Skip to content
Search

Latest Stories

Barnie Choudhury: 'Time to end racism of caste system in Britain'

by BARNIE CHOUDHURY

Former BBC journalist


WHEN my father died 19 years ago, I was in a shop buying a traditional white Punjabi kurta. My face and name were known at the time because, as a BBC correspondent, I was on TV most evenings reporting on issues affecting our communities.

On this occasion, I wished I was not so prominent because when I asked for help from a shop assistant, I could see her confusion.

“But you’re a Muslim,” she stammered. With a surname like Choudhury it is easy to make this mistake, and usually I do not pay any attention. But this time, and perhaps it was be-

cause of my sadness, I reacted. “No, I’ve been a Brahmin all my life, and you’ll know that as a son I have certain rituals I need to perform.”

The moment the words left my mouth I regretted them because I saw the assistant visibly shrink, and she excused herself. The next moment the owner arrived and was profusely

apologetic. It was now my turn to be confused. Why was he apologising? Then it struck me – they assumed that they had insulted me by thinking I was a Muslim, and as the ‘business caste’ they felt they had offended my ‘priestly sensitivities’ It was then that I realised the pernicious Hindu caste system was alive and well in Britain.

I left the store and went elsewhere. The insult for me was that because of my birth I was

being treated differently, albeit more respectfully, when my core belief is that everyone is equal regardless of their race, colour or creed.

I did not realise how much this episode had affected me until I watched a fascinating

BBC programme Hindus: Do we have a caste problem? last week. The reporter, YouTuber Parle Patel, explored whether the caste system existed here and, if so, the impact it was having on the 817,000-plus followers of the religion.

Anyone watching would have discovered that a surname can identify a person’s status in Hindu society. My antecedents, for example, would let you know that not only am I a Brahmin, but I am descended from a sub-caste from the highest echelon. In his case, Patel explained that his surname lets us know he is from the farmer or merchant class.

But it was his visit to Leicester which confirmed my worst fears. Patel met some Hindus

from a low caste and heard about their experiences of negative discrimination. What

made this programme disturbing is the smugness of the National Council of Hindu Temples, which rejected the notion of a problem with the caste system in the UK. Its spokesman

quite rightly asked if there was a problem, why have they never come to the council?

Let me explain why. Like most religious organisations, the council does not represent every Hindu in the UK, no matter how much it wants to pretend otherwise to politicians who

fawn to get its support. Second, why should low-caste Hindus have faith in the council

when it was instrumental in stopping plans to outlaw the caste system in the UK? According to academic Prakash Shah, in 2013, parliament inserted a clause against caste discrimination into the Equality Act 2010. But after a two-year consultation, the plans were shelved in 2018. The council was among the opponents who accused campaigners of having a ‘Hinduphobic’ agenda.

No. No. No. The caste system thrives sub-rosa. Ask those who live in fear of being shunned, refused work or treated with contempt every day of their lives. And for those who want proof, think back to the case of Permila Tirkey, from Bihar in India. She was paid as little as 11p an hour, forced to work 18-hour days and prevented from bringing her Bible into the UK by her employers. In 2015, the courts awarded her £184,000 compensation

in what was considered to be the UK’s first caste discrimination case.

Hindus need to acknowledge that this form of racism is happening under their noses.

If we continue to deny its existence, we actively promote injustice. We remain a society where the conspiracy of silence suits those who benefit from the virtue of their birth to the detriment of the majority. In doing this, it shames us.

More For You

Does likeability count more than brilliance?

Higher education participation is 50 per cent for British south Asian students

Does likeability count more than brilliance?

THE headline in the Daily Telegraph read: An 18-year-old with a higher IQ than Stephen Hawking has passed 23 A-levels.

The gushing piece went on to report that Mahnoor Cheema, whose family originate from Pakistan, had also received an unconditional offer from Oxford University to read medicine.

Keep ReadingShow less
Comment: Why it’s vital to tell stories
of Asian troops’ war effort

Jay Singh Sohal on Mandalay Hill in Burma at the position once held by Sikh machine gunners who fought to liberate the area

Comment: Why it’s vital to tell stories of Asian troops’ war effort

Jay Singh Sohal OBE VR

ACROSS the Asian subcontinent 80 years ago, the guns finally fell silent on August 15, the Second World War had truly ended.

Yet, in Britain, what became known as VJ Day often remains a distant afterthought, overshadowed by Victory in Europe against the Nazis, which is marked three months earlier.

Keep ReadingShow less
Judicial well-being: From taboo to recognition by the UN

The causes of judicial stress are multifaceted, and their effects go far beyond individual well-being

iStock

Judicial well-being: From taboo to recognition by the UN

Justice Rangajeeva Wimalasena

Judicial well-being has long been a taboo subject, despite the untold toll it has taken on judges who must grapple daily with the problems and traumas of others. Research shows that judicial stress is more pronounced among magistrates and trial judges, who routinely face intense caseloads and are exposed to distressing material. The causes of judicial stress are multifaceted, and their effects go far beyond individual well-being. They ultimately affect the integrity of the institution and the quality of justice delivered. This is why judicial well-being requires serious recognition and priority.

As early as 1981, American clinical psychologist Isaiah M. Zimmerman presented one of the first and most comprehensive analyses of the impact of stress on judges. He identified a collection of stressors, including overwhelming caseloads, isolation, the pressure to maintain a strong public image, and the loneliness of the judicial role. He also highlighted deeply personal challenges such as midlife transitions, marital strain, and diminishing career satisfaction, all of which quietly but persistently erode judicial well-being.

Keep ReadingShow less
Fauja Singh

Fauja Singh

Getty Images

What Fauja Singh taught me

I met Fauja Singh twice, once when we hiked Snowdon and I was in awe he was wearing shoes, not trainers and walking like a pro, no fear, just smiling away. I was struggling to do the hike with trainers. I remember my mum saying “what an inspiration”. He was a very humble and kind human being. The second time I met him was when I was at an event, and again, he just had such a radiant energy about him. He’s one of a kind and I’m blessed to have met him.

He wasn’t just a runner. He was a symbol. A living contradiction to everything we’re taught about age, limits, and when to stop dreaming. And now that he’s gone, it feels like a light has gone out—not just in Punjab or east London, but in the hearts of everyone who saw a bit of themselves in his journey.

Keep ReadingShow less
“Why can’t I just run?”: A south Asian woman’s harrowing harassment story

Minreet with her mother

“Why can’t I just run?”: A south Asian woman’s harrowing harassment story

I was five years old when my parents first signed me up for a mini marathon. They were both keen runners and wanted me to follow in their footsteps. At the time, I hated it. Running felt like punishment — exhausting, uncomfortable, and something I never imagined I’d do by choice.

But one moment changed everything. I was 12, attending a gymnastics competition, and had gone to the car alone to grab my hula hoop. As I walked back, a group of men started shouting at me. They moved closer. I didn’t wait to hear what they had to say — I ran. Fast. My heart was pounding. It was the first time I felt afraid simply for existing in public as a young girl. I never told anyone. But I remember feeling thankful, strangely, that my parents had taught me how to run.

Keep ReadingShow less