stranger? Some argue that India’s dense population and constant exposure to poverty and accidents normalize suffering, turning empathy into exhaustion. Yet, this doesn’t excuse the glee in spectating; it’s a sign of deeper moral decay. As the user aptly puts it, these individuals’ lives seem so devoid of meaning that watching someone bleed out provides a perverse form of entertainment. It’s barbaric, stripping away the humanity that should bind us.

Even youth, often seen as agents of change, show reluctance. A study on predicting intentions to help accident victims found that perceived behavioral control and attitudes influence action, but barriers like fear persist. And while the Supreme Court introduced the Good Samaritan Law in 2016 to protect helpers from legal hassles — offering anonymity and no liability — awareness remains low, with 77% still hesitant due to police fears.

A Nation Not for the Faint-Hearted — or Anyone?

They say India is not for beginners, but perhaps it’s not for anyone at all. In a land of ancient philosophies preaching compassion — like ahimsa — modern reality paints a picture of monsters masquerading as men. When suffering is entertainment and sympathy is scarce, what does that say about us? Victims don’t just bleed from wounds; they bleed from the collective indifference that lets them die alone amid a sea of faces.

Change is possible, but it demands education, stricter enforcement of protective laws, and a cultural shift toward empathy. Until then, the next time you see a Thar-rammed pedestrian crying on the sidewalk, remember: ignoring them doesn’t make you neutral — it makes you part of the problem. India deserves better than this spectacle of savagery.

The Name We Discard: How Indian Immigrants Adapt in the US

 

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The Name We Discard: How Indian Immigrants Adapt in the US

Rajesh becomes Ray. Priya becomes Pree. Arun becomes “Aron” because, well, it’s easier. These aren’t just spelling variations — they’re microcosms of a larger asymmetry in how immigrant identity works in America

Walk into any American tech office, startup, or corporate floor. You’ll find Indians with anglicized names filling their professional lives while keeping their “real” names for family WhatsApp groups. The pattern is so routine it feels natural, almost inevitable. Yet the opposite rarely happens: when Americans move to India or anywhere else in Asia, they rarely feel compelled to change their names. This asymmetry reveals something uncomfortable about how power, discrimination, and assimilation work.

The Numbers Don’t Lie: How Common Are These Changes?

The practice is widespread but often invisible because it happens gradually. My older brother, Nirmalkumar, became Norm. My sister, Savita, became Sammy. These aren’t dramatic rebrandings — they’re accommodations, convenience, survival tactics in a system not built for them.

The examples are endless and mundane:

• Shrinivasan → Shri or Steve
• Priya → Pree or even just “P”
• Deepak → Dave
• Anjali → AJ
• Vikram → Vik or Victor

Some Indians officially change their names on resumes, LinkedIn, and job applications. Others switch between contexts — their legal name in one setting, an anglicized version in another. This code-switching becomes second nature, so normalized that it barely registers as a choice anymore

Why This Happens: The Machinery of Discrimination

The reasons are deceptively simple but rooted in real harm:

1. Hiring Bias Is Measurable

Harvard research demonstrated that resumes with Indian names receive callback rates 26–50% lower than identical resumes with “white-sounding” names. This isn’t anecdotal — it’s statistical. When a hiring manager sees “Priya Gupta” versus “Priya Gardner,” the outcomes differ meaningfully. Discrimination is real, quantifiable, and immediate

2. Pronunciation Becomes a Burden

There’s a subtle cruelty in workplaces where your name requires explanation every time you introduce yourself. Hiring managers stumble over it. Colleagues butcher it repeatedly. In meetings, you’re constantly correcting people — a micro-aggression that drains energy while signaling that you don’t quite belong. Changing your name removes this daily friction.

3. Professional Advancement

Indians quickly learn that their ethnic identity can be a ceiling, not a bridge. Names become a calculus: Is keeping my identity worth limiting my career? For many, the pragmatic answer is no. Changing your name isn’t about preference — it’s about survival in a system that penalizes difference

4. Social Integration

Beyond careers, there’s a social dimension. Getting hired is one thing; actually fitting in is another. An anglicized name makes social interaction frictionless. Americans don’t have to feel uncomfortable around difference. Indians don’t have to be the foreign one. Everyone is more comfortable.

