The legacy of silence: a letter to our elders
Power dynamics
"You say there is no one to take over. That’s not true. You just ensured there would be no one left who wants to..." says the writers.
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An open letter to the elders of our Indian community.
To our elders, we write to you with the full weight of disappointment, truth, and love for our people.
But not the kind of love that flatters or conceals. The kind of love that confronts, that tells the truth even when it’s uncomfortable, especially then. Because we still care enough to believe that maybe, if you hear us, it’s not too late. You should be ashamed. You should be ashamed that every young Indian who dared to rise, who carried ideas, who led with courage, who stepped forward with fire: was met not with your guidance but with your resistance.
You didn’t build us. You broke us. Quietly, efficiently, and with a cruelty you pretended was “tradition.”
You crushed spirit, not out of principle, but out of fear, because deep down, you saw what we could become, and you knew it would eclipse you. Look around. Every space of influence in the Indian community is now occupied by people over 60.
You say there is no one to take over. That’s not true. You just ensured there would be no one left who wants to. You have hoarded titles. You have clung to seats. You have made community work about legacy, but only your own. And now, in the twilight of your time, you speak of preserving the culture, the struggle, the history, without acknowledging that you’ve preserved nothing except your own names on letterheads and programmes.
When we point this out, you bristle. You cry “disrespect.” You say “these young people have no discipline, no manners.” You hear the word cabal and act like it’s a slur. But what else do you call it, when those who don’t conform are shut out, when fresh energy is treated like a threat, when you only empower those who will protect your comfort?
You had the chance to build a legacy rooted in mentorship. You had the chance to take your hard-won wisdom and pass it down with humility. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because you were too busy cementing yourselves into the walls of history. And in doing so, you left us with no blueprint, no inheritance, just your resentment and a crumbling infrastructure.
We are not here to beg. We’re done waiting for permission. We are building in new places now. Places that are freer. Fairer. Less obsessed with hierarchy, more concerned with justice. If you do not see us, it’s because we’ve stopped asking to be seen. But let this letter stand as record: you failed us. And worse you failed yourselves. Because one day, when your committees fall silent and your titles mean nothing, all that will remain is whether or not you lifted others as you climbed. You didn’t. And that shame is yours to carry.