What Henry Nowak's murder says about the kirpan

Prof. Jagbir Jhutti-Johal about the kirpan, the faith, the law and the future

Prof. Jagbir Jhutti-Johal

This post has been updated to take in the ruling.

MPs from three political parties have now called for the Sikh kirpan to be banned - which, if it went ahead, would be a significant abridgement of their religious freedom. The kirpan is a small ceremonial sword or dagger carried by initiated Sikhs (sometimes worn on a necklace) as one of the ‘Five Ks’, symbolising duty to defend the faith and protect the weak. It’s part of the faith, not culture. Demands to ban IT come in response to the conviction of Vickrum Digwa for the fatal stabbing of Henry Nowak, a Southampton University student, last December. Digwa said later that he carried the murder weapon for religious reasons. He also lied that his victim had racially abused him.

Digwa’s brother had called 999 to report a “physical attack” by an assailant that they had actually captured (‘We’re restraining him right now’). Hence the blue-light response by the police. When officers found Nowak, they handcuffed him. It took them “about a minute”, the judge said, to realise their horrific error and then started trying to save his life. A police inquiry is underway into this aspect of the tragedy.

But the politicisation has started, with cynical misrepresentations effectively promoted. That police rushed out to investigate a loose allegation of racism, rather than a report of assault and capture. That the sentence was reduced because the killer could claim his knife was a religious item: so, two-tier justice. (In fact, the lower 20-year minimum was applied as there was no premeditation: an outcome dictated by the Sentencing Act 2020). One big claim, made by the killer, is that the murder weapon was a religiously-mandated Sikh kife.

The George Floyd murder in 2020 shows what reaction can be summoned when webcam video is released on social media. Nigel Farage has said the murder shows anti-white police bias and has called for a response of ‘cold rage’. Sikhs now find themselves in the dock.

To untangle the faith from the crime I caught up with Jagbir Jhutti-Johal OBE, Professor of Sikh Studies at Birmingham Uni. She has spent more than 25 years researching Sikh theology, community and contemporary affairs, and was appointed OBE for services to higher education and faith communities.

Prof. Jhutti-Johal does not say that there are no problems with the law as it stands. On the contrary, she says that understandable confusion about the kirpan is being exploited by Sikh youths. The remedy there, in my view, is to clarify the law rather than abolish it. Sikhs are very under-represented in the media and don’t have much of a press operation, so their side of the story risks being ignored entirely amid the algorithmic anger. Nowak’s family said they didn’t want his death to be politicised, or the cause for further division. My aim, in this post, is to put a Sikh perspective on this complicated and explosive situation on public record. Over to Prof. Jhutti-Johal.

Q: Let’s start with Henry Nowak’s murder. What’s your reaction?

A: As a Sikh and simply as a human being, my heart breaks for his family and for everyone who loved him. A young man lost his life in an act of shocking and senseless violence. No words can lessen that grief, and nothing should distract from the fact that a family is now living with an unimaginable loss.

I’m appalled that Vickrum Digwa, as an initiated Sikh, could commit such an act and then lie in an attempt to avoid responsibility. What he did is completely antithetical to Sikh teachings and values.

He did not use a kirpan. The kirpan is meant to symbolise restraint, justice, compassion and the defence of the vulnerable — not aggression, intimidation or violence. His actions dishonour those principles, and they dishonour the Sikh faith itself.

Q: One of the most disturbing details is that Digwa’s defence claimed he carried the weapon as part of his religion. How do you respond to that?

A: I find it deeply troubling that this argument was even put forward. The defence told the court he carried the knife “in the same way that he does every day in his life: as part of his religion.” But a Sikh, even one who practises Shastar Vidya, would never — and should never — carry a weapon of this nature as part of their daily religious observance.

And, in law, that claim did not stand. The weapon was a 21cm blade, and the court treated it as a large bladed article that is not, and was never intended to be covered by the kirpan exemption. Digwa was already wearing a small kirpan under his clothing which satisfied the religious obligation of an initiated Sikh. He had also chosen to carry a far larger blade. He was convicted not only of murder but of carrying a bladed article in public. In many ways, that demonstrates that the exemption itself works.

Q: The reporting confusion seems to be the definition of a kirpan. What is it?

A: It is one of the Five Ks that initiated Sikhs are required to wear at all times. The word itself comes from two Punjabi words: kirpa, meaning mercy, grace and compassion; and aan, meaning honour, dignity and self-respect. So the kirpan is not simply a “knife” or a “weapon”; it is a sacred article of faith, intended to remind Sikhs of their duty to stand against oppression and to protect others. During the Coronation, seeing the Curtana - the Sword of Mercy [carried by Penny Mordaunt] - reminded me strongly of the symbolism of the kirpan. Both represent the idea that power must be restrained by mercy and justice.

