When Anjel Chakma died in December 2025, something cracked open. A young woman - just twenty-four, studying business in Tripura - became a name shouted into silence. India likes to say it thrives on many cultures living together, yet her killing shows how fragile that idea really is. Her blood stains more than streets; it marks the comfort some feel toward prejudice. Not every crime speaks so loudly about where hate lives. Law enforcement looked away, yes - but so did neighbors, strangers, entire communities. What happened was not random violence. It grew from long-standing bias buried beneath everyday interactions. Society nods at unity while tolerating cruelty behind smiles. Failure runs deeper than broken rules; it seeps through shared indifference. This moment does not ask for outrage alone. It reveals what pretending to accept difference actually costs.
One moment, he was just walking, thinking about school like anyone else. A face, eyes, the shade of skin - these become reasons to doubt someone’s place in India. Young folks from the northeast move far, chasing degrees or jobs, and they deserve respect as citizens. But a simple-sounding phrase - "Where do you come from?" - can slice deep, hinting you’re never really allowed. For Anjel Chakma, each insult piled higher until it turned into fists, then silence. Belonging wasn’t granted. It was taken apart, piece by piece, till nothing remained.
It was December 9, 2025, in Selaqui, Dehradun - Anjel walked with his younger brother Michael through the market that afternoon. A group of strangers hurled words at them, tossing insults like stones. "Chinese," they jeered, ignoring who these boys actually were. Their laughter carried a narrow view of what it means to belong. Anjel lifted his voice above the noise: “I am not Chinese, I am an Indian.” That line echoes now, long after the moment passed. When someone born in India has to shout his citizenship into the air, something fundamental is broken. The ground beneath shared trust seems thinner than before.
What should have calmed things only made them worse when Anjel stood firm in who he was. Iron rods, then a blade - his skull and back shattered under the blows. Seventeen days passed with him clinging to breath. Death took hold on December 26, 2025. Not chance, not some sudden clash - this came after long years of hate allowed to grow unchecked.
After people protested, officers in Uttarakhand took five into custody - two were underage. Fugitive Yagya Awasthi may have crossed into Nepal; because of that, a hundred-thousand-rupee prize awaits anyone sharing useful leads. Officials formed a special group to probe deeper. Meanwhile, the national rights body sent warnings to local leaders, demanding details about protection for students from northeastern states. On the surface, actions seem complete. Yet one uneasy thought lingers behind them: when systems are already in place, how come violence still slips through?
Back in 2014, Nido Tania was killed in an incident echoing today's pain. Over ten years passed, but India still does not have strong laws against racism. Because of this gap, a case has now reached the Supreme Court after Anjel Chakma died. The court filing pushes for racial abuse and attacks driven by race to be seen as specific types of hate offenses. Murder and physical harm are punished under current statutes. What they do not touch is the deeper belief system rooted in racial hostility - so the core issue lives on untouched.
Outrage spread fast when Anjel died, lighting up streets in Tripura, Assam, and beyond. Voices rose through groups like the North East Students’ Organisation, asking for real legal protection against hate. Though some want harsh punishment for those charged, what runs deeper is a need - safe spaces, respect. Young people from these regions live scattered across India, minds heavy with worry every day. What began far from Delhi now grips the whole country, shaking how we see belonging.
What people ignore can be just as damaging as what they see. Jokes often come first, then names, then assumptions dressed up as humor. These moments get brushed aside like crumbs from a table. Quiet acceptance lets those habits grow stronger over time. Harm hides in plain sight when nobody speaks up. When someone asks, "Why not just say it?", they might be opening a door to something worse. The loss of Anjel Chakma shows clearly: staying quiet doesn’t keep you out of it - you’re already part of what happens next.
A shift waits just ahead. This moment might slip away like so many before, forgotten by next season. Or it could mark where things truly changed. Real shifts come from steady policy, not speeches after protests fade. Laws must name racism clearly, schools should teach awareness by design, police need oversight that bites, and stories in news reports ought to reflect care and truth. The ground feels different now. Failing one person quietly sets a pattern - the kind that grows until the nation barely recognizes its own reflection.
Reference:
- The Hindu — Tripura student Anjel Chakma’s death a horrific hate crime (Dec 2025)
- The Economic Times — Racial slurs led to fatal assault on Tripura student in Dehradun (Dec 2025)
- LawBeat — PIL in Supreme Court seeks hate-crime guidelines after Anjel Chakma murder (Dec 2025)
- Outlook India — Anjel Chakma’s murder sparks national outrage over racial violence (Dec 2025)