The Hypocrisy Is Structural

Here’s where your original critique hits hardest: Americans almost never do this in reverse.

When Americans move to India, the UK, Australia, or anywhere else, they keep their names intact. A “Mike” remains Mike. A “Jennifer” doesn’t become “Jaya.” They face no equivalent pressure, no hiring discrimination tied to their names, no systematic barrier that rewards assimilation.

This isn’t because Americans are individually more principled. It’s because they carry institutional power with them. American names aren’t foreign in most of the world — they’re prestigious. They suggest education, wealth, reliability. An American’s name is assumed to be correct; an Indian’s is assumed to be difficult.

The asymmetry reveals the truth: name-changing isn’t a choice born from respect for local culture. It’s a symptom of power imbalance. Indians adapt because they have to. Americans don’t adapt because they don’t have to.

The Trap of Individual Solutions to Systemic Problems

This is where the hypocrisy becomes philosophical. By normalizing name changes, we’re essentially telling Indian immigrants: “The system discriminates against you, so change yourself to fit it.”

This approach has consequences:

• It makes discrimination invisible. If discrimination isn’t obvious because everyone has adapted to it, it becomes self-inflicted rather than systemic.
• It shifts responsibility. Instead of asking “Why does American society penalize different names?” we ask “Why don’t you just change yours?”
• It surrenders identity. Each name change is a small surrender of cultural identity on the altar of professional acceptance.

Researchers themselves have pushed back: “We do not suggest immigrants to Anglicise their ethnic names in order to avoid discrimination,” warns Harvard research, because “this puts the onus on immigrants to promote equity

The Growing Resistance

Not everyone accepts this bargain anymore. Some Indian immigrants and their children are consciously resisting, keeping their names despite the friction, treating it as “a symbol of successful resistance to assimilation.”​

Activists are pushing systemic solutions instead. California passed a historic ban on caste discrimination. Recruiters are learning to value diversity rather than demanding homogeneity. Some companies now anonymize resumes to remove racial bias.

But these changes move at glacial speed. Meanwhile, individuals still face rent to pay and careers to build.

What This Reveals About Assimilation

The name-change phenomenon exposes how assimilation really works in America. It’s not a free exchange of cultures — it’s a hierarchy where the dominant culture’s comfort is prioritized over minority identity. It’s a system that says: “You’re welcome here, but only if you make us comfortable by becoming more like us.”

Meanwhile, Americans anywhere in the world remain comfortable as they are. No one asks them to change. No one makes it worth their while. They don’t have to choose between their name and their career.

That asymmetry is the hypocrisy. Not that Indians change names — that’s rational survival. But that we’ve normalized it so completely that it feels like personal preference rather than what it actually is: adaptive response to discrimination masked as cultural assimilation.

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The real question isn’t whether Indians should change their names. It’s why, in a diverse nation built by immigrants, we still make it necessary.

The Shadow of Karma: How an Ancient Doctrine Cemented Centuries of Suffering for India’s Untouchables

 

The Shadow of Karma: How an Ancient Doctrine Cemented Centuries of Suffering for India’s Untouchables

In the labyrinth of India’s social history, few concepts have wielded as much power — and inflicted as much pain — as the theory of karma. For millennia, this philosophical pillar of Hinduism has been invoked to explain, and often justify, the rigid hierarchies of the caste system. At the bottom of this pyramid lay the “untouchables,” now known as Dalits, whose lives of destitution, discrimination, and dehumanizing labor were framed not as societal failures, but as cosmic consequences. Imagine being told that your poverty, your exclusion from temples, and even the violence inflicted upon you are all deserved — payments for sins committed in a life you can’t remember. This is the insidious logic that karma imposed on millions, turning oppression into divine decree.

