Silent Discriminations in Everyday Life

We Need to Acknowledge the Lawless Zone Before We Can Fix the Problem

Scrolling through Facebook recently, I came across a confession that hit unexpectedly hard.

It was a raw, honest post from someone reflecting on a humiliating moment from their school days in Ashoknagar, West Bengal, around 2004 or 2005. A student’s notebook was thrown away by a teacher—for the “crime” of using it for more than one subject.

This wasn’t about a failed assignment. It was a quiet form of discrimination—the kind that doesn’t break rules but still breaks people.

This “lawless zone,” as I’ve come to think of it, is where things like bullying, selective communication, character assassination, and gaslighting flourish. They don’t show up in handbooks. They don’t get flagged by HR. But they chip away at dignity all the same.

The Ashoknagar story—and others like it—show how silent discriminations shape everyday life. Not with loud confrontations, but with quiet exclusions.

Recognizing them is the first step.

The Facebook Confession Post

The post told a detailed story from an eighth-grade physics class in a well-regarded school in Ashoknagar.

The student came from a modest home. One notebook had to do for all subjects. Recently energized by a new love for math, they completed an assignment and stepped forward—hoping to be seen.

Instead, the teacher glanced at the notebook, saw notes from another subject, and tossed it aside in front of the class. No feedback. Just rejection.

Why? Because it wasn’t a “physics-only” notebook.

That one act said: your circumstances disqualify you.

The teacher didn’t break a rule. But the damage was real. And lasting.

The post ends with a direct message to the teacher, now transferred elsewhere: don’t do that to another student.

Few Other Examples of Silent Discriminations

The Ashoknagar moment isn’t rare. It’s one story in a pattern.

I remember my first job after college. No bank account. No decent shoes. And people made sure I felt it.

No one said I didn’t belong. But the message was clear.

I saw similar things happen to others—peers passed over for promotions, quietly excluded from important meetings, judged not on their work but their backgrounds.

All of it unspoken. All of it real.

In schools, the rules are different but the outcome’s the same. Wealthier students get attention for their polish—thanks to travel, extracurriculars, or confidence built through privilege. Teachers see potential. They get praise and opportunities.

Meanwhile, students from poorer families stay quiet, hoping not to stand out. I’ve watched these kids get dismissed as unmotivated or incapable. They’re not. But their quieter presence gets mistaken for a lack of drive. Their limited exposure is misread as a flaw.

These aren’t simple misunderstandings. They’re patterns. Silent, persistent ones that send kids home feeling small.

In neighborhoods too, I’ve seen it. A single mother raised safety concerns at a local meeting. She was told she was “overreacting.” A week later, a wealthier resident raised the same issue—and got action.

No laws broken. But something was broken.

These things share the same DNA as the Ashoknagar story. They don’t show up in policies or press releases. But they define who gets heard—and who doesn’t.

The lawless zone thrives because we pretend these things are neutral. Just “how things are.” But they’re not.

They’re choices. And they leave marks.

Conclusion

The Ashoknagar student. The worn-out shoes. The dismissed voices in meetings.

Each story is small. But together they point to a deeper truth: silent discrimination isn’t rare. It’s routine.

It hides behind civility. It speaks in what’s not said. And it builds systems that quietly sort people into winners and losers.

This isn’t a manifesto or a call to arms.

It’s a mirror.

The Ashoknagar post was a moment of reflection, not rage. My own memories come with no bitterness—just clarity.

We don’t need new rules to see this. We just need to look closer.

Every discarded notebook, every snide comment, every time someone’s judged by where they come from instead of what they bring—that’s the lawless zone at work.

We can’t fix what we won’t name.

Start by seeing it.

Then go from there.