Opinion Shashi Tharoor writes: Why Indian-Americans are silent — and its costs

This anxiety is not unfounded. The rise of anti-immigrant sentiment in the United States has cast a long shadow over minority communities. From the “Muslim ban” in the first Trump administration to the rhetoric of “invasion” at the southern border, the political climate has grown increasingly hostile to those perceived as foreign. Indian-Americans, despite their economic success, are not immune, especially since they constitute a visible minority. Hate crimes against South Asians have risen, and the conflation of brown skin with foreignness persists. In such a climate, silence may feel like self-preservation.

There’s also a more practical consideration. Indian-American friends tell me that many Indians who settled down in the US a generation ago feel that H-1B visas are now hurting their own children’s opportunities. There is unemployment among recent STEM graduates, even those with a computer science degree, and many of these are Indian-Americans. Tech companies prefer to replace more expensive American employees with cheaper H-1B visa holders. So, for such families, silence is tacit support for Trump’s policy.

There is also a generational dimension to this silence. Many second-generation Indian-Americans, born and raised in the US, feel a looser connection to India. Their identity is hyphenated, their loyalties plural. For them, India is often a place of ancestral memory rather than lived reality. While they may celebrate Holi and follow cricket scores, their political engagement tends to be domestic. The injustices they rally against are those within America — police brutality, gun violence, climate change — not the geopolitics of South Asia.

This is not a failing, but a shift. Diasporic identity is not static; it evolves. But it does mean that when India is targeted, the instinct to respond may be weaker. The emotional tether is thinner, the sense of obligation diluted. While Elon Musk declared he would “go to war” to defend the H-1B system, Indian-American CEOs shied away from confrontation.

But silence has costs. When the diaspora fails to defend India against negative policy assaults, it forfeits its moral voice. It allows caricatures to flourish — of India as a trade cheat, a strategic irritant, a country undeserving of partnership. It also undermines the very narrative of diasporic pride that has been so carefully cultivated, with PM Narendra Modi hailing them as rashtradoots (ambassadors of our nation). What is the value of representation if it does not translate into advocacy?

And yet, the silence is not universal. There are voices — activists, academics, community leaders and some politicians, like Nikki Haley and Ro Khanna — who have spoken out. Some have challenged the visa restrictions, and others have criticised the tariffs. But these interventions are often isolated, lacking the coordinated force that other diasporas have marshalled. The Jewish-American community, for instance, routinely mobilises effectively in defence of Israel. The Cuban-American lobby has shaped US policy toward Havana for decades. The Indian-American community, by contrast, remains fragmented — divided by region, religion, and political orientation.

There is also a reluctance to confront the Trump administration directly. Many Indian-Americans supported Trump, drawn by his pro-business stance, his tough posture on China, and his courtship of Hindu nationalist sentiment. The “Howdy Modi” rally in Houston, where Trump and Modi shared a stage, was emblematic of this alignment. A large segment of the diaspora sees Trump as a friend. But friendship must be tested. If tariffs hurt Indian exporters, if visa fees punish Indian professionals, if sanctions impede India’s strategic autonomy, then silence is complicity. The diaspora must learn to distinguish between symbolic gestures and substantive policy. A handshake in Houston does not erase a sanction on New Delhi.

There is also a deeper question at play: What does it mean to be diasporic? Is it merely a matter of cultural nostalgia — Bollywood films, biryani, and Bharatanatyam? Or does it entail a political responsibility — to defend the homeland when it is wronged, to speak truth to power, to act as a bridge rather than a bystander?

The Indian-American community has the resources, the reach, and the respect to shape narratives. It can lobby Congress, influence the media, and mobilise public opinion. But it must first find its voice. Not a voice of blind nationalism, but of principled solidarity. Not a voice that echoes Delhi, but one that resonates in Washington.

India, for its part, must also engage more deeply with its diaspora — not merely as a source of remittances or “soft power”, but as a strategic constituency. It must listen to their concerns, understand their constraints, and empower their advocacy. The relationship must be reciprocal, not rhetorical. We spend millions on Washington lobbyists who have failed to impact Trump, but have done too little to galvanise our Indian-origin constituency to support our interests.

The silence of the diaspora is about the tension between success and solidarity, between assimilation and allegiance. For us in India, it is also about remembering that the voice of a community is not measured by its wealth or its titles, but by its willingness to stand up for the motherland when it matters most.

The writer chairs the Parliamentary Standing Committee on External Affairs