In his sentencing remarks, His Honour Judge William Mousley K.C. states: “10 It is a strict requirement of the Sikh faith to have a knife, called a kirpan, at all times. Generally, this will be a small knife, hidden from view, often on a length of cord and worn around the neck. You had that but, in addition, the large dagger in a sheath. You are a member of an order of Sikhs called the Nihang who have a tradition of having a second knife, or kirpan and that is often fully visible, believing that the guru will look favourably on that. You observed that tradition in your everyday life, at work and in public. However, it was not a strict requirement; that is borne out by the fact that neither your brother nor father who arrived on the scene after you had stabbed Henry were so dressed.”

This passage has caused some confusion because of the phrase:

“You are a member of an order of Sikhs called the Nihang who have a tradition of having a second knife, or kirpan and that is often fully visible, believing that the guru will look favourably on that.”

Some people have interpreted this as the judge describing the second weapon as a kirpan. However, it was not a Kirpan, but a ceremonial sword, which forms part of the Shasters.

Q: If the murder weapon was not really a kirpan, what was it?

A: He used a knife known as a choora/pesh-kabz, which is entirely different. The choora features a distinctive straight, heavy T-backed blade that tapers to a fine piercing point.

Historically it was used by Sikh warriors for piercing armour. It sits within what we call shastars: sacred weapons. Sikh theology teaches that we should be “saint-soldiers”, which is why Sikhs have a rich martial tradition known as Shastar Vidya. But that has never been a licence for violence; the saint-soldier ideal is a moral responsibility to wield strength ethically and with compassion.

Vickrum, belonged to the Nihang sect. They practice Shastar Vidiya and have a deep reverence for arms, which are seen as the physical manifestation of the Divine. However, some of the knives that make up the Shasters are not Kirpans and should not be defined as such and nor worn daily in public.

The kirpan is something very different. It is one of the five articles of faith worn by initiated Sikhs men and women. The 5Ks are kesh (unshorn hair), kangha (a wooden comb), kara (a simple steel bracelet), kachera (special cotton underwear) and kirpan (a short sword). These articles of faith are symbols of commitment to both spirituality and the defense of justice. The kirpan is a small, curved, single-edged blade, often between 3 and 8 inches in total length including the sheath and handle, and frequently even smaller. There is no single mandated size. It is worn beneath clothing and is not generally visible to the public.

Larger kirpans, typically around 3 feet (approximately 90 cm) in length, are more commonly associated with religious ceremonies, Nagar Kirtans, weddings and martial or ceremonial contexts connected to Sikh shastar traditions, including Gatka. They are not carried or worn in everyday life by Sikhs, as their size makes them impractical for routine activities.

What is happening now is that media reporting, which historically reduced the kirpan to a “small dagger”, is increasingly conflating the kirpan with the wider range of bladed weapons associated with Sikh martial traditions. When Sikhs try to correct the narrative, those distinctions collapse into a single category that is automatically treated as threatening.

Q: Does anything about this case suggest that the law is too broad and needs changing?

A: This case does not prove the exemption is too broad. It proves the law works as worded: the exemption already does what it is meant to do. The court was saying that this weapon did not qualify for religious protection. The law is not ambiguous on this point. He had a kirpan. He also carried an illegal, offensive weapon that no law would defend. That is precisely why calls now to ban or restrict the kirpan miss the point.

Q: Do Sikhs have any concerns about the kirpan law?

A: Yes, and we should be honest about them. When legislation was debated in 2019, Sikh organisations — the Sikh Federation, the then Sikh Council UK and Lord Singh — lobbied the Government very hard. But some of us were also raising concerns about misuse by a small minority of young Sikh men.

I have been asked to respond to cases, which never received public attention, of young men keeping large swords - or what were effectively hunting knives - in their cars “for protection”, while describing them to police as kirpans or religious articles of faith. This should be seen as part of the broader knife-carrying culture we see among some young men today. Blades being carried, in theory, for protection, identity or intimidation - but, ultimately, creating the conditions for serious violence and tragedy. Police conduct stop-and-searches for precisely this reason. Officers can hardly be expected to have detailed knowledge of Sikh practice. If they are told that the knife is being carried for religious reasons, officers may accept the claims at face value. That concern about abusing the law is real and should not be ignored.

So this is the potential for abusing the law. Young men exploiting the exemption, claiming that a blade is religious when it’s not. As a community we should be able to have honest conversations about misuse and accountability — with government, police, educators and wider society. Avoiding those conversations helps nobody.

Q: There has been a strong political reaction to this case. What do you make of it?

A: It is deeply troubling. It is striking to watch ministers now calling for bans on the kirpan, or using inflammatory language about Sikh practices, when many of these same politicians strongly supported the Sikh community and defended the kirpan exemptions during the passage of the Offensive Weapons Act in 2019. At that time they recognised the kirpan as an important article of faith, deserving legal protection and sensitivity. Now, in a highly charged political climate, some appear willing to abandon those principles in favour of rhetoric designed to look “tough”.

This kind of political opportunism is reckless. It creates fear, division and suspicion around an entire community because of the actions of one individual. Responsible leadership should calm tensions, protect social cohesion, and distinguish clearly between criminal acts committed by individuals and the beliefs of an entire faith community. Instead, some politicians are fuelling a narrative that places ordinary Sikhs at risk.

