"HBO’s Industry and the Illusion of Belonging: A Character Study on Rishi"

In HBO’s Industry, Rishi has long been confined to background comments and funny remarks, a comic relief amidst the high-stakes financial chaos. But in Season 3, Episode 4, he gets his own moment, his own episode, and suddenly, we’re given insight into not just who he is, but who he represents. Rishi isn’t just the loud, brash character we’ve known—he’s the embodiment of a deeper narrative about identity and belonging, especially as a person of color navigating a predominantly white world. His character, ambitious and deeply insecure, echoes a familiar narrative: that of people of color striving to belong in worlds where they are seen, at best, as tokens of diversity and, at worst, as intruders.

The parallel between Rishi Chattopadhyay and Rishi Sunak is almost too fitting to ignore. Both are British Asian men, striving to be accepted in traditionally white institutions. Both have worked their way to positions of success and power, but their trajectories are marked by an overwhelming desire to belong—to be seen as equals in environments where their backgrounds inherently mark them as different. For both, the ambition to assimilate seems to be a driving force, yet it comes at a significant cost: the erasure of their cultural identity and, ultimately, their dignity.

Rishi is a Tory through and through, a polished figure who has worked his way into the upper echelons of finance. He’s wealthy, married to a white woman, living in a suburban enclave that is far from the world where his parents likely started out. In one of the most striking moments of the episode, Rishi smiles when he asks his wife if their son is (perceived as) white. It's not just a throwaway line—this is Rishi's quiet admission that his life’s work, his striving, is for the elusive reward of whiteness. The smile isn't of joy but a masked desperation: a longing to belong, to be counted as part of the group he serves and profits from.

Rishi's predicament is one we see in people of color navigating traditionally white spaces, particularly those in positions of power. Like Sunak, Rishi has aligned himself politically and socially with the very institutions that uphold the barriers he's trying to scale. Both men are Tories, after all, subscribing to ideologies that, while outwardly offering a path to success, still uphold structures that quietly remind them that they are outsiders. Rishi Sunak's policies and rhetoric often mimic this same hustle for inclusion into Britain’s upper class, but as seen in Rishi from Industry, wealth and political affiliation are not shields from racism. They’re tools to climb, but not to transcend.

The reality that Rishi faces in Industry—and which Sunak himself cannot escape—is that whiteness isn’t something you can buy. Rishi may have a white wife, may live in an affluent suburb, and may hobnob with London’s financial elite, but at the end of the day, he’s still mistaken for a criminal in his own neighborhood. There’s a subtle but sharp exchange where a neighbor, upon seeing Rishi’s wife, says it’s “lovely when people come back to where they’re from.” It’s a quick, passive-aggressive jab wrapped in politeness, but it cuts deep. Despite Rishi’s wealth, status, and attempts to assimilate, he is still an outsider. His brown skin is a permanent reminder that, no matter how hard he tries, the privileges of whiteness are not fully his to claim.

There is a cost to success in these environments: the more you attempt to belong, the more you lose parts of yourself. Rishi sacrifices his connection to his heritage and identity, putting on the Tory uniform, advocating for the same systems that uphold his marginalization. And yet, it’s never enough. There’s always the reminder, the offhand comment, the moment when he’s seen as something “other” despite the riches and accolades. This is the larger tragedy that the show portrays—one that goes beyond race and extends to class. Under capitalism, elites, regardless of their background, often profit off of systems of oppression—be it racism, classism, or xenophobia. Rishi is complicit in this; he benefits from a system that keeps people like him on the margins, even as he works to sustain it. His story, like that of many others, highlights the paradox of success for POC in white-dominated spaces: in their relentless pursuit to be accepted, they often become active participants in perpetuating the very systems that reject them.

And while Industry highlights this dynamic in a personal and visceral way through Rishi, it speaks volumes to a broader truth. In traditionally white spaces, and indeed in capitalist structures worldwide, the pursuit of inclusion and success often comes at the cost of one’s identity. Rishi may have climbed the ladder, but he’s no closer to acceptance than he was before. He’s destroying himself, piece by piece, in an attempt to belong somewhere he was never meant to.

But maybe this is the cruel irony of power in any form: the more you sacrifice to belong, the more you realize that the system was never designed for you—and that’s the price Rishi, and many like him, will always pay, no matter how high they climb.