Humility is a core value in the Northeast. From a young age, children are taught to be humble, respect elders, and practice selflessness. In states like Mizoram, this quality is embodied in the concept of tlawmngaihna, a trait passed down through generations that emphasises putting others before oneself.
This cultural characteristic was a central topic at a panel discussion organised by White Dot Solidarity in Bangalore in January. One panellist observed, “The first thing you are taught in the Northeast is humility; you are taught to keep quiet.” He explained how this can become a disadvantage when facing discriminatory remarks. In racist attacks targeting Northeastern communities across India, the response to such incidents is often muted.
While a few incidents gain public attention, many go unreported. During the COVID-19 pandemic, for example, racism surged across the country, but only a handful of cases reached social media while the majority were endured silently.
The Christian ethos of forgiveness prevalent in states like Nagaland and Mizoram also reinforces restraint. Many Northeasterners recount being advised not to take such remarks to heart. Still, it is when situations escalate to the point of death that the gravity of remaining silent becomes painfully clear.
This raises important questions: How many of us truly understand our rights? How should one respond when derogatory terms like “Chinki” or “Momo” are used? What is our responsibility as active citizens?
According to a Times of India article, active citizens undertake initiatives that strengthen democracy through community development, social service, voicing opinions, participating in local governance, voting, petitioning, campaigning, protesting, and more. These actions are guided by principles such as freedom of choice, equal participation, respect for others, and adherence to the law, values enshrined in India’s Constitution.
For Northeastern communities, being an active citizen includes speaking up against discrimination and ensuring equal respect in democratic processes. The panellist highlighted this by asking the audience at Xavier Hall, St. Joseph’s University, how many would take a stand if they were victims of a racist attack; only one hand went up among over a hundred attendees.
The silence in the room reflected not indifference, but the deep hesitation and fear that still surround conversations on racism.
During the panel discussion, the invisibility of discrimination against Northeastern communities also emerged as a key concern.
A panellist shared that incidents often go unregistered and recounted being asked if he was from Nepal while visiting a hospital in Bangalore, where he has lived for over 18 years. He attributed such discrimination not to individuals but to systemic failures, noting that the education system and policymakers have not provided adequate awareness or policies about the region.
These systemic failures are why, he noted. People in the Northeast are familiar with the rest of India, outside the region, even highly educated individuals often have little understanding of Northeastern communities.
He cited specific cases, such as those of Anjel Chakma and Nido Tania, to illustrate how larger incidents are just the tip of the iceberg, with many other cases going unrecorded due to a lack of proper classification and tracking of racial discrimination. The panellist also highlighted the disconnect between policy and regional realities, pointing out that although the Northeast represents 8% of India’s landmass, national policies rarely reflect its needs.
This gap forces many people from the region to move to cities like Bangalore in search of better opportunities, as there are few centres of excellence or resources locally. He stressed that discrimination is not only social but also institutional and policy-driven, and that addressing these structural issues is crucial to tackling the problem at its root.
I was among lakhs of people from the Northeastern corner who moved to the metropolitan city of Chennai in search of better opportunities. I worked for two years as a content writer at a knowledge process outsourcing company. I was the only person from the Northeast in my building, and while I enjoyed the work and the community, certain experiences stood out painfully.
Questions about what kind of food I ate, where in the world Mizoram was located, stares, and catcalls at local railway stations, especially when I wore a saree, became a frequent reality. A reality that, like many others, I often ignored instead of confronting, failing to act as an active citizen. For many of us, silence becomes a retreat, a yearning for a home where our faces, our food, and our identities are seen as normal. This is precisely why panels like these are essential, again and again, to remind us of the importance of speaking up and fostering inclusion.
The panelists also pointed out the lack of information about the North East in mainstream Indian books and media, and that much of the harassment faced by people from the region stems from ignorance and stereotypes. This vacuum of information can only be addressed through better representation, awareness, and dialogue. Community members need to speak more about their cultures, histories, and lived experiences to foster understanding and challenge misconceptions.
While accessing legal protections and state resources is one way to safeguard oneself, it is not always feasible, especially for those who are new to a city. In such situations, the strongest protection often comes from one’s own community. It is therefore crucial for North-East community groups to remain united, support one another, and collectively advocate for their rights. By coming together, they can demand stronger laws, better implementation of policies, and greater accountability.
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