Operation Bluestar: Is a quiet anniversary a turning point in Sikh politics?

India Today

4 hours ago

On June 6, something unusual happened at the Akal Takht in Amritsar. For the first time since 1999, the anniversary of the June 1984 Operation Bluestar passed without the jathedar of the Akal Takht addressing the Sikh community.The annual message—typically a mix of homage to the 'martyrs' of Bluestar, a reaffirmation of Sikh identity, and often, veiled or open criticism of the Indian state—conspicuously did not come. The moment, hushed but loaded, has thrown into sharp relief the silent churn underway in Sikh religious politics. It was not the absence of noise that made the day historic—it was the withdrawal of the voice that has traditionally defined the community's moral centre.advertisementThe decision of acting Jathedar Giani Kuldeep Singh Gargaj to not deliver a 'sandesh' was reportedly voluntary, a conscious act amidst pressure and protest. Ever since his controversial appointment in December 2023 by the Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee (SGPC), he has faced stiff resistance from key panthic groups and rival religious institutions.Nihang factions, Damdami Taksal, and various bodies that see themselves as protectors of Sikh orthodoxy have refused to recognise his authority. In their eyes, he is not a leader of the panth but a political nominee with little theological or moral standing.
Gargaj's silence on June 6, then, was not just about respect for decorum or restraint. It was an admission that the Akal Takht, once the undivided pulpit of the Sikh world, is today a contested platform.The scene at the Golden Temple complex was otherwise familiar. Portraits of Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale adorned the walls, slogans calling for 'justice' and 'Khalistan' rang out from pockets of the crowd, and the SGPC facilitated tributes to those killed in the 1984 operation by security forces.advertisementThe Punjab police maintained an unusually large presence in and around the shrine, a precautionary measure given the history of clashes and radical posturing associated with the anniversary. But in a rare departure from previous years, there was no violence, no public scuffles, no visible crackdown. The choreography of memory played out—intense, symbolic but curiously subdued. The vacuum at the top shaped everything below.The meaning of this moment cannot be divorced from the deeper institutional crisis in Sikh religious life. The Akal Takht jathedar, in theory, is meant to embody collective spiritual authority. In practice, the position has been hollowed out by opaque appointments, politicisation and diminishing community consensus.In the past decade, multiple jathedars have been appointed, removed or boycotted by different factions, leading to an unprecedented erosion of the institution's moral clarity. The current acting jathedar is merely the latest in a series of contested figures, lacking both grassroots endorsement and panthic legitimacy. His decision to step back on June 6 may have been the wisest possible course—but it is also a sign of how rudderless the institution has become.Interestingly, the SGPC tried to step into this void. While Gargaj did not issue a message, the SGPC held its own tributes and honoured families of those who died during Operation Bluestar. This subtle power play reflects the current recalibration within Sikh institutions—between symbolic authority and administrative control.advertisementThe SGPC, led by president Harjinder Singh Dhami, has been attempting to reassert its influence in religious matters even as it continues to be accused of political partisanship and encroaching upon decisions meant for the Akal Takht. But with no credible jathedar in place, the SGPC is clearly positioning itself as a proxy religious authority—an evolution that has alarmed traditionalists and reformists alike.The silence of the mainstream Shiromani Akali Dal (SAD) this year also stands out. Once the dominant political force in Punjab and the principal claimant to Sikh leadership, the SAD has been a pale shadow of its former self since the 2020-21 farmer protests and its electoral drubbing in the 2022 assembly polls.On the Bluestar anniversary, its leaders kept a low profile, perhaps wary of reigniting controversies or provoking criticism from either radicals or moderates. This caution is symptomatic of the party's current identity crisis—caught between reclaiming panthic relevance and appealing to a broader, more pragmatic Punjabi electorate. The space it has vacated is being occupied, unevenly, by others.advertisementRadical groups, particularly the SAD (Amritsar), led by Simranjit Singh Mann, and outfits such as Dal Khalsa, used the anniversary to project defiance and repeat separatist claims. The iconography of Bhindranwale was used as it has been every year—a symbol of resistance for some, of unresolved anger for others. Yet, even these groups, for all their noise, seemed to understand the limits of provocation this year.There were no flashpoints, no incitements that could turn symbolic protest into street confrontation. It was as though everyone—radical, moderate, institutional—was operating under an unspoken