[ Tana Pumin ]
The debate over who Arunachalees are is not new. It is not that we do not know who we are. We are not foreigners in our own land. I am an Indian. I am a daughter of this great nation.
But what has this great nation given me in return when my identity is questioned by my very own fellow Indians?
On one hand, China repeatedly claims Arunachal Pradesh as its own, even calling us their descendants and renaming our land ‘Zangnan’ as part of ‘southern Tibet’. On the other hand, within our own country, we are still asked, “Where are you really from? You don’t look Indian.”
On 22 September, 2023, the insult came when three Indian wushu players from Arunachal were denied entry into China to participate in the 19th Asian Games in Hangzhou. The athletes were Nyeman Wangsu, Onilu Tegam, and Mepung Lamgu. They had trained relentlessly to represent India on an international stage. Yet, they were stopped because they were from Arunachal and held ‘stapled visas’. Their dreams were held back at the border.
On 21 November, 2025, in a disturbing incident at the Shanghai Pudong International Airport, an Arunachalee woman, Prema Wangjom Thongdok, was held for more than 18 hours by Chinese authorities. She was questioned about her identity and told that her Indian passport was invalid because her birthplace, Arunachal, was considered ‘part of China’. Imagine carrying your nation’s passport and still being told you do not belong to it.
On 20 February, 2026, at Malviya Nagar, New Delhi, three young women from Arunachal were subjected to racial slurs and intimidation during what should have been an ordinary residential dispute. What began as a minor disagreement quickly spiralled into abuse targeting their Northeastern identity. They were targeted for how they looked, where they came from, and who they are.
This is racism. And it happened in the capital of our own country.
On 29 January, 2014, we all remember, Nido Tania, a 20-year-old student, was brutally attacked in New Delhi after being assaulted following racial slurs and harassment. His death shook the nation, but did it change anything fundamentally?
Racism peaked when Nido Tania was murdered. Racism peaked when Northeastern states were not even known or correctly identified by the rest of the country.
Racism peaked when we were called ‘Chinki’, ‘Momo’, ‘Janwar’. Racism is still here when three Arunachalee young girls are called ‘Dhande vali’.
And yet, why are we still not angry enough to uproot this?
On 22 February, the first political response to the recent incident came from Conrad Sangma, chief minister of Meghalaya. The matter was also raised by Prem Singh Tamang, the chief minister of Sikkim, on 23 February.
Our own Chief Minister, Pema Khandu, responded publicly on 24 February – four days after the incident took place.
Union minister Kiren Rijiju made an official statement on 25 February.
Why must our own leaders react so late to an issue that threatens the identity and dignity of every Arunachalee?
A decade has passed since Nido Tania’s death in 2014 to the Asian Games visa denial in 2023, and till date the pattern is painfully visible. Whether it is racial violence in metropolitan cities, discrimination in educational institutions, verbal abuse in public spaces, or international humiliation at sporting events, the question remains the same: Are we seen and respected as equal Indians?
Making a few phone calls, ordering an investigation, announcing suspensions, or flashing headlines will not eradicate racism from this country. Temporary outrage is not justice. Statements are not solutions.
Our presence is attacked repeatedly, within and beyond borders. It is time our leaders take bold, decisive steps to protect their people, not only within Arunachal but wherever Arunachalees live, study, work, and compete.
A cry can be heard from the rest of the Northeast, from worried parents back home to students in Delhi, professionals in Bengaluru, athletes representing India abroad. That cry is not for sympathy. It is for dignity. It is for recognition. It is for protection.
And yet, when we bring laurels to the state or to the country, when our athletes win medals, when our youths shine on national and international platforms, we are celebrated. We are applauded. We are proudly called Indians then.
Why must our identity be conditional? Why are we embraced in moments of victory, but questioned in moments of vulnerability?
We know who we are. But the question is, for how long must we fight for our own identity at international borders and within our own country? (The contributor is a reporter at The Northeast Sports)
