Opinion What ‘One Piece’ and the long history of Sikh resistance have in common: One principle — freedom for all

Recently, this truth resurfaced unexpectedly in a casual exchange with my son, where a simple question about a digital subscription led to an answer that felt disproportionate to the subject. What appeared to be just another piece of popular culture was described, instead, as a symbol of protest, one already visible in demonstrations across countries such as Nepal and Indonesia. The image in question was deceptively simple: A skull wearing a straw hat.

The reference was to One Piece, a Japanese manga series. First published in 1997, it has outlived multiple political cycles. But the reminder was not really about manga. It was about how resistance continues to find new carriers.

Resistance before it is named

Long before contemporary protest movements developed their own visual languages, Sikh history had already articulated a grammar of resistance, one that rejected power, territory and dominion. From early encounters with imperial authority to the partition of Punjab in 1947, Sikh engagement followed a recurring trajectory: Conflict, brief accommodation, and a return to resistance. Shaped by the lives of the 10 Sikh Gurus (1469–1708), this tradition centred not on political control, but on the defence of conscience, dignity and faith.

The Five Ks: Kesh, kangha, kirpan, kara and kachera are today recognised as defining symbols of Sikh identity. Yet even before these were formalised, resistance was communicated through others, introduced by Guru Hargobind, the sixth Sikh Guru.

Miri-Piri, represented by two swords, asserted the inseparability of spiritual authority and temporal responsibility. The construction of the Akal Takht, directly opposite the Harmandir Sahib, was a declaration of autonomy that rejected subservience without seeking domination.

The most enduring of these symbols was the Chola. When Guru Hargobind was imprisoned by Emperor Jahangir along with 52 Rajput kings, he refused release unless the others were freed. The cloak was altered overnight, fitted with 52 tassels. Every captive walked free. The Chola became a symbol of resistance achieved not through violence, but through insistence, design and moral clarity.

Resistance without the hunger to rule

Sikh resistance did not aim to replace one ruler with another. It sought to limit power, not inherit it.

The same structure appears repeatedly in One Piece. Across more than 1,000 published chapters, nearly every narrative arc centres on an authoritarian ruler, a corrupt system, and a population conditioned into fear. Disruption arrives from outsiders, but never with the intention of governance. The objective is simpler and more radical: To ensure that no one is denied freedom.

This mirrors the actions of Guru Tegh Bahadur, the ninth Sikh Guru. When Aurangzeb imposed forced conversions on the Brahmins of Kashmir in the 1670s, Guru Tegh Bahadur chose martyrdom to protect the faith of others. His resistance lay in refusal, not retaliation.

Across time and culture, power responds most aggressively not to violence, but to ideas.

In One Piece, characters are punished for speaking forbidden histories, refusing sanctioned narratives, inspiring others to question authority, and existing as symbols rather than individuals. Once someone becomes a symbol, punishment ceases to be corrective and becomes exemplary. And those who refuse to recant or apologise, who remain silent, are treated as especially dangerous.

Sikh history reflects the same pattern. Guru Tegh Bahadur’s execution was intended as a deterrent. Instead, it became a memory. And memory, once established, proves remarkably resistant to erasure.

Why symbols survive

What sustains resistance is not any single story, but the emotions these stories generate: Ordinary lives constrained by untouchable authority, truths widely known yet officially denied, and the possibility of resistance not defined solely by martyrdom.

One Piece, which has sold over 500 million copies worldwide, frames resistance with joy rather than despair, perseverance rather than nihilism. Technologies evolve and empires rise and fall, yet the architecture of resistance remains strikingly familiar. Symbols, once released into the world, are far more difficult to imprison than people.

It is no surprise, then, that a simple image — a skull wearing a straw hat — has begun to circulate as a contemporary emblem of protest. Its message is neither new nor radical, but it remains profoundly unsettling to power: Freedom for all.

Hajela is the author of Ladies’ Tailor and is currently working on two books, a historical fiction set during the British period and a non-fiction account of the Sikh Gurus