On another note, our Sikh politicians also have a responsibility to speak out and help correct the narrative. For many years there was a strong demand for visible Sikh representation in Parliament so that the community would have a voice within public life and political institutions. Moments such as these are precisely when that representation matters most. At a time when public debates around the kirpan and Sikh identity risk becoming increasingly distorted, this is exactly when we need to hear those voices most clearly and publicly, to counter misleading narratives often amplified in far-right or populist discourse.

Q: And the media?

A: The media has a serious responsibility here too. Large sections of the press and the social media ecosystem are amplifying fear rather than encouraging understanding. Sensationalist headlines, inflammatory commentary and misleading framing are helping to create a climate where Sikhs are increasingly viewed with suspicion or hostility. Words used in headlines matter, especially if the headline is what most people read. Saying that the murder weapon was a ‘ceremonial knife,’ for example, could give the impression that the law allowed this blade to be carried.

There is a real problem in how language travels from the courtroom to the front page. The judge dealt very well with the legal facts established in evidence, using terms such as “blade” or “bladed article”, without adopting religious or cultural classifications. The prosecution and defence drew on words such as “kirpan” and “shastar-style knife”. The media then simplified matters further, collapsing these distinctions into “knife” or “sword” depending on the angle of reporting. It is in that movement — from legal classification to media framing — that nuance and context disappear, and an entire community is reduced to stereotypes.

Q: This case has been in the news for months. Elon Musk is talking about it to his 220 million followers. The tone, at times, has been quite harsh. What has the effect of this case been on ordinary Sikhs?

A: Many Sikhs, particularly initiated Sikhs who wear the kirpan, are feeling truly vulnerable. I know initiated Sikhs who — whether they used to wear the kirpan visibly over their clothes or discreetly underneath — are now conscious of it being visible and are deliberately hiding it, because they no longer feel safe displaying it in public. Before this, they would not have thought twice. Now they are anxious about how they will be perceived, whether they will be confronted, or whether they might become targets of abuse or hostility.

Q: What does the law say about kirpans now?

Sikhs have long had legal exemptions relating to the kirpan under the Criminal Justice Act 1988 and, more recently, the Offensive Weapons Act 2019.

Under section 139 of the 1988 Act, it is lawful to carry a kirpan in public for genuine religious reasons. That is what allows practising Sikhs to wear one as part of their faith in everyday life.

Separate rules under section 141 restrict certain offensive weapons, including some curved swords with blades of 50cm or more. The Offensive Weapons Act 2019 expanded the Sikh exemptions in this area so that religious possession, ceremonial use, manufacture, sale and gifting of kirpans could continue lawfully.

The ordinary kirpan, worn daily by most Sikhs, does not fall within the category of prohibited curved swords. But even where a kirpan does engage the offensive-weapons rules, the exemption is not unlimited. The protection depends on the religious purpose and surrounding circumstances. No one can simply carry a blade and claim it is a kirpan. If challenged, the court would look at factors such as the carrier’s faith, the manner in which the blade was worn, its purpose, and the context in which it was carried.

Nor does the law permit anyone, Sikh or not, to carry a kirpan or any other blade for self-defence. The statutory protections exist for genuine religious and ceremonial purposes, not for use as a weapon.

The law was already clear before Digwa, and he broke it on every single level.

Q: What do you expect to happen next?

A: If the conversation around banning or restricting the kirpan continues it will be interesting, though deeply difficult, to watch unfold. After 9/11, similar debates took place within the Sikh community and between Sikhs and the UK Government. At that time there were suggestions such as welding the kirpan permanently into its sheath, limiting its size significantly or replacing it altogether with a very small symbolic kirpan worn as a necklace. Those proposals created considerable tension and disagreement, because Sikhs felt they undermined the religious significance and integrity of the article of faith itself.

If calls for restrictions emerge again, the discussions will not be easy conversations. They sit at the intersection of public safety, religious freedom, and the challenge of how minority faith practices are understood and regulated in the public sphere. My hope is we keep in mind that the law has worked to strike the right balance between religious freedom and public safety. We see very little evidence that kirpans have been associated with wider patterns of violence. The British way has been to take an evidence-led approach that addresses legitimate public safety concerns without allowing the issue to be exploited for political point-scoring, anti-immigrant sentiment, or broader culture-war agendas.

Q: What do you most want people to take from all this?

A: That we must be able to hold several truths at once. We must condemn this violence unequivocally, support Henry Nowak’s family wholeheartedly and address legitimate concerns about the misuse of religious exemptions. But also refuse to allow an entire minority community to become the subject of collective blame, fear-mongering and political scapegoating.

The irony in all of this is that Sikhs have historically been respected precisely because of our martial tradition and the values associated with it: courage, discipline, self-restraint, the protection of the vulnerable, and standing against injustice. The saint-soldier ideal has long been understood not as a licence for violence, but as a moral responsibility. What makes this case so painful is that one man’s actions — amplified by some reporting and seized upon by politicians — risk reducing that entire tradition to fear about weapons and violence. That is deeply damaging, not only for initiated Sikhs, but for the wider understanding of Sikh history, identity and theology.