Punjab's Unresolved Grievances Spark Renewed Calls for Truth and Reconciliation Commission

For more than four decades, Punjab has grappled with a series of traumatic events — Operation Blue Star, the assassination of Indira Gandhi, the anti-Sikh violence of November 1984, the subsequent militancy and counterinsurgency, and the recent farmers' movement. Earlier generations faced Partition, the Punjabi Suba movement, and the state's reorganisation in the 1960s. Each left behind grievances and unanswered questions, yet no comprehensive institutional effort has been made to address these through truth, accountability, and reconciliation, observers note.

Recently, the release of the film 'Satluj' has prompted discussions about confronting this painful history. Proponents argue that democracies mature by facing difficult histories rather than suppressing them. The goal, they say, is neither to glorify nor demonise individuals or institutions but to understand how democratic politics descended into extraordinary violence and how such conditions can be prevented from recurring.

Punjab witnessed a prolonged insurgency and an equally intense counterinsurgency, with violence affecting all communities. The debate should move beyond eulogising or condemning militants or state agencies alone, experts suggest. Without accountability that reaches the level of political decision-making and institutional collapse, societies remain trapped in blame rather than learning.

Perhaps Punjab's greatest achievement, analysts say, is that society ultimately refused to remain divided along religious lines. This was politically expressed in the 1996 Moga Declaration, which affirmed that the demands and grievances of all Punjabis would be addressed collectively, not along communal lines. Since then, despite occasional attempts by political actors, Punjab has largely resisted communal polarisation. There is little evidence that screening 'Satluj' would disturb communal harmony.

An equally important lesson emerged from the Akali-BJP government's policy of reintegration. Several prominent militant leaders returned to the mainstream. The Department of Relief and Rehabilitation prepared a programme for nearly 13,000 widows and over 50,000 children belonging to families of militants, police personnel, and ordinary citizens, without classifying victims by religion, caste, or political affiliation. Rehabilitation was based on the principle that suffering is universal and reintegration a collective responsibility.

Despite these initiatives, justice for victims of the 1984 violence has remained painfully slow. Neither the state nor political leadership initiated an institutional mechanism capable of bringing closure to Punjab's violent past. Victims, human rights groups, former officials, and political actors continue to narrate selective episodes, leaving Punjab without a shared historical understanding.

Closure requires recognition of every atrocity, accountability for political failure, and a willingness to live with historical truth. Many now call for a Truth and Reconciliation Commission with an independent mandate to document the experiences of all victims — those killed by militants, those subjected to disappearances and fake encounters, families of police personnel, public servants, and ordinary citizens. They also propose a Peace Memorial as a reminder that neither militant violence nor state excesses can ever become legitimate instruments of politics.

Observers warn that repeated attempts to mobilise society through religious or caste identities may generate short-term gains but strengthen radical forces and weaken democratic institutions. Punjab's history shows that divisive politics imposes enormous costs. The state, they argue, has an obligation to move toward a politics of accountability and truth.