On September 10, Chandra Mouli “Bob” Nagamallaiah, an Indian-origin motel manager in Dallas, was brutally murdered by an employee in front of his family. The assailant allegedly beheaded him after a dispute, a crime that shocked Indian communities across the world. Yet outside of Indian and immigration outlets, the case received only limited attention in mainstream American media. The killing is not just a tragic incident but also a reminder of how violence against Indians is often overlooked in global news coverage.
When crimes involve victims from the majority, the stories often dominate headlines for weeks, complete with humanizing profiles, interviews with families, and broader conversations about justice. In contrast, tragedies affecting Indians and other South Asians abroad are frequently reduced to a single shocking headline, with little discussion about the victims’ lives, the systemic issues they faced, or the communities they belonged to. In Nagamallaiah’s case, the reporting in many outlets focused on the gruesome details of his death while giving very little attention to who he was as a person and the challenges faced by Indian immigrants running small businesses in America.
The problem extends beyond traditional media. Social media has become a powerful force in amplifying stories of injustice; however, even here, there are stark disparities. The killing of George Floyd in 2020 sparked a global movement, with Black Lives Matter leading to widespread protests and a long-overdue reckoning with systemic racism against Black Americans. That response was necessary and powerful, yet it also highlighted how selective online activism can be. When Indians or other minorities are victims of violence or racism, hashtags trend briefly within diaspora circles but rarely break into the broader conversation. The collective outrage simply does not reach the same scale. This suggests a hierarchy in how racism is recognized, where certain communities receive global solidarity while others remain invisible.
This invisibility carries painful consequences. For the families of victims, there is the trauma of loss combined with the silence of the society around them. For the wider Indian community, the lack of attention reinforces feelings of exclusion and marginalization. When stories like these fade quickly from headlines and timelines, issues such as immigrant safety, labor rights, and xenophobia are left unaddressed. It also signals that their pain is seen as a trivial issue, undermining the idea that justice and empathy should apply to all communities.
The solution requires effort on multiple fronts. Newsrooms need to approach stories involving Indian and South Asian victims with the same depth and persistence given to other communities. Journalists must look beyond the sensational details of violence and tell the stories of who these individuals were, why their experiences matter, and how their deaths reflect broader social issues. On social media, activists and audiences must create their own opportunities instead of waiting for them to expand the scope of their solidarity. Fighting racism should not mean centering only one community at a time but recognizing the interconnected struggles faced by Black, Latino, Asian, and Middle Eastern people alike.
The murder of Chandra Mouli Nagamallaiah is not only a tragedy for his family but a test for society’s conscience. It demands that we ask why some lives spark movements while others are quietly forgotten. To honor his memory and the memory of countless others whose stories have slipped through the cracks, society must overcome social injustices and push for media coverage and social justice that is not selective or conditional but truly universal.