But how did this happen? How did a idea meant to encourage moral living become a tool for perpetuating inequality? In this exploration, we’ll unpack the historical and philosophical threads that wove karma into the fabric of untouchability, revealing a system so entrenched that even its victims often accepted it as fate.

The Foundations: Caste and Karma in Ancient India

India’s caste system, one of the world’s oldest forms of social stratification, traces its roots back to the Vedic period around 1500 BCE. Described in the Rig Veda, society was initially divided into four varnas (classes): Brahmins (priests and scholars), Kshatriyas (warriors and rulers), Vaishyas (merchants and farmers), and Shudras (laborers). Outside these varnas were the outcastes, or untouchables — groups deemed so impure that contact with them was believed to pollute higher castes. These untouchables, often indigenous tribes or defeated communities, were relegated to the fringes of society, performing the most menial and degrading tasks, like cleaning sewers, handling dead bodies, or manual scavenging.

Enter karma, a core tenet of Hindu philosophy derived from the Upanishads (circa 800–200 BCE). Karma posits that every action — good or bad — generates consequences that carry over into future lives through reincarnation (samsara). The cycle of birth, death, and rebirth continues until one achieves moksha (liberation), breaking free from this wheel.

In theory, it’s a system of cosmic justice: live righteously, and you’ll reap rewards in the next life.But in practice, karma was twisted to reinforce birth-based hierarchies. Texts like the Chandogya and Kaushitaki Upanishads linked one’s rebirth to past deeds, suggesting that good karma led to birth in higher varnas, while bad karma resulted in lower ones — or worse, as an untouchable. 

The Manusmriti, an influential legal text from around 200 BCE to 200 CE, codified this by prescribing harsher punishments for lower castes and restricting their access to education, property, and rituals. Thus, an untouchable’s suffering in this life wasn’t random; it was penance for sins in a previous existence.

Justifying the Unjust: Suffering as Deserved Fate

This linkage created a powerful narrative: If you’re born an untouchable, it’s because of your own past misdeeds. Your current hardships — poverty, social isolation, and backbreaking labor — are not the fault of the upper castes or the system, but a direct result of your soul’s history. Upper castes, conversely, enjoyed their privileges as rewards for prior virtue, giving them a moral license to maintain the status quo.

The doctrine went further by tying karma to dharma (duty). For untouchables, salvation lay in faithfully performing their assigned roles — no matter how degrading. Manual scavenging, for instance, was seen as their dharma; by enduring it without complaint, they could accumulate good karma, potentially earning a higher birth in the next life and eventual moksha. The Bhagavad Gita reinforces this in verses like 18:47, stating that it’s better to perform one’s own dharma imperfectly than another’s well, implying that straying from caste duties invites more bad karma.

This framework didn’t just justify exploitation; it sanctified it. Untouchables were barred from entering temples, drawing water from common wells, or even casting shadows on higher castes, all under the guise of preserving ritual purity. Violence against them, including beatings or killings for “transgressions,” was rationalized as upholding cosmic order. For thousands of years, from the Vedic era through medieval times and into colonial India, this ideology held sway, ensuring social stability at the expense of human dignity.

The Tragic Acceptance: Internalization and Brainwashing

Perhaps the most heartbreaking aspect is how untouchables themselves internalized this belief. Through generations of religious indoctrination, many came to view their plight as self-inflicted, a form of radicalization that turned victims into unwitting enforcers of their own oppression. System Justification Theory in psychology explains this: Believing in karma provides a sense of certainty and security, making unbearable suffering feel meaningful rather than arbitrary. It fosters low self-esteem and diminished aspirations, perpetuating the cycle without needing overt coercion.

This brainwashing was amplified by religious leaders and texts. Shankaracharya of Puri, a prominent Hindu figure, emphasized that caste (jati) is determined by birth alone, not actions, to preserve “pure” lineages. Untouchables were taught that rebellion would only worsen their karma, dooming them to even lower rebirths. Even today, echoes of this persist in rural India, where Dalits sometimes accept discrimination as fate, despite constitutional protections.

