The Bombing of Air India 182, and Canada’s Greatest Shame

There exist books that captivate, enlighten, and leave a lasting impression on the intellect. And then there are books that serve as harbingers of a deeper, more unsettling truth—works that do not merely narrate but awaken, forcing the reader into a sobering reckoning with reality. These are not books to be “enjoyed” in the conventional sense, for they do not seek to entertain but to document, to unveil the grotesque failures of systems we are conditioned to trust, and to ensure that the abyss of history does not consume the memory of its worst transgressions. 

Loss of Faith: How Air India Bombers Got Away With Murder by Kim Bolan (McClelland & Stewart, 2005) is one such harrowing masterpiece. It is a damning chronicle of an unforgivable betrayal—the systematic failures of Canadian intelligence, law enforcement, political leadership, and the judiciary—failures that allowed unrepentant terrorists to escape justice while condemning hundreds of grieving families to a lifetime of unanswered questions.  

“Today, once again we have lost our families all over again, this time to the Canadian justice system”. These were the words of Sanjay Lazar on March 16, 2005, outside the Supreme Court of British Columbia. A man who had travelled across continents, holding onto the belief that justice was not merely a lofty ideal but a tangible reality in Canada, was instead met with the bitter realization of his own misplaced faith. That day, Justice Ian Josephson, under the guise of “reasonable doubt”—even though the prosecution’s witnesses successfully passed lie-detector tests—acquitted two men, one of whom had brazenly declared his desire to kill 50,000 Hindus. These men, who bore responsibility for the deaths of 329 people (including 268 Canadians; or 269 if one counts Tara Singh Hayer, assassinated for his audacity to speak against Khalistani violence) aboard Air India Flight 182, were set free to walk the streets of Canada with impunity. The cold irony of the moment was as piercing as the loss itself.  

Bolan’s book opens with a hauntingly vivid account of the moments leading up to the explosion aboard AI182 and the ensuing rescue efforts; a grim tableau in which the Irish and British vessels momentarily set aside their historic enmity to engage in an urgent, desperate search for survivors. Theirs was a battle both against the elements and the heartbreak of repeatedly pulling out lifeless bodies from the sea—bodies of men, women, and children who had boarded a routine flight, never to return. The rescuers’ anguish and their silent prayers that the subsequent retrieval would reveal a sign of life rather than another casualty is depicted with devastating clarity. Their selfless dedication, in stark contrast to the forces of hatred that had orchestrated this tragedy, stands as a testament to the resilience of humanity even in the face of unspeakable darkness.  

Yet, as one traverses the arc of history that stretches from the genesis of Khalistani extremism in Canada to the ultimate judicial pronouncement in 2005, a grim realization takes root: injustice is not an event—it is a process. The acquittal of the perpetrators was not an aberration but the culmination of a long, systemic dereliction of duty.  

Injustice occurred when the Canadian Security Intelligence Service (CSIS) dismissed glaring intelligence signals that a bombing was imminent. Injustice occurred when incriminating surveillance tapes were inexplicably erased before they could be examined as evidence. Injustice occurred when Canadian politicians, across the spectrum, shared the stage with known extremists at public events, whether out of apathy or willful ignorance. Injustice occurred when terror organizations like Babbar Khalsa International were granted charitable status, essentially funding their operation through Canadian taxpayer money. Injustice occurred when law enforcement stood paralyzed, unable—or unwilling—to counter the brazenness of Khalistani extremism, even as it unfolded in full public view. Injustice continues to occur today, as the Kanishka bombing, Canada’s worst terrorist attack, remains mischaracterized as a “foreign tragedy” rather than an act of homegrown terrorism that claimed the lives of hundreds of Canadians.  

The apathy of the Canadian establishment and mainstream media is, perhaps, the greatest of all injustices. A tragedy of such magnitude should have been etched into the national consciousness, yet nine out of 10 Canadians today are unaware of it. It is an omission that speaks volumes—an omission that allows extremist ideologies to fester unchecked, their proponents emboldened by the knowledge that their atrocities will be forgotten, if not outright dismissed.  

Bolan’s Loss of Faith is not just a historical account of a horrific tragedy; it is an urgent call to remembrance. And yet, inexplicably, fresh copies of this book are nowhere to be found. I had to scour through used-book markets to obtain a copy. This reality only reinforces the unsettling truth: some stories are inconvenient, and the Canadian establishment has little interest in ensuring they are widely read. This is not just a failure of justice but a failure of memory, a collective amnesia that serves only those who seek to rewrite history to suit their narratives.  

It is imperative that the Canadian government not only republish this book but also make it required reading for lawmakers, law enforcement, and policymakers. The disheartening ignorance of Canadian police officers regarding the Air India bombing—a reality I have personally encountered—exemplifies why such an initiative is necessary. And yet, even today, as conversations with policymakers reveal, many continue to view Khalistani extremism as a matter of “two immigrant groups fighting amongst themselves”, rather than recognizing the insidious ideological threat it poses.  

Kushal Mehra, an outspoken critic of Khalistani extremism, articulates it best: “This is not a Hindu versus Sikh issue. It is a Hindu-Sikh versus Khalistani issue”. Until this fundamental distinction is acknowledged, history will continue to repeat itself in ever more tragic forms.  

“I accept the judge’s decision, but this is a small court. There is another, higher court—God’s court. They will be punished a little later”, said Rattan Kalsi, who lost his 21-year-old daughter Indira in the bombing. And fate, it seems, has already rendered its verdict, one by one. The mastermind, Talwinder Parmar, was killed in a police encounter as he attempted to infiltrate India from Pakistan. Ripudaman Malik met his end in a gang war. As for Ajaib Bagri and Inderjit Reyat—Bholenath will decide!  

So, what is the way forward? I have asked myself this several times. I am sure many of the victims and the witnesses who risked their lives for nothing must be asking this as well. I wish we had to deal with much simpler questions in life. It has been 40 years since the tragedy and 20 years since the (in)justice was delivered. There is a whole new generation of Khalistani extremists who are pushing conspiracy theories, trying their best to erase history, and always ready to rub salt on the wounds of victims’ families. The Honourable John C. Major’s commission of inquiry’s report covered every single factor that indicated that it was Khalistani (not Sikh) terrorists who bombed the plane but fell short of actually saying that. 

I often annotate books that leave an impact on me—passages that resonate, revelations that disturb, insights that demand reflection. While reading Loss of Faith, I found myself pausing more often than I anticipated, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of what was being laid bare (I will share some highlights below). And as I turned the final page, a question loomed large in my mind: Is there more injustice in this world—or at least in Canada—than justice?  

And if so, how long before we acknowledge it?