The Indian community is being hounded from all ends
In New Zealand, a surge of racist incidents targeting Indian communities — graffiti on Auckland walls, slurs from elected officials, and a culturally mocking haka performance — has surfaced a tension older than the country's modern politics. South Asians, who have been woven into New Zealand's geography and culture for over a century, now account for the highest number of reported hate crimes in the country. Scholars and advocates warn that what appears as conflict between migrant and Indigenous communities is, at its root, the familiar machinery of white supremacy turning marginalized groups against one another. The deeper question New Zealand must answer is whether it can see through that division to the shared colonial wound beneath.
- Racist graffiti, political slurs from senior officials, and a haka that crossed from critique into cultural mockery have converged into a pattern that Indian communities describe as being hounded from every direction.
- Police data confirms the alarm: South Asians reported more hate crimes than any other group in New Zealand between 2022 and 2025, giving statistical weight to what many had long felt in their daily lives.
- The haka incident became a flashpoint — not because political protest is wrong, but because targeting an MP's Indian identity rather than her policies implicated over a billion people in the attack, exposing how easily cultural expression can be weaponized.
- Academics and anti-racism advocates are pushing back with a structural argument: both Māori and Indian communities carry colonial wounds, and pitting them against each other serves the very ideology that harmed both.
- A traditional Māori reconciliation process is underway following an apology for the haka, but the political season ahead — with elections looming — leaves the broader atmosphere of racialised division unresolved.
Racist graffiti has been appearing on Auckland's walls — crude, violent, directed at Indians — but the vandalism is only the most visible surface of something more systemic. Over recent weeks, senior politicians have added their voices to the atmosphere: a deputy opposition leader dismissed a New Zealand–India trade deal as a "butter chicken tsunami," and Auckland's mayor called an Indian broadcaster employee a "Muslim terrorist" before apologizing. These were not fringe figures speaking in private.
The incident that sharpened the debate involved a haka performed by a former Māori Party president, directed at Parmjeet Parmar, an ACT MP born in India. The performance mocked Indian culture and told Parmar to return to "great poverty" and "many problems." Parmar's policies restricting Māori educational pathways are legitimately contested — but critics, including activist Shaneel Lal, argued the haka had moved from attacking her politics to attacking her entire identity, and by extension, the identity of more than a billion people.
Police data gives the pattern a number: between 2022 and 2025, South Asians reported the highest rate of hate crimes of any group in New Zealand. Anti-Indian sentiment, as historian Tina Ngata noted, is not new — it stretches back to the early 1900s and the "White New Zealand League." Indians have been part of the country since the 1890s, their presence embedded in place names from Wellington to Christchurch to the Auckland-Waikato border.
What troubles observers most is the deliberate fracturing of solidarity. Massey University professor Mohan Dutta named the underlying force plainly: the ideology driving both anti-Indian and anti-Māori racism is white supremacy, and it works most effectively when its targets are turned against each other. Both communities carry colonial histories; both are being harmed. An apology has been made and a traditional Māori reconciliation process is underway, but the larger question — whether New Zealand will recognize the shared wound or continue to let it be exploited — remains open as election season approaches.
Across New Zealand's cities, spray paint has begun telling a story no one wants to read. Over the past month, racist graffiti targeting Indians has appeared on public walls in Auckland—crude declarations of violence and exclusion left for anyone to see. But the vandalism is only the most visible symptom of something deeper: a surge in hostile incidents that has left Indian communities feeling, as one advocate put it, systematically hounded.
The timing matters. Last month, New Zealand signed a free trade agreement with India. Within days, Shane Jones, deputy leader of the opposition First Party, dismissed the deal with a sneer: he would not support a "butter chicken tsunami." Around the same time, Auckland's mayor Wayne Brown called an Indian staff member at the national broadcaster RNZ a "Muslim terrorist"—a comment he apologized for shortly after. These were not fringe voices. They were elected officials, speaking in public, shaping the conversation.
