The recent op-ed pieces on the 'Ghallughara' (holocaust) of 1984 clearly indicate that this event was a watershed in contemporary Sikh history. I resonate with most of the articles and opinions expressed in these articles. I share a minor discomfort with the use of the word 'Ghallughara' and I hope that the authors of these articles will allow me to indulge my ostensibly trivial semantic nitpick.

The pieces on the 1984 'Ghullughara' evoke strong sympathy, even melancholy, as normal people are naturally affected by the massacre of innocent people. As the word 'holocaust,' normally used for the ghastly massacres of Jews by the Nazis, suggests the killing not of combatants in a battle, but of innocent civilians, the word is no doubt appropriate. The Indian army did kill scores of innocent civilians in 1984 when it simultaneously attacked nearly forty Sikh gurdwaras. And these massacres should and obviously do bring tears to the eyes of any person with a shred of humanity.

I want to ensure that the memory of the fifty odd Sikhs, who were not innocent pilgrims, but warriors that gave the Indian forces a glorious fight, is not lost in our semantic choices. These warriors, members of the Khalsa army, were not victims of any holocaust. They were courageous fighters who made a conscious choice to fight a battle that they knew was inevitable. When given the option of surrender by the Indian army, they instead chose to fight to their death. Of course, it is ironic that some of the poor pilgrims who did exercise the option of surrender, were nevertheless killed.

The unquestionable valor of this handful of Sikhs should make the spirit ascendant (chardi kala). For they would turn in their graves, so to speak, at the thought of anyone feeling melancholy or sympathy for their death. Martyrs never die; and innocent victims are not martyrs. Kuldeep Singh (Brar), the general leading the Indian attack in 1984, acknowledges the spirit and courage of his Sikh adversaries, even while he writes contemptuously about the Sikh "terrorists" he fought. Brar seems to echo Kazi Nur Mohammed, whose documented enmity towards the Sikhs of nineteenth century did not prevent his acknowledgement of their gallantry and courage as they fought the forces of Ahmed Shah Abdali.

The Sikh fighters who died in the battle of Amritsar in 1984 are no different from the forty Sikhs who died fighting with Guru Gobind Singh at Chamkaur or Muktsar. I often refer to the battle of Amritsar in 1984, when I talk to young Sikhs about the history of Chamkaur or Muktsar. Invariably a few skeptical young Sikhs will challenge me as to how could forty odd Sikhs at Chamkaur or Muktsar take on tens of thousands of soldiers from the combined armies of the Hindu hill rajas and the Mughals. I then ask them to think about the battle that some fifty or sixty Sikhs waged against several divisions of the Indian army that included commandos, tank regiments, helicopter gun ships and the might of the fourth largest military in the world. This event did not happen in the difficult-to-believe remote past, it happened less than two decades ago. History does repeat itself.

So as we commiserate over the innocent who died in 1984, let our spirits rise as we remember the incredible valor that Jarnail Singh, Shabegh Singh and a few good Sikhs displayed as they died fighting the Indian army in 1984.