Breaking the Cycle: Lessons for Today

The story of karma and untouchability is a cautionary tale about how philosophies can be co-opted to serve power. It reminds us that true justice requires questioning inherited beliefs, not accepting them as destiny. As India evolves, shedding these shadows could pave the way for a society where birth doesn’t dictate worth — and where karma inspires personal growth, not perpetual chains.

The Parallel Shadows: White Supremacy in the West and Caste Supremacy in India

 

The Parallel Shadows: White Supremacy in the West and Caste Supremacy in India

In an increasingly globalized world, discussions about discrimination often focus on race or caste as isolated phenomena. Yet, beneath the surface, striking parallels emerge between white supremacist ideologies in the West — particularly in the United States — and caste supremacist attitudes in India. Both systems, rooted in notions of inherent superiority and inferiority, have historically justified oppression and continue to fuel resistance against efforts to level the playing field. This article explores how both groups decry affirmative action (or reservations in India) as “reverse discrimination” and selectively highlight underperformance among marginalized groups to perpetuate myths of lesser capability, intelligence, or work ethic — echoing the justifications once used to defend slavery.

Historical Foundations: Myths of Inferiority

White supremacy in the West didn’t emerge in a vacuum. During the era of transatlantic slavery, enslavers propagated the idea that Black people were inherently inferior, biologically suited for subjugation. This “myth of Black inferiority” portrayed Africans as less intelligent, more primitive, and naturally subservient, making slavery not just economically expedient but morally defensible.

Enslaved individuals were seen as wearing a “racial uniform” that marked them for exploitation, with pseudoscientific arguments claiming their supposed traits made them ideal for labor-intensive roles. After emancipation, these ideas intensified, evolving into Jim Crow laws and segregation to maintain white dominance.

Similarly, India’s caste system has long entrenched hierarchies based on birth, with upper castes (particularly Brahmins) viewing themselves as superior. Dalits (formerly “untouchables”) and other lower castes, including Scheduled Castes (SC) and Scheduled Tribes (ST), were historically deemed impure and fit only for menial tasks. This system, predating modern racism, shares ontological roots with white supremacy, where discrimination is cyclical and self-reinforcing.

As Isabel Wilkerson argues in her book Caste, both caste supremacy and racism function as hidden structures of domination, with white supremacy in the U.S. mirroring the “Caucasian caste” that enforces solidarity to secure privilege.

In India, caste manifests in servitude and disproportionate incarceration of Dalits, much like racism’s impact on Black Americans.

These parallels aren’t coincidental. Both ideologies rely on descent-based discrimination, where one’s birth determines worth. Efforts to equate caste with race have been debated globally, with Dalits pushing for recognition at forums like the UN, arguing that caste supremacy is a form of racism.

While differences exist — caste is more fluid in some contexts than race — the core mechanism of exclusion through perceived inferiority binds them.

Affirmative Action as “Reverse Discrimination”: A Shared Refrain

One of the most telling similarities is the backlash against policies aimed at rectifying historical injustices. In the U.S., affirmative action — designed to address systemic racism — has been lambasted by white supremacists as “reverse racism.” They claim it unfairly disadvantages whites, promoting a colorblind narrative that ignores ongoing white privilege. Phrases like “it’s OK to be white” have been co-opted to frame affirmative action as anti-white discrimination, echoing broader supremacist rhetoric. Critics argue it violates meritocracy, but this often masks resistance to challenging white supremacy’s hold on power. Even post-civil rights, “respectable” white supremacist ideas adopt reverse discrimination frames to delegitimize such programs.In India, caste-based reservations for SC/ST communities — quotas in education, jobs, and politics — face analogous attacks. Upper-caste opponents, often embodying caste supremacist views, decry them as “reverse casteism,” arguing they compromise efficiency and merit by favoring the “undeserving.” They claim reservations perpetuate division rather than dismantle caste, with some asserting that SC/ST beneficiaries are inherently less capable, thus lowering standards.

