It begins with a slur muttered under breath. It escalates to a hateful post online. And then, it spills into real-world violence, leaving families shattered and communities reeling. For Indian-Americans, the surge in racism across the United States is not just a headline—it’s a nightmare lived daily.
This troubling tide has swept in with alarming force, echoing dark moments from history. The final days of 2024 brought back memories of the post-9/11 era, when South Asians were vilified, scapegoated, and feared. Today, the community is once again targeted, this time following the appointment of Sriram Krishnan, a Chennai-born technologist, as an AI policy advisor under Donald Trump. What should have been a moment of pride for Indian-Americans instead became a lightning rod for hatred.
Prominent voices like Laura Loomer decried Krishnan’s appointment, calling Indian immigrants “third-world invaders.” Such words were not mere rhetoric—they were a match struck near an already volatile fire. Online hate spiraled into a campaign of hostility, leaving Indian-Americans to wonder: How much longer before the words become bullets?
That fear became reality when K Ravi Teja, an Indian man living in Washington, D.C., fell victim to a brutal assault. The attack claimed his life, leaving a void in his family that no justice or apology can ever fill. Elsewhere, Indian students pursuing dreams in America have faced beatings, harassment, and threats. What was once seen as the land of opportunity has, for many, turned into a land of danger.
These incidents are not isolated. They are part of a rising wave of violence that exposes the festering wounds of racism in America. And while the U.S. government has acknowledged the issue, for grieving families and terrified communities, acknowledgments feel like cold comfort.
The fear is palpable in Indian-American homes across the country. Parents text their children to make sure they’ve reached home safely. Students walk in groups, clutching pepper spray and glancing over their shoulders. Communities gather to grieve and to strategize, asking the same haunting question: Why us?
Adding to the anguish is the controversy surrounding Vivek Ramaswamy, a prominent Indian-American who was recently ousted from the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE). His removal followed a controversial tweet criticizing American cultural norms and advocating for H-1B visa holders. Instead of sparking constructive dialogue, his comments fueled debates that further alienated the very community he sought to defend.
Even for those at the highest levels of influence, the message is clear: Indian-Americans are walking a tightrope in a country that still struggles to accept them fully.
The violence has crossed heartbreaking thresholds. The recent shooting of a Hyderabad student in Washington has led to calls from the Indian government concerning safety of its citizens in the U.S. Imagine being told to leave behind your dreams, your hard work, your future—not because you failed, but because someone else’s hatred burned brighter than the promises of the American Dream.
Meanwhile, political and economic developments loom, further threatening the community. An impending “exit tax” on remittances could strain families who rely on financial support. Proposed taxes on companies outsourcing jobs to India might stoke more anti-immigrant sentiment. For many Indian-Americans, it feels like the walls are closing in.
Indian-Americans have built their lives here with grit and grace. They are doctors saving lives, engineers building the future, teachers shaping young minds. Yet today, they are forced to defend their right to exist without fear.
This is not just an Indian-American issue—it’s an American issue. Racism erodes the foundation of the nation’s values. It robs families of loved ones, communities of trust, and a country of its humanity.
Policymakers must act decisively, not with empty platitudes but with laws that protect marginalized communities and hold perpetrators accountable. Social media platforms must do more to curb hate speech before it metastasizes into violence. And Americans must reckon with the prejudice in their midst, confronting it not with silence but with solidarity.
Despite the pain, Indian-Americans continue to rise. They gather in community halls to mourn and to heal. They fight for justice, not just for themselves but for every group that has ever been made to feel like an outsider. Their resilience is a testament to the enduring belief that America can still be a place of hope and opportunity.
The stakes are too high to ignore. For every Ravi Teja, for every student who dreams of a better life, for every parent who prays their child comes home safe—we must act. Racism against Indian-Americans is a stain on the nation’s conscience. But together, with courage and compassion, we can begin to write a new chapter—one where hate is met not with apathy but with action.