Anjel Chakma was twenty-four years old, an MBA student, a son, a brother, and a young man who believed that education could open doors and cities could become homes. His story forces us to confront an uncomfortable truth about the society we proudly call educated.
Before we talk about laws, protests, and outrage, it is important to understand what this topic is really about. This is not only about a crime. This is about how our education system and our social conditioning teach us numbers, formulas, and career skills, but fail to teach empathy, dignity, and respect for human difference. In professional terms, this topic sits at the intersection of social justice, education ethics, and human rights. It questions whether academic success alone can build a humane society.
In simpler words, it asks why people who have studied in schools and colleges still grow up unable to see another human being as an equal. It asks why someone’s face, accent, or region can become a reason for violence. It asks why education has become a certificate to earn money rather than a process to build character.
To understand this better, imagine education as a thick textbook filled with equations, theories, and rules. Now imagine what is missing from its pages. There are no chapters on kindness. There are no lessons on how words can wound. There is no exam on compassion. This absence becomes painfully visible in moments like the one Anjel faced.
On a December evening in Dehradun, an ordinary moment turned into a life-altering one. Anjel and his younger brother were shopping, doing what students away from home often do to feel a little normal in a new city. That moment should have ended with laughter or tired feet, not with blood and fear. Instead, racial slurs entered the space before fists and weapons did. Words were thrown casually, as if they carried no weight, as if they were jokes.
When Anjel asserted his identity and reminded those men that he was Indian, not a stereotype created in their minds, the situation escalated into brutal violence. The rods and knife that followed were not just tools of physical harm; they were symbols of how deeply prejudice can rot human judgment. Anjel fought for his life for seventeen days, suspended between hope and despair, while his family waited and the nation remained largely silent.
When he died on December twenty six, something else died with him. The illusion that education automatically makes people humane began to crack.
What happened after his death revealed how many layers this problem has. Arrests were made, investigations were announced, committees were formed, and legal words filled news reports. These steps matter, but they do not erase the deeper wound. Protests erupted across the Northeast because people recognized a familiar pain.
For many students from these regions, discrimination is not an exception; it is a pattern. Stares that linger too long, jokes that disguise cruelty, questions that suggest foreignness, and slurs that reduce identity to appearance. These experiences rarely make headlines, but they accumulate quietly inside people. Anjel’s case became a breaking point because it reflected what many had endured silently.
This is where the education system comes under scrutiny. From classrooms to campuses, we are taught competition, ranking, and achievement. We are trained to solve problems on paper but not to confront prejudice in real life. We memorize national values but struggle to practice them. Diversity is celebrated in speeches but misunderstood in daily interactions.
Students learn how to manage businesses but not how to manage their biases. This gap between knowledge and humanity is dangerous. It creates individuals who are technically skilled but emotionally unaware. It allows racism to survive under the disguise of ignorance.
The absence of structured conversations around race, region, and identity in education leaves young minds unprepared for a diverse society. Many grow up believing stereotypes because no one taught them to question those beliefs. In this sense, the system does not directly create violence, but it fails to prevent it. Anjel’s death forces us to reflect on what kind of citizens our education is producing.
The challenge is not only legal but cultural. Racism in India often hides behind denial. People say it does not exist, or that it is exaggerated, or that it was just a misunderstanding. But repeated cases, from earlier tragedies to the present, tell a different story. They show that when prejudice is normalized, it can escalate quickly.
Words become actions. Jokes become threats. Threats become violence. This progression is not accidental. It thrives in an environment where empathy is optional.
Yet, even in this darkness, there are strengths and lessons that emerge. The collective response from students, activists, and ordinary citizens shows that society is capable of reflection and change. The demand to recognize racial slurs as a form of hate crime is not just a legal demand; it is a moral one. It acknowledges that harm does not begin with weapons; it begins with language and perception.
Recognizing this can prevent future tragedies. Looking at similar cases from the past reminds us that ignoring these lessons only repeats history. Each time, we express shock, promise reform, and then move on. This cycle must break.
Education can play a transformative role if it chooses to. Imagine classrooms where discussions about identity are as important as exams. Imagine campuses where cultural sensitivity is not an orientation formality but a lived practice. Imagine teachers who are trained not only to instruct but to guide ethical thinking. These are not unrealistic ideals; they are necessary foundations for a plural society.
Anjel Chakma should have been remembered for his ambitions, his studies, and his future contributions, not for the manner of his death. When we say burn the textbook, we do not mean abandon learning. We mean discard the idea that marks and degrees alone define education. True education should make it impossible for someone to see another human being as less deserving of safety and respect.
The perspective we must adopt now is one of responsibility. Laws can punish after harm is done, but education can prevent harm before it begins. As long as humanity remains an optional chapter, such stories will continue to surface.
Anjel’s life and death ask us a simple but uncomfortable question. What is the value of an education that teaches everything except how to be human?
References:
- The Hindu: Tripura student Anjel Chakma's death a horrific hate crime
- LawBeat: PIL in Supreme Court Seeks Hate Crime Guidelines After Anjel Chakma Murder
- The Hindu (Updates): North East students' body demands death penalty for accused in Dehradun