This mirrors the U.S. narrative: both frame equity measures as unfair advantages, ignoring centuries of exclusion that created the need for them in the first place.

Data, however, debunks efficiency losses, showing reservations often enhance representation without sacrificing quality — yet the myth persists to preserve upper-caste privilege.

On platforms like X (formerly Twitter), anti-reservation discourse amplifies these caste supremacist arguments, often under hashtags like #EndReservation and #FightForMerit.

Users frequently share examples of candidates with negative or low scores securing positions via reservations while high-scorers are denied, claiming this proves reservations reward “birth over worth” and push beneficiaries toward “lifelong shame.”

Common refrains include calls to “stop rewarding birth” and assertions that reservations undermine meritocracy, leading to inefficiency and a lack of dignity for all involved.

Influential accounts highlight stories of general category successes without quotas to argue that the system punishes talent, framing reservations as a “permanent seat” rather than a temporary ladder.

Others label anti-Brahminism or criticism of upper castes as “reverse discrimination,” drawing parallels to broader caste politics and votebank strategies.

These online echo chambers reinforce the narrative that reservations are a form of “new-age reverse casteism,” often ignoring socioeconomic contexts and portraying them as tools for division rather than justice.

Politicians in both contexts exploit these divisions. In the U.S., resistance to affirmative action aligns with broader anti-Black policies; in India, caste politics fuels anti-reservation sentiments, uniting upper castes against perceived threats.

As one analysis notes, these arguments serve as a “smokescreen” for maintaining hierarchy.

Weaponizing Performance to Reinforce Inferiority

Both ideologies selectively use data on “poor performance” to imply innate deficiencies. White supremacists historically cited enslaved Blacks’ supposed laziness or low intelligence to justify slavery, postulating that freedom would expose their “inferiority.”

Today, this evolves into claims that affirmative action admits “unqualified” minorities, whose underperformance “proves” racial hierarchies. Such narratives ignore structural barriers like unequal education and bias, instead blaming victims.In India, caste supremacists point to lower academic or professional outcomes among SC/ST groups as evidence of lesser capability, arguing reservations “prove” their point by promoting the unprepared. This overlooks systemic discrimination: unequal access to resources, prejudice in evaluations, and intergenerational trauma from caste oppression. Studies show that disparities stem from “unequal treatment” rather than inherent traits, yet the rhetoric endures to undermine reservations. Just as slavery’s defenders used pseudoscience, modern caste supremacists wield anecdotal “evidence” to argue that SC/ST communities are less hardworking or intelligent, echoing the racial justifications for bondage.These tactics aren’t just rhetorical — they perpetuate cycles of marginalization. In both societies, extractive capitalism thrives on such divisions, with racism and caste supremacy fueling exploitation.

Why These Parallels Matter

Recognizing the similarities between white supremacy and caste supremacy isn’t about equating experiences but understanding shared mechanisms of power. Both systems rely on myths of inferiority to resist change, framing equity as oppression. In the U.S., caste-like racism persists in incarceration and wealth gaps; in India, caste discrimination mirrors Jim Crow in exclusion and violence. Global migration has even exported caste to places like the U.S., where South Asians report ongoing bias.Dismantling these requires confronting the myths head-on. Affirmative action and reservations aren’t perfect, but they’re essential counters to entrenched privilege. As debates rage — from U.S. Supreme Court rulings to India’s reservation expansions — acknowledging these parallels can foster solidarity across borders, challenging the hierarchies that divide us.

Note: Views expressed are based on historical and sociological analyses; this article aims to inform, not endorse division.

The Unwitting Allies: How Western Liberals Fuel India’s Right-Wing Ascendancy

 

The Unwitting Allies: How Western Liberals Fuel India’s Right-Wing Ascendancy

In the glittering diaspora hubs of Silicon Valley, New York, and London, upper-caste Indian immigrants — often Savarnas — project an image of cultural vibrancy and progressive assimilation. They light up Diwali lamps on public streets, advocate for diversity in boardrooms, and decry Western racism with fervent op-eds. Yet, back home in India, many of these same individuals and their families champion policies that entrench caste hierarchies, vilify inter-caste unions, and stoke xenophobia against Bangladeshi migrants. This chasm isn’t mere personal inconsistency; it’s a systemic hypocrisy that Western liberals, in their earnest embrace of multiculturalism, unwittingly amplify. By shielding these voices from scrutiny, they provide ideological cover and material support to India’s right-wing ecosystem, allowing it to flourish unchecked.

The Mask of the Model Minority

At the heart of this dynamic lies the Indian diaspora’s selective identity politics. Upper-caste Indians, who dominate the skilled migration pipelines to the US and Europe, arrive as “model minorities” — highly educated, economically successful, and culturally “exotic” enough to fit neatly into progressive narratives. They leverage affirmative action critiques in the West while opposing India’s reservation system that uplifts Dalits and Adivasis, revealing a profound double standard rooted in caste privilege. 

In Silicon Valley, these “tech bros” rail against American xenophobia, yet fund campaigns in India that demonize Muslim “infiltrators” from Bangladesh, echoing the BJP’s anti-migrant rhetoric.This isn’t abstract ideology; it’s lived duplicity. 

Consider the everyday: In India, a Savarna household might maintain separate utensils for their lower-caste domestic help, enforcing untouchability under the guise of tradition. Abroad, that same family sues employers for discrimination, invoking the very civil rights frameworks they undermine at home.

As one observer notes, Indian Americans often lean left domestically — supporting Democrats and social justice causes — but pivot rightward on India, backing Narendra Modi’s Hindu nationalist agenda without a hint of irony.

This paradox isn’t accidental; it’s a survival strategy in a globalized world where caste networks provide economic lifelines, from H-1B visas to venture capital.

Cultural Celebrations as Cultural Imperialism

The hypocrisy sharpens during cultural displays. In the US, Diwali has evolved into a spectacle of fireworks, street block parties, and corporate sponsorships — often with little regard for noise complaints or environmental impact. If a neighbor objects, cries of “cultural erasure” ring out, bolstered by allies in city councils and media. Yet, in India, the same diaspora remits funds to families and organizations that protest public namaz (Muslim prayers) as “public nuisance,” filing petitions to ban them from streets and parks. God forbid a Hindu festival faces similar curbs; it’s decried as “appeasement politics.”This selective outrage isn’t isolated. South Asian feminists in the West, many upper-caste, amplify Palestinian solidarity or Black Lives Matter while ignoring caste atrocities or anti-Muslim pogroms in India.

Priyanka Chopra, a Bollywood icon and diaspora darling, embodies this: She headlines global women’s rights panels yet remains silent on the Gujarat riots that killed over 1,000 Muslims in 2002, under Modi’s watch as chief minister — a silence that shields right-wing narratives abroad

Western Liberals: Enablers in Progressive Clothing

Enter Western liberals, whose well-intentioned multiculturalism becomes a Trojan horse. Eager to atone for colonial sins, they celebrate Indian “diversity” without interrogating its caste-infused underbelly. Invitations to TED Talks, university panels, and Democratic fundraisers flow to these diaspora figures, who frame themselves as authentic voices of the subcontinent. In doing so, liberals launder right-wing ideas: Modi’s “digital India” gets applause as innovation, not surveillance; yoga retreats ignore the erasure of Muslim heritage sites.This support isn’t benign. Diaspora remittances — $100 billion annually to India — often channel into BJP coffers, funding campaigns that suppress Dalit activism and queer rights.

Tech CEOs of Indian origin lobby against H-1B reforms in the US, citing their own immigrant struggles, while their Indian counterparts push “citizenship amendments” that sideline Muslim refugees. Western liberals, by amplifying these stories without context, normalize the narrative that India’s right-wing is merely “cultural conservatism,” not ethnonationalist authoritarianism.

The irony peaks in minority protections. These immigrants demand safeguards against Islamophobia in the West — rightfully so — yet fund groups that lobby against caste discrimination bills in California, arguing it “stereotypes Hindus.”

Abroad, they play the “garib” (poor immigrant) card for sympathy; in India, they embody the elite, ensuring lower castes remain outsiders. As one X user laments, this is the diaspora “bending backwards to find redeeming values in Hindu fascists,” all while Western enablers applaud the performance.

The Ripple Effect: Thriving at Home, Empowered Abroad

The consequences for India are dire. Emboldened by uncritical Western acclaim, the right-wing doubles down: Reservations are branded “reverse discrimination,” inter-caste marriages face “love jihad” laws, and migrants are scapegoated amid economic woes. The diaspora, safe in their suburban enclaves, exports this toxicity via WhatsApp forwards and Zoom fundraisers, eroding secular fabrics without personal risk.Yet, cracks appear. Younger, intersectional South Asians — Dalit activists and queer Muslims in the diaspora — are challenging this hegemony, demanding accountability.

Western liberals must listen to them, not the high priests of hypocrisy

In the end, true allyship demands discomfort: Scrutinize the Savarna abroad as rigorously as the migrant at the border. Only then can progressivism dismantle the very hierarchies it claims to oppose — before India’s right-wing, fattened on Western goodwill, consumes the pluralism both sides purport to cherish.

From Bamiyan to Delhi: The BJP’s Hypocritical Embrace of the Taliban

 

From Bamiyan to Delhi: The BJP’s Hypocritical Embrace of the Taliban

How India’s Ruling Party Shifted from Condemning Buddha’s Destruction to Hosting Taliban Leaders — and Why Questioning It Makes You an Enemy

In March 2001, the world watched in horror as the Taliban regime in Afghanistan dynamited the ancient Bamiyan Buddhas — two towering statues carved into cliffsides in the 6th century, symbols of Afghanistan’s rich Buddhist heritage. The act was not just cultural vandalism; it was a deliberate erasure of history by religious extremists. India, under the BJP-led government of Atal Bihari Vajpayee, was among the loudest voices in condemnation. The Ministry of External Affairs issued statements urging the Taliban to protect the relics, and India co-sponsored a UN General Assembly resolution decrying the destruction.

Protests erupted across the country, with Sangh Parivar affiliates — often vocal defenders of Hindu heritage — taking to the streets to decry the Taliban’s barbarism. Fast forward to October 2025, and the same BJP government, now led by Narendra Modi, is hosting a high-level Taliban delegation in Delhi. Foreign Minister S. Jaishankar shakes hands with Taliban FM Amir Khan Muttaqi, and India announces the reopening of its embassy in Kabul.

What happened to the outrage? Apparently, it’s all “diplomacy” now.

This isn’t just a policy shift; it’s a glaring example of political hypocrisy, where principles bend to the winds of power. The same “sanghis” who once burned effigies of the Taliban are now defending the regime’s visit as strategic necessity. Question it, and you’re dismissed as ignorant of geopolitics — or worse, anti-national. But let’s unpack this turnaround, because it reveals a deeper rot: the demand for unconditional loyalty to the government, no matter how contradictory its actions.

The 2001 Outrage: When the Taliban Were the Ultimate Villains

Back in 2001, the Taliban’s edict to destroy “idols” like the Bamiyan Buddhas was met with global revulsion. Mullah Omar’s regime justified it as Islamic purity, but it was widely seen as an assault on shared human heritage.

In India, the BJP government didn’t mince words. On February 27, 2001, it condemned the decree and called for the protection of the statues.

Reports from the time describe widespread protests, including in Buddhist communities and among right-wing groups who framed it as an attack on ancient Indic civilization.

The Sangh Parivar, with its emphasis on cultural preservation, was particularly vocal. RSS affiliates organized demonstrations, drawing parallels to historical invasions that targeted temples. It was a moment of unity: the Taliban were the bad guys, pure and simple.Even years later, BJP leaders referenced the Bamiyan destruction as evidence of the Taliban’s fanaticism. In a 2021 speech, Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister Yogi Adityanath equated support for the Taliban with anti-humanity and anti-India acts, warning against sympathizers and even jailing people accused of celebrating the group’s takeover of Kabul.

The message was clear: The Taliban represented everything the BJP claimed to oppose — religious extremism, destruction of heritage, and threats to India’s security.

2025: From Protests to Protocol

Cut to October 2025. Taliban Foreign Minister Amir Khan Muttaqi arrives in India for a groundbreaking week-long visit — the first by a senior Taliban official since the 2021 takeover.

He’s greeted warmly, meets with Jaishankar and NSA Ajit Doval, and discusses trade, humanitarian aid, and regional stability.

India upgrades its Kabul mission to a full embassy, signaling deeper ties.

Muttaqi even visits Deoband in Uttar Pradesh, home to a prominent Islamic seminary, under heavy security provided by the state government.

The irony? This is the same Yogi Adityanath who, in 2021, accused Deoband clerics of backing the Taliban and arrested Muslims on flimsy charges of Taliban sympathy.

Now, his administration is rolling out the red carpet, complete with Z-plus security and transportation for the delegation.

Critics like PDP leader Mehbooba Mufti have called out the hypocrisy, noting how the BJP embraces the Taliban abroad while targeting Indian Muslims at home.

When questioned, the response is predictable: “It’s diplomacy.” “Geopolitics demands it.” India needs to counter China’s influence in Afghanistan, secure trade routes via Chabahar, and isolate Pakistan amid its tensions with the Taliban over the Durand Line.

Fair points, perhaps. But why the selective amnesia? The Taliban hasn’t changed — women’s rights are still curtailed, minorities persecuted, and terror groups like TTP find safe havens. Engaging them might be pragmatic, but pretending the 2001 outrage never happened? That’s gaslighting.

Yogi’s U-Turn: From Jailing Supporters to Guarding Leaders

Yogi Adityanath embodies this flip-flop. In September 2021, he declared, “Supporting Taliban means backing anti-India, anti-humanity acts.”

His government cracked down, arresting young Muslims for alleged pro-Taliban posts or celebrations.

Fast forward to 2025, and Yogi’s UP police are providing security to Muttaqi’s delegation during their Deoband visit.

Old videos of Yogi’s rants have gone viral, sparking debates on social media.

This isn’t isolated. It’s part of a pattern where past condemnations evaporate when convenient. The Taliban, once equated with terror, are now partners in “regional stability.” And if you point out the inconsistency? You’re told to trust the government’s wisdom.

The Bigger Picture: Trump, China, and the Cult of Unquestioning Loyalty

This Taliban tango isn’t unique. Look at Donald Trump. In 2020, BJP supporters built a temple for him in Telangana and organized havans across India praying for his election win.

Modi called him “my friend,” and crowds chanted “Namaste Trump” at rallies. But by 2025, with Trump back in power and slapping 50% tariffs on Indian imports, he’s the villain.

Relations have soured over trade, Kashmir mediation offers, and energy disputes. Overnight, the narrative flips — no questions asked.

Same with China. For years, Xi Jinping was the enemy — border clashes, economic boycotts, apps banned. Yet in August 2025, Modi meets Xi in Tianjin, shakes hands, and calls for partnership.

“India and China are partners, not rivals,” they declare.

Tomorrow, it could be Pakistan: “Oh, they’re friends now.” And the faithful are expected to nod along.

This is the essence of “andhbhakti” — blind devotion. You’re not supposed to think independently. If the government says Taliban bad, echo it. If it says good, pivot. Spread the WhatsApp forwards, defend the Godi media’s mental gymnastics, and shut down dissent. Questioning isn’t critique; it’s betrayal. The real message: Loyalty to the party trumps principles, history, or logic.

In a democracy, diplomacy should be debated, not deified. The Taliban visit might serve India’s interests, but erasing the Bamiyan memory to justify it insults our intelligence. If “geopolitics” excuses everything, what’s left of accountability? Perhaps it’s time to stop being sheep and start asking why the shepherds keep changing direction.