If you go on certain corners of the internet right now, you will be convinced that the most undesirable person in India is not some criminal mastermind, but Diljit Dosanjh. He has been on the news for all the wrong reasons lately. From dealing with censorship issues on Punjab 95 to facing accusations of being a deshdrohi (traitor) for pairing up with Pakistani actor Hania Aamir in Sardaarji 3 (which couldn't even get a release in India), Dosanjh is facing brickbats from all corners.
In the aftermath of the Sardaarji 3 incident, the Federation of Western India Cine Employees (FWICE) wants T-series to kick Dosanjh out of Border 2 as well. They also want other Indian filmmakers to blackball Dosanjh for not putting “nation first.” However, if recent reports are to be believed the sequel to JP Dutta's 1997 war-drama Border is already more than halfway shot, making it impossible to recast Dosanjh’s role at this stage.
Speaking with 카지노, General Secretary of FWICE, Ashok Dubey said that they do not exactly have the power to blacklist Dosanjh. But no one can hold “a gun to their heads or a sword to their throats” to make them work with him. They cannot stop anyