FOR CONTEXT and in the Interests of Transparency, Please Note: This is not an objective report. I am a young biracial woman of European (Greek) and South Asian (Indian) descent. I have a foot in two worlds and two cultures. So, I express unequivocally that I can’t capture or speak on behalf of every South Asian person’s experience, but I wanted to capture patterns I am bearing witness to again and again. This is an exploration and a critique based on my lived experience, a reaction to something that’s only getting worse.
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There’s a simple, ugly pattern: when politics turns fearful, it finds a target. Over the last few years immigration and population policy have become a louder national argument. Rhetoric framing South Asian immigrants as “taking jobs” or “pressuring housing” has grown more mainstream, not just in the comment sections but in political debates and rallies. That rhetoric doesn’t exist in a vacuum; it primes people to look for “others” to blame and to believe simplistic stories about who deserves space in this country. Recent coverage shows immigration has become a more contested political issue, with anti-immigration rallies and stunts receiving increasing public attention.
That increase filters down to everyday life. Young people pick up the language they hear at home and on social media and they translate that into their own lives through the jokes and taunts that “aren’t actually racist” and “aren’t that deep”. Racism is rampant in youth spaces; it’s structural, repeated and often unaddressed and it shows up online, in social media. Research done by Stop AAPI Hate found South Asians were a primary target for growing volumes of hostility and violent rhetoric in online spaces. I’ve seen so many reels and other posts centred around harmful stereotypes that perpetuate racism towards Indian people. The vast number of these posts with significant engagement only confirm my belief that social media normalises anti-Indian sentiment and has desensitised people to it, which makes it seem okay. It’s not.
One of the difficult things I’ve noticed is how often South Asian people pre-empt racism by laughing with it. It’s an old protective trick, if you make the joke first, you seem like you belong in the room. If you mock your own accent, your skin, your name, you get airtime and avoid being the awkward target. But that survival strategy comes at the cost of normalising the insult. Many non-brown people then use that self-mockery as proof the joke is harmless; “see? they laughed too.” That’s a dangerous logical loop. Laughter can be a shield, but it’s not consent. Self-deprecating humour doesn’t erase the structural message behind the joke, it hides it. Overcompensating is often survival and strategy, not shame. It’s how children learn to navigate adults who reward assimilation and penalise difference.
There’s also a historical layer: Australia’s settler-colonial past and immigration policies have created hierarchies of belonging. When belonging is conditional, people from marginalised groups invest in signals that make them seem less threatening: better English, fewer cultural markers, humour that neutralises. That doesn’t make the problem individual. It’s a reaction to systems that reward conformity and punish cultural expression.
Here’s the bottom line: Australia can’t keep pretending this is harmless banter or something people just grow out of. South Asian hate is now part of the landscape, woven into politics, education, social media and workplace culture. If you’re reading this and thinking, “This is making me feel uncomfortable”, that’s good. That discomfort matters. If this article hits a little too close, maybe it’s time to check how those “jokes” actually land. For us, hope isn’t just a feel-
good slogan. It sits in everyday decisions, calling out casual racism, showing up for friends, refusing the urge to join in and valuing real diversity over forced harmony.
Australia needs more voices that mess with the status quo, not fewer. Being thoughtful isn’t
