Why is South Asian Racism So Normalized?
By Riya Dasgupta
In recent years, platforms like Instagram and TikTok have become central spaces for self-expression, identity, and culture—especially for younger generations. However, for many South Asians, particularly Indians, these platforms have also become places where racism within and for the community is not only present but often normalized, aestheticized, and even celebrated. South Asian racism is not new. Colorism, casteism, regional discrimination, and Islamophobia have long existed in many South Asian communities. However, now, with the rise of social media, these prejudices are no longer confined to private conversations or local circles—they are being broadcast to millions.
One of the most visible forms of racism online is colorism—the idea that lighter skin is more desirable, attractive, or respectable. On TikTok and Instagram, creators often joke about not wanting to marry someone with dark skin or express a clear preference for light-skinned features. These are not merely personal preferences—they are reflections of deep-rooted colonial beauty standards that continue to harm people within the community. Skin-lightening products are still widely used and advertised, and filters on these platforms often lighten skin by default. When a dark-skinned South Asian appears in a viral post, the comments often reduce them to a “before” picture—something to be fixed.
South Asian racism is frequently mocked as harmless online banter, but it reinforces harmful stereotypes. South Indian languages are made fun of, accents are exaggerated for laughs, and certain regions are dismissed as "less cultured" or “too rural.” Many times, people from states like Bihar or Odisha are portrayed as “less than” in memes and reels, reinforcing class and regional hierarchies. The internal racism goes beyond skin tone—it is also about who is allowed to be seen as “refined,” “trendy,” or “worthy” in the eyes of the algorithm. Aesthetics play a role as well: South Asians who align more closely with Eurocentric beauty standards or Western lifestyles are often praised more than those who embrace traditional dress, accents, or religious practices.
Casteism remains a major issue both in South Asia and the diaspora, but on social media, it often hides behind aesthetics, language, and coded preferences. Memes that mock rural life or glorify “old money Indian families” often come from an upper-caste lens. Rarely is there representation from marginalized castes unless it is in a tokenizing or stereotypical context. What is worse, creators who speak up about caste or colorism often face backlash from their own communities. Many are told to "stop making it about race" or are accused of ruining the "fun."
Internalized racism does not exist in a vacuum. South Asians often replicate Western anti-Blackness, anti-East Asian sentiment, and Islamophobia in their own online behavior. Whether it is mimicking Black slang without context, making jokes about Muslim identity, or trying to distance themselves from other immigrant communities, these actions reveal a desire to assimilate into whiteness by putting others down. Social media encourages a type of performance where people are rewarded for fitting in, even if that means discarding parts of their own culture.
Calling South Asians “chopped” is not just about criticizing individuals—it is about highlighting how communities have been shaped by systems that teach them to see themselves, and each other, through a lens of hierarchy and shame.
However, this mindset can be unlearned. Young South Asians have the power to change the narrative, to challenge colorism, casteism, and regionalism, and to hold each other accountable. Many already are—using these same platforms to celebrate diversity, elevate marginalized voices, and push back against toxic norms. This change will not happen overnight, but it begins with awareness, education, and courage. It starts with calling things what they are—and refusing to laugh along when one’s own community is the punchline.