Every nation has chapters in its history that inspire pride, and chapters that evoke pain. The measure of a mature democracy is not whether it possesses a flawless past, but whether it has the courage to confront that past honestly. Democracies grow stronger by examining their mistakes, learning from them, and ensuring that they are never repeated. That is why the censorship of books, films, and other works of art dealing with historical events should concern every citizen who values freedom, justice, and democracy.
History is not propaganda. It is not meant merely to glorify rulers, governments, or institutions. History is a teacher. It records human achievements as well as human failures. It reminds us that societies progress not by pretending that injustice never occurred, but by acknowledging it and resolving never to permit its recurrence.
Art performs a similar function. Great literature, cinema, theatre, and painting often compel us to confront difficult truths. They stir emotions, provoke debate, and encourage reflection. They do not exist merely to entertain. Their higher purpose is to deepen our understanding of the human condition. A democracy that begins to fear its artists or historians risks losing confidence in itself.
The recent controversy surrounding the Punjabi feature film Sutlej raises precisely these larger questions. The film revisits one of the darkest and most painful periods in Punjab’s contemporary history, when the Khalistan movement and the government’s counterinsurgency campaign left deep scars upon society. It was a time marked by violence from multiple quarters, fear among ordinary citizens, and immense human suffering.
Among the names that emerged during those troubled years was that of Jaswant Singh Khalra, a human rights activist whose work became known throughout India and beyond. Through painstaking research, he examined records maintained by cremation grounds and alleged that numerous unidentified bodies had been cremated after individuals had disappeared while in police custody. His investigations drew national and international attention to allegations of human rights abuses. Khalra himself was later abducted and murdered, and several police officials were subsequently convicted in connection with that crime.
These are matters of historical record. They form part of India’s democratic journey—painful, controversial, but undeniably significant. They deserve to be examined, debated, researched, and remembered.
Whether one agrees entirely with the interpretation presented by Sutlej is almost beside the point. Films are works of artistic expression. They inevitably reflect the perspective of their creators. Historians may dispute details. Critics may disagree with interpretations. Viewers may accept or reject the narrative. That is precisely how a free society functions. Ideas compete. Evidence is examined. Debate enriches public understanding.
The answer to a controversial film is not a ban.
Reports indicate that the film initially faced difficulty in obtaining certification, that extensive edits were sought, and that after certification it was nevertheless prevented from being exhibited. The justification offered was that it might hurt the sentiments of a section of society and that its exhibition was allegedly not in the national interest.
Such reasoning deserves careful reflection.
If the possibility of offending someone’s sentiments becomes the standard for suppressing artistic expression, very little history would remain available for public discussion. Almost every major historical event has winners and losers, heroes and villains, supporters and critics. Every honest account of history is likely to discomfort someone.
That discomfort alone cannot become sufficient reason for censorship.
The phrase “national interest” also deserves careful use. The national interest is served not by concealing uncomfortable truths but by strengthening the institutions that allow citizens to examine them responsibly. Confidence in a democracy grows when governments trust their people with facts, not when they assume that citizens cannot distinguish between history, interpretation, and propaganda.
No nation is diminished because it acknowledges its mistakes.
Germany does not become weaker because it teaches the horrors of Nazism. South Africa does not become weaker because it confronts the legacy of apartheid. The United States continues to examine slavery, racial segregation, the Vietnam War, and other difficult chapters in its history through books, museums, films, and public debate. These discussions are often uncomfortable. Yet they are also evidence of democratic resilience.
India, the world’s largest democracy, should possess the same confidence.
This is not an argument for absolute freedom without responsibility. No civilized society should permit deliberate incitement to violence, hatred, or lawlessness. Nor should knowingly false material presented as fact enjoy immunity from scrutiny. Every democracy recognizes reasonable legal limits where public safety or direct incitement is involved.
But there is an equally important distinction between incitement and inquiry.
A film portraying historical events, however uncomfortable those events may be, belongs within the realm of democratic discussion. The proper response is criticism if criticism is deserved, scholarly rebuttal if facts are disputed, or alternative films and books presenting different perspectives. The answer to expression should ordinarily be more expression—not prohibition.
History belongs neither to governments nor to political parties. Governments administer the present; history belongs to the people. Every generation has the responsibility to examine it afresh, armed with new evidence, broader perspectives, and greater understanding. Attempts to suppress history seldom erase it. More often, they intensify public curiosity and weaken confidence in the institutions imposing the ban.
A confident democracy has nothing to fear from books, films, or ideas.
Indeed, it is precisely because history can be painful that it must remain accessible. When societies forget their mistakes, they risk repeating them. When they remember them honestly, they strengthen the foundations of justice, accountability, and the rule of law.
India’s civilizational heritage is one of dialogue, debate, and intellectual inquiry. From the Upanishads to the courts of great emperors, from philosophical schools that challenged one another to the framing of our Constitution, our tradition has valued argument over suppression and persuasion over coercion. That tradition deserves to be preserved.
The greatness of a nation is measured not merely by its economic strength or military power, but by its confidence in the intelligence of its own citizens. Let people watch a film. Let them read a book. Let them question, analyze, agree, disagree, and arrive at their own conclusions.
Democracy demands nothing less.
History is not our enemy. History is our teacher. It reminds us where we have succeeded, where we have failed, and how we may build a more humane future. To silence history is to silence one of the nation’s wisest instructors.
Let history speak.
Let art illuminate.
Let citizens judge.
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