What Is the Point of Gaining the World If We Lose Our Name?

A Global Legacy—And a Global Blind Spot

From Lilongwe to London, Birmingham to Boston, Durban to Kuala Lumpur—the story of our community is strikingly familiar.

We, the Indian-origin communities spread across Africa, the Caribbean, Southeast Asia, and beyond, have built extraordinary legacies. We've opened trading routes, founded empires, educated our children, and secured futures that would make our ancestors proud.

Very proud.

And yet, despite all we’ve achieved, the shadow grows longer. The suspicion sharper. The silence louder.

Still, many of us sit blissfully unaware, entangled in petty feuds, unable to see that the world is changing fast. Those who march on our doors do not care whether you are Lohana or Patel, Ismaili or Memon, or which pind in Punjab you came from. Or whether you support the Knight Riders or the St. Lucia Kings.

The rise of identity politics is upon us, and we must find the courage to point fingers inward.

The Burden of Prosperity in an Age of Nationalism

I’ve travelled far—so far that borders have blurred—and I’ve sat face-to-face with community members in their homes, offices, and places of worship. I’ve listened. Not as an outsider, but as one of them.

In Malawi, Malaysia, Guyana, Spain, Pennsylvania, Uganda and more, I’ve heard the same quiet fear—sometimes spoken in confidence, sometimes only implied between pauses.

We’ve done well.

But we don’t feel safe.

We don’t truly belong.

It’s a difficult thing to admit—out loud, at least—but it shadows us all.

Because we were taught that if we worked hard, stayed quiet, and built with integrity—things would be fine.

“It’s Rab’s plan. Jo hona, hona.”

But that was a lesson from a different time, when we lived in joint families and built deeper bridges than divides.

That time is gone.

The Pattern That Repeats

I remember being in Malawi over 15 years ago, reading a local newspaper accusing the Indian community of causing the country’s foreign exchange crisis. Not the government. Not mismanagement.

Indians—accused of hoarding cash under mattresses.

Blatant racism, printed in black and white.

And no one blinked. It was laughed off—testimony, perhaps, to how absurd it all was.

But we all knew the families—Malawians of Indian descent—who kept pressing on.

Then came the Indigenous Bill. A few years later. And still, many said nothing.

In South Africa, only a few years ago, protests rang out with the chilling chant:

“One Indian, one bullet.”

My phone rang with urgency. Calls. Videos. Messages from correspondents. Our ambassador and dear friend, Rajesh Gopie, showed me the horror as it unfolded.

From radio hosts to the leaders of the San community, we recorded podcasts—documenting the raw, painful truth.

The irony? Just before the riots, we’d hosted a podcast with a respected business leader who had recently fled the country out of fear. He had hoped those fears would never come to light.

These aren’t isolated incidents. They are warnings.

They show how quickly narratives can turn—and how vulnerable we are when we do not control our own story.

And it’s not just South Africa or Malawi. It’s Fiji. It’s East and West Africa. It’s upcoming elections in the Caribbean that stir deep concern.

The Phone Calls No One Hears

Almost weekly, I receive calls from members of our community around the world.

They speak of unrest. Of riots. Of a shadow that is dimming the very futures they built with sacrifice and hope.

They talk of whispered fears at dinner tables. Of uncertainty in their children’s eyes.

“Are we safe?”

“Why don’t they see us as one of them?”

“What happens if it all turns?”

These are not questions of the weak.

These are the questions of the wise—of people who know history.

Who know that when prosperity becomes the target, it’s not just neighbors who turn… but governments too.

And the truth?

We know what’s lurking.

It no longer dances in shadow.

It stands before us.

It’s Not Just Business. It’s Identity.

This is no longer about protecting wealth.

It’s about protecting presence.

About reclaiming narrative.

About restoring dignity.

We need to raise our voices—not to shout, but to be heard.

To remind the world: We are not just successful. We belong.

We’ve contributed more than balance sheets. We’ve contributed belief, culture, stability, and humanity.

We must teach our children not just how to run a business, but how to carry a story.

Because what good is a surname if the world no longer understands what it stands for?

“Jo hona, hona” can no longer be a passive phrase.

We must become a global collective—living our values and reaffirming our place in the nations we now call home.

The Role of Institutions

We need partners who stand with us, not just work for us.

Banks. Law firms. Trust companies. Media platforms.

We need institutions that don’t just manage wealth, but honor heritage.

That understand legacy is not just in assets, but in identity.

As our children enter corporate spaces, remind them: Do not lose touch with who you are.

We are a community of entrepreneurs who have shaped civilizations—not by accident, but by vision.

Whether through the British, Dutch, or French colonial legacy, we remain deeply connected.

Not just by religion or ethnicity, but by the values of Global Indianness.

We should not shrink ourselves to fit into a world that believes business isn’t personal.

To us, our word is our bond. Let us not forget that.

A Letter to Families Everywhere

To every mother who told her child to keep their head down.

To every father who built quietly so the next generation could stand tall.

To every family that rose in the shadows of society—

This is your moment of truth.

You did nothing wrong.

You survived. You built. You endured.