In recent years, the Indian diaspora in Canada has found itself navigating a climate that feels increasingly charged, performative, and at times, openly hostile, driven by Canada-based Khalistani extremism. What once appeared as the fringes of political expression has, in several instances, crossed into the realm of intimidation, incitement to violence and hate speech, directed not only at symbols of India, but at individuals representing the Indian state.
The imagery has not been abstract. As India’s High Commissioner in Canada during this period, I saw firsthand how such acts moved beyond protest into intimidation. At a Nagar Kirtan procession in Toronto, a disturbing tableau depicted the violent assassination of former Indian Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, not as history to be reflected upon, but as spectacle to be re-enacted. In another instance, a poster bearing the image of India’s then High Commissioner was displayed with simulated bullet marks, a gesture that was meant to incite violence and hatred. These are not isolated provocations; they are performative acts that blur the line between expression and intimidation, testing how far public space can be used to normalise threat.
Effigies of Indian leadership grotesquely displayed in public protests, incendiary slogans calling for violence, and demonstrations staged in close proximity to Indian diplomatic missions have created a pattern that goes beyond dissent. In some cases, threats, both implicit and explicit, have been directed at India’s High Commissioner and other diplomats. This is not dissent stretching its voice, it is dissent testing how far intimidation can travel before the law catches up. When violence is staged as memory and threat is aestheticised as protest, the question is no longer about freedom of expression, but about the erosion of its boundaries.
For members of the Indian diaspora, the effect has been cumulative. Community spaces have not been insulated from this atmosphere. Hindu temples have been vandalised with graffiti carrying extremist messaging, often designed less to persuade than to provoke. The repetition of such incidents has created a sense that these are not isolated acts of mischief, but part of a broader attempt to challenge India’s sovereignty and territorial integrity through disruption and symbolic aggression.
Until recently, Canada’s legal framework struggled to respond decisively to such developments. The country’s Criminal Code, particularly Sections 318 and 319, does criminalise the advocacy of genocide and the wilful promotion of hatred. However, these provisions were constructed with caution. They set a high threshold for prosecution, reflecting a longstanding commitment to protecting freedom of expression. Safeguards such as the requirement for Attorney General consent and the availability of a “good faith” defence reinforced that restraint. The system was designed to intervene only when speech crossed into clear and demonstrable harm.
The difficulty, as events since 2022 have shown, is that contemporary forms of intimidation do not always fit neatly within those categories. The display of threatening imagery, the strategic use of public demonstrations to target specific communities or institutions, and the obstruction, implicit or otherwise, of access to religious spaces often fall into a grey zone. They create an environment of pressure and unease without always meeting the legal standard required for prosecution.
It is in this context that Canada’s proposed Bill C-9, the “Combatting Hate Act,” must be understood. The legislation is not simply an update to existing law; it is an acknowledgment that the nature of harm has evolved, and that the legal framework must evolve with it.
Canadian Bill C-9 expands the scope of hate-related offences beyond speech to include conduct and symbolism. It introduces a stand-alone hate crime offence, allowing motivation rooted in hatred, whether based on religion, ethnicity, or national origin, to aggravate criminal liability. More importantly, it directly addresses the kinds of incidents promoted by Khalistani extremists that have unsettled Indian diaspora communities by criminalising the intimidation or obstruction of individuals seeking to access religious or cultural spaces. In doing so, it recognises that the denial of safe access is itself a form of harm.
The bill also seeks to make enforcement more responsive. By removing the requirement for Attorney General consent, it reduces procedural delays that have often weakened deterrence. At the same time, it narrows the scope of protected expression by repealing the “good faith” defence for religious speech, signalling that such protections cannot be used as a shield for conduct that crosses into hatred. To guard against overreach, it defines hatred as “detestation or vilification,” explicitly excluding mere offence or dislike.
Laws can signal intent, but they do not, by themselves, change behaviour. If incidents involving threats, vandalism, or targeted intimidation continue to be met with delayed or uneven responses, the existence of a stronger legal framework will carry limited weight. For India, the test will not be whether Canada has legislated, but whether it has acted, and acted consistently.
Over the past few years, one of the persistent undercurrents in India–Canada relations has been that extremist narratives have been able to operate with a degree of latitude within Canada. The concern has not been with dissent itself, but with the space available for activities that verge on intimidation or incitement, particularly when directed at diplomatic personnel or diaspora institutions.
For India, these concerns are further sharpened by a long-standing apprehension that elements of diaspora extremism do not operate in isolation, but may intersect with external networks, including actors linked to Pakistan’s intelligence ecosystem. While such linkages are often difficult to establish in public legal terms, their perceived presence adds a strategic dimension to what might otherwise be seen as a purely domestic law-and-order issue.
For the Indian diaspora, the stakes are more immediate and more personal. Canada has long been seen as a space where identity can be expressed freely and without fear. The visibility of intimidation, whether through public demonstrations, symbolic acts, or targeted vandalism, has introduced an element of uncertainty into everyday life.
Bill C-9 speaks directly to this experience. By criminalising the obstruction of access to places of worship and recognising the role of symbolic hate in creating insecurity, it offers a form of legal acknowledgment that these concerns are neither exaggerated nor isolated. It affirms that safety is not limited to protection from physical violence, but includes the ability to participate in community life without intimidation.
At the same time, the legislation raises important questions about balance. The Indian diaspora, like other communities in Canada, values the country’s tradition of robust free expression. The challenge for Canadian authorities will be to ensure that enforcement remains precise, targeting genuine instances of hatred without casting an unnecessarily wide net.
The issue of vandalism of places of worship illustrates both the necessity and the complexity of this approach. Such acts are rarely random. They are designed to send a message, to mark territory, and to provoke reaction. By bringing symbolic acts within the ambit of criminal law, Bill C-9 acknowledges their impact. Yet the credibility of this approach will depend on whether these acts are investigated thoroughly and prosecuted decisively. A law that promises protection but fails to deliver it risks deepening, rather than alleviating, community anxiety.
At a broader level, Bill C-9 reflects a shift in Canada’s understanding of multiculturalism. The traditional model, built on coexistence and tolerance, assumed that social harmony would largely sustain itself. What recent developments have shown is that harmony can be disrupted not only by overt violence, but by sustained patterns of intimidation and symbolic aggression. The state is now signalling that it is prepared to intervene earlier, to prevent such patterns from taking root.
For India, this moment underscores the importance of engaging with Canada not only at the level of diplomacy, but at the level of law and society. The security and stability of the diaspora cannot be separated from the broader trajectory of bilateral relations. Bill C-9 offers a framework through which some of these concerns can be addressed, but it is only a starting point.
The real measure will lie in what follows. Whether the law is applied consistently, whether it commands public confidence, and whether it succeeds in restoring a sense of normalcy to diaspora life will determine its impact. For the Indian diaspora, the hope is straightforward: that the shift from intimidation to accountability is not merely legislative, but lived.
