India’s racial syndrome

Even after years of sensitization and stern warning of heavy punishment against racial slurs and assaults on people of north east; recent incidents at Malviya Nagar in Delhi and to the gates of AIIMS Gorakhpur, prove that north Indians still harbor racial slurs against people from the north east. Racial slurs have been deployed as weapons of dehumanization, physical intimidation and used to instill fear, and a pervasive sense of “othering” that reduces Indian citizens to foreigners in their own capital. What should be isolated incidents instead reveal a systemic prejudice that festers in public spaces, unchecked until it erupts into violence. In Delhi, women from the Northeast continue to endure degrading labels-“momo,” “prostitute,” and other baseless accusations designed to strip them of dignity. A recent case in Malviya Nagar, where a woman was arrested for abusing three girls from Arunachal Pradesh, underscores that this is not a gendered problem but a cultural contagion. These slurs are not harmless words; they are precursors to physical aggression, signaling that certain communities are fair game for harassment. The crisis reached a terrifying crescendo on February 22, 2026, in Gorakhpur. A third-year resident doctor from Nagaland, serving in Obstetrics and Gynaecology at AIIMS, was stalked for over a kilometer by three men on a motorcycle. What began as verbal abuse escalated into physical intimidation near the hospital gates. One assailant stripped off his shirt to cow her into silence before committing an act of harassment. Her screams alone forced the attackers to flee. The subsequent FIR under the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita(BNS) and arrests of Suraj Gupta and Amrit Vishwakarma represent necessary legal steps. Yet, they do little to address the deeper malaise. The Naga Students’ Federation(NSF) and the North East Federation of All India Resident Doctors(NEFAIRD) have voiced exhaustion at the cycle of outrage and apathy: each incident sparks condemnation, only for xenophobia to reassert itself once headlines fade. Arrests and the application of BNS sections create a documented history of consequences for racial harassment, but they remain reactive rather than preventative. High-level condemnation from leaders such as Meghalaya Chief Minister Conrad Sangma forces the issue into national discourse, preventing local authorities from burying “shameful” incidents, yet political visibility alone cannot dismantle entrenched prejudice. Organizations like NAFORD provide solidarity, ensuring victims are not silenced, but institutional support cannot substitute for societal change. The broader public remains passive, watching verbal abuse unfold in public spaces without intervention, and this indifference emboldens perpetrators. The persistence of racial epithets reveals that educational and sensitivity programs have failed to penetrate grassroots culture, leaving slurs normalized in everyday discourse. The assault on a frontline healthcare worker based on ethnicity is not just an attack on an individual—it is a collapse of civil safety. It exposes how fragile protections are when society tolerates casual xenophobia. Arrests and FIRs, while necessary, are insufficient. Justice must extend beyond punitive measures to dismantle the environment that enables entitlement and prejudice. India cannot afford to treat its Northeast citizens as perpetual outsiders. The Gorakhpur incident is not merely another entry in the ledger of hate crimes; it is a mandate for change. Legal deterrents must be paired with radical public awareness campaigns, cultural education, and grassroots sensitivity initiatives. Only then can the shadow of vulnerability be lifted, ensuring that every Indian-regardless of ethnicity-walks the streets with dignity and safety.