Stephen from “Django Unchained” and the Indian Caste System: When the Oppressed Enforce Oppression

Venna Siddharth Reddy
Jun 1
7 min read

Quentin Tarantino’s Django Unchained provides a striking metaphor. In the film, Stephen – the house slave played by Samuel L. Jackson – wields outsized power by zealously enforcing the plantation’s racial hierarchy. As critic Jelani Cobb notes, “Django’s true nemesis is not the slaveholder who subjects Hildy to cruel punishments but Stephen, the house slave devoutly allied with the slaveholder.”1 Tarantino deliberately inverts the familiar “loyal slave” stereotype: Stephen possesses the intelligence to operate as master, and literally “plays Candie like a puppet”.2 His manipulative devotion makes him the film’s most hated villain – the living proof that black submission was a myth. We borrow this character as a metaphor for certain individuals from oppressed Indian castes who, having risen in education or status, cling to caste privilege. Just as Stephen proclaims his obedience while secretly protecting his own status, these “Stephens” of the caste system enforce hierarchy from within their communities.3 This dynamic reflects what Paulo Freire and Frantz Fanon warned: the oppressed often internalize the oppressor’s values and become enforcers of the very system that once subjugated them.4

Stephen in Django Unchained

In Django Unchained, Stephen is no helpless victim. Cobb’s observation captures the film’s framing: the conflict centers on “two archetypes – the militant and the sellout”.5 Stephen, the “sellout” House negro, is depicted as Candie’s right-hand man. He sits confidently in the master’s chair, swirling a glass of whiskey, revealing that “Stephen, not Candie, possesses the intelligence to operate as master”.6 The film repeatedly shows Stephen calmly selecting slaves to fight, signing plantation checks, and fashioning himself as the estate’s vice president. In effect, Stephen controls the whole operation – “he’s the boss man”, while Candie is the clueless figurehead.7 This reversal underlines Stephen’s cunning: the “loyal servant” in name, who secretly pulls the strings.

Stephen’s loyalty to Calvin Candie is entirely self-serving. One analysis aptly describes him as “the epitome of an unexpected genius disguised as… unintelligent,” motivated only by making life easier for himself.8 Every action Stephen takes – from turning in fellow slaves to embezzling funds – is calculated to maintain his proximity to power. He never hesitates to denounce other Blacks, because he “is only obedient for his own well-being”.9 In the cooking shanty scene, even the other slaves avert their gaze in fear of him. Stephen’s faithfulness to the master is not out of nobility or loyalty but a survival strategy: by guarding white interests, he secures his privileges. As one critique puts it, “Stephen inverts the myth of the loyal slave” – he doesn’t protect Django and Broomhilda out of the community, but ruthlessly outmanages even his own master.10 In short, Stephen perpetuates white supremacy from within the oppressed class, betraying his people to stay atop a slave hierarchy.

Indian Parallels: Dalit “Stephens” in Power

This Stephen archetype has troubling parallels in India’s caste system. Today, some Dalits and Other Backward Classes (OBCs) who have climbed the social ladder seem to distance themselves from caste solidarity and even enforce traditional hierarchies. For example, social scientists observe that many upwardly mobile Indians feel ashamed of their caste roots. Anthropologist Anupama Rao notes that once South Asians achieve middle-class status, they often become “extremely cagey… embarrassed to think of themselves as the beneficiaries of caste privilege.”11 In practical terms, this can look like a Dalit bureaucrat refraining from speaking out against caste bias, or a Dalit official even supporting Brahminical norms to fit in.12 In other words, having internalized the negative stereotypes about Dalits, these elites shun policies designed for their own uplift. Interviews in elite colleges similarly reveal that students often believe that reservations have been captured by upper strata of Dalit/OBC communities, leaving the neediest behind. One educator notes that some assert “reservation benefited elite members of backward/lower castes”13, echoing a frustration that some families use quotas to dominate professions while poorer peers stay marginalized. This mirrors M.N. Srinivas’s idea of a dominant caste: when a group gains land, wealth or education, it can dominate locally.14 Yet if even these “dominant” Dalits cling to Brahminical culture, true change is deferred.

Around the country, there are anecdotal examples: Dalit panchayat leaders who sympathize more with upper-caste neighbors than with Dalit victims, or Dalit contractors enforcing strict caste rules on other laborers. While specific names are hard to generalize, activists lament that caste-privileged Dalits often behave like any other elites, guarding their status. Many take pride in breaking into posh jobs or neighborhoods, but at the cost of denouncing their heritage. This is a kind of caste accommodation: like Ambedkar warned, simply rising by Brahminical rules without challenging the system ultimately leaves caste intact.

The Psychology of Gatekeeping

What drives a Stephen-like figure from an oppressed caste? Social-psychological theories of internalized oppression offer insight. Paulo Freire observed that the oppressed may adopt the oppressor’s mindset, preserving the status quo in a “cultural invasion” that co-opts the subordinated.15 As Sambaiah Gundimeda explains, Freire connects to Ambedkar’s critique: oppressors often create “sub-oppressors”within the oppressed class.16 In the Indian context, Gundimeda notes, the caste system shows this clearly: even among the most marginalized castes, local hierarchies emerge, with some members acting “just as violently and in a dehumanizing manner as upper-caste oppressors” 17 In other words, internalized caste stigma can make a former underdog behave like a bully.

Frantz Fanon made a similar point in colonial contexts: Black or colonized people often seek validation through the oppressor’s values (as reflected in Black Skin, White Masks). Fanon describes how the colonized subject may view the world through the colonizer’s eyes, aspiring to whiteness. Though Fanon wrote about race, his insight applies to caste: once granted some power, an “upwardly mobile” Dalit might unconsciously emulate Brahmin norms and scorn traditional Dalit culture. This is a psychological byproduct of oppression: as studies show, those who internalize their subordinated status may blame their own group for societal ills, rather than the system that oppresses them. 18

In India’s case, Ambedkar anticipated this trap. He argued forcefully that token concessions or assimilation would never free Dalits; only annihilating caste could. 19 Ambedkar saw that pride in any caste, even a lower one, replicated the very hierarchy he sought to destroy. Yet many Dalit elites today embrace identity politics selectively: they celebrate being Dalit when it rallies votes or solidarity within a group, but downplay it when dealing with institutions. The result is that casteism persists. Psychologist Yashpal Jogdand notes that Indian psychology itself “perpetuated the caste order and denigrated the Dalits and lower castes”20, a testament to how deep these attitudes can be. Without an Ambedkarian “critical consciousness,” a benefited Dalit may end up policing caste boundaries like a virtual “Candie”.

The Cost of Symbolic Power

The emergence of a Dalit or OBC elite can be a symbolic victory, but it can also come with a heavy price for the movement at large. On one hand, these individuals demonstrate that caste barriers can be breached: they show that education and jobs are accessible. But on the other hand, when they don’t challenge caste norms, their success masks systemic injustice. The advantages they’ve gained – degrees, jobs, urban status – can look like personal merit rather than the fruits of long struggle and affirmative action. Pierre Bourdieu’s notion of cultural capital is instructive here. Bourdieu showed that those who master the dominant culture (language, etiquette, credentials) gain unearned status. In India, the few Dalits who acquire this cultural capital often end up mimicking dominant-caste manners. As Suraj Yengde observes, upper-middle-class Dalits remain acutely aware of caste (“their primary identity… is based on caste”) yet “try to emulate [dominant castes] in the same lexicon and accents”. 21 In practice, this means speaking polished English, dressing and acting like upper castes. Feminism in India, summarizing sociological studies, notes that those with the “right” cultural capital (fluent accent, prestigious degrees) have an upper hand in India, and such individuals are very likely to be upper-caste 22 hen Dalits adopt this habitus, they fit into elite fields, but they may also begin to uphold the implicit rules of those fields.

This dynamic has a hidden cost. The cultural capital that lets a Dalit professional win promotions is then misrecognized as merit.23 In hiring or politics, a smooth-talking Dalit is often held up as “proof” that India is liberal and caste doesn’t matter – without noting that unlettered Dalits still face daily exclusion. Representation becomes hollow. A Dalit on campus who scorns caste labels for urban “class” identity may win status, but she’s effectively reinforcing the Brahminical notion that merit is culture, not justice. Meanwhile, the many Dalits who lack that capital – those from villages, rural labor backgrounds or vernacular schools – remain invisible. Bourdieu would say this reproduces the hierarchy: dominant groups pass on their advantages as legitimate, while subaltern groups are blamed for not “meriting” similar success. In caste terms, this means that Dalits in power often end up administering the same inequities they once suffered, as if they were natural.

Conclusion

The “Stephen effect” reminds us that liberation is not automatic with personal success. Emancipation can become mere mimicry of power rather than its dismantling. As Ambedkar insisted, true freedom for Dalits meant annihilation of caste, not accommodation within it.24 If rising individuals simply put on new clothes of privilege, they risk becoming gatekeepers: controlling access to the caste’s hierarchy rather than shattering it. Django Unchained shows the danger of an oppressed person who clings to the oppressor’s world. India’s experience shows it too: unless Dalit and OBC elites use their status to challenge hierarchy, redefining “who gets to sit at the table” rather than just getting a seat, the fundamental injustice of caste will live on. The lesson of the Stephen metaphor is stark: escaping chains only to forge new ones under a different master is not true liberation.

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