understanding that the community is in no position for fresh strife. The wounds of the past have not healed but neither is there appetite for reopening them with fresh violence.Adding to this changing dynamic is the emergence of a stronger, more vocal cohort of moderate Sikh voices from within India, who are increasingly challenging the monopolisation of the Bluestar narrative by Khalistani groups. Diplomats, professionals, academics and Sikh veterans of public life have begun pushing back against what they see as the hijacking of a tragic chapter in Sikh history for separatist agendas. Their view is that the memory of Operation Bluestar must be observed, but it cannot be allowed to become a Trojan horse for reviving militancy or distorting Sikhism's fundamentally inclusive message.advertisementFormer Indian diplomat Amarjit Singh's recent comments calling out 'vultures who keep feeding off 1984' reflect a growing sentiment among India-based Sikhs who want to protect both the sanctity of their religion and the integrity of the Indian republic.These voices are not always amplified, particularly in contrast to the loud social media campaigns run by diaspora groups abroad. But they are gaining traction, especially among Sikh youth disillusioned with both the politics of grievance and the inaction of established institutions. In cities like Delhi, Chandigarh, and Ludhiana, young Sikh professionals are increasingly rejecting the binaries of radicalism versus silence. They want spaces for dialogue, memorialisation without radicalisation, and a panthic leadership that does not cede its voice to fringe elements.If nurtured, this could be a pivotal generational shift—one that reorients Sikh discourse away from exile-driven extremism toward grounded, democratic engagement with India's future.The muted tone also reflects a deeper generational shift. For many older Sikhs, especially those who lived through the 1984 operation and its aftermath, the anniversary remains sacred and painful. But for younger generations, both in Punjab and in the diaspora, the memory does not carry the same political urgency.advertisementTheir concerns are shaped less by historical grievance and more by present-day anxieties—drug abuse, unemployment, farm distress, and cultural alienation. The institutions that speak the language of 1984 often find themselves unintelligible to those born after it. Even in the diaspora, where pro-Khalistan sentiment still finds expression, the idioms of identity are changing—from calls for sovereignty to cultural revivalism, from slogans to social media influence. The Akal Takht jathedar's silence, in this context, may have been more in tune with the moment than any speech could have been.Yet the absence of a message does not mean the absence of meaning. In fact, it may mark the beginning of a quiet reckoning. Many in the Sikh intelligentsia and civil society believe the time has come to reform the process by which jathedars are appointed.For years, there has been talk of convening a Sarbat Khalsa, the traditional assembly of Sikh representatives empowered to take panthic decisions and restore legitimacy to institutions. Such calls have repeatedly faltered due to lack of consensus, fears of state reprisal and internal divisions. But the events of June 6 may lend fresh urgency to the idea. A leaderless community cannot remain so forever. Silence can be powerful, but it cannot be permanent.For the Indian state, the peaceful conduct of the Bluestar anniversary is likely to be read as a positive sign—an indicator that normalcy has returned to Punjab and that radical sentiments are on the wane. But this would be a superficial reading. The underlying issues—of representation, institutional trust and generational drift—are far from resolved. If anything, the crisis of leadership within Sikhism presents a different kind of challenge: not one of militancy but of vacuum. Not a rebellion, but a recession of coherence. And in such spaces, uncertainty festers.Perhaps the most striking aspect of the 2025 observance was its emotional ambiguity. It was not marked by catharsis or confrontation. It was, in a sense, a holding pattern—an uneasy truce between memory and modernity, between tradition and transition. The community did not speak through a single voice because it no longer has one. The institutions did not guide the moment because they are still finding their way. And yet, the day passed peacefully. That, in itself, is worth acknowledging.What remains to be seen is whether this moment of quiet becomes a turning point or merely an interlude. Will Sikh religious institutions seize the opportunity to reform, reconnect and regain credibility? Will the SGPC resist the temptation to entrench its control and instead build consensus? Will the political class, both in Punjab and in Delhi, learn to read the signals from Amritsar not just as law and order inputs but as reflections of a complex community in transition?The silence of the Akal Takht on June 6 was not a void. It was a mirror—showing a fractured religious polity, a disillusioned youth, a contested past and an uncertain future. But it was also a chance. A rare one. For reflection, and perhaps, for reset.Subscribe to India Today Magazine