But the incident that crystallized the tension involved a haka—a Māori ceremonial performance traditionally used for political expression and resistance. During a haka competition, Che Wilson, former president of the Māori Party, performed a piece directed at Parmjeet Parmar, an ACT party MP born in India. The haka mocked Indian culture explicitly, telling Parmar to "return to your own home, to vast land, to great poverty, to many problems." Parmar has indeed supported policies that restrict Māori scholarships, study spaces, and university entrance pathways—positions that deserve robust criticism. But critics of the haka performance, including Shaneel Lal, a former Young New Zealander of the Year with Fijian and Indian heritage, pointed out the line that had been crossed: the performance had escalated from attacking Parmar's political positions to attacking her entire identity, shared by more than a billion people worldwide.
Lal articulated the deeper harm. "The Indian community is being hounded from all ends," they said. Police data backs this up. Between January 2022 and October 2025, people of South Asian descent experienced the highest number of reported hate crimes in New Zealand—more than any other group. The graffiti, the slurs from politicians, the cultural mockery: they form a pattern.
This is not new. The United Nations Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination issued a warning last year about the state of racial discrimination in New Zealand, expressing alarm about weakening Māori rights and the persistence of racist hate speech from politicians and public figures. Anti-racism advocate Tina Ngata traced the roots further back: anti-Indian sentiment has existed in New Zealand since the early 1900s, when the "White New Zealand League" was established explicitly to protect the country from Chinese and Indian migrants accused of threatening "racial integrity." Indians arrived in New Zealand in the 1890s and have been part of the country's fabric ever since—their names embedded in place names from Khandallah in Wellington to Cashmere in Christchurch to the Bombay Hills on the Auckland-Waikato border. The latest census counted more than 292,000 Indians in New Zealand.
What troubles observers most is the deliberate pitting of communities against each other. Mohan Dutta, a Massey University professor born in India who migrated to New Zealand, named the underlying force: "The underlying ideology that drives the anti-Indian racism, as well as the anti-Māori racism, is actually white supremacy, and we lose sight of it often when we are pitted against each other." Both Māori and Indian communities have been colonized, both carry that history, both are being harmed by an atmosphere of racism and xenophobia. Yet in the current political moment—with an election looming later this year—race has become a weapon, deployed to divide rather than unite.
Ngata offered a historical corrective: "It's much easier to punch across and punch down than it is to punch up at your mutual colonial oppressor." The Council of Sikh Affairs confirmed that Wilson had apologized for the haka, and a traditional Māori harm resolution process called Hohou te Rongo is underway. But the broader question remains unresolved: whether New Zealand can recognize the shared colonial legacy that binds these communities, or whether it will continue to allow that legacy to be weaponized against them.
Citas Notables
The Indian community is being hounded from all ends— Shaneel Lal, former Young New Zealander of the Year
The underlying ideology that drives the anti-Indian racism, as well as the anti-Māori racism, is actually white supremacy, and we lose sight of it often when we are pitted against each other— Mohan Dutta, Massey University professor
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does a haka performance matter so much in this story? It's a cultural form—why did this one cross a line?
Because haka has real power in Māori politics. It's a tool for resistance, for saying things that need to be said. But when you use it to mock another group's entire culture—not their politics, their culture—you've weaponized it in a different way. You've turned it into a tool of exclusion rather than resistance.
But Parmjeet Parmar does support policies that harm Māori students. Isn't that fair game?
Absolutely fair game. The criticism of her policies is completely valid. The problem is the haka didn't stop there. It went from "we disagree with what you're doing" to "you don't belong here because of where you come from." That's a different kind of violence.
And this is happening while the Indian community is already being targeted with graffiti and slurs from politicians. Is that the real story?
Yes. The haka incident didn't happen in a vacuum. It happened in a moment when Indian communities are already feeling hunted. When elected officials are making "butter chicken tsunami" jokes and calling people "Muslim terrorists." The haka just made it visible in a way that forced people to reckon with it.
What's the colonial history angle here? Why do experts keep bringing that up?
Because both Māori and Indian communities were colonized. Both carry that history. And right now, instead of recognizing that shared experience, they're being pushed against each other. The real power—white supremacy—stays invisible while the two groups fight.
So what would solidarity look like?
Remembering that Indians arrived in New Zealand in the 1890s, that their names are in the country's geography, that they've been here through the same colonial machinery. And recognizing that when you're pitted against each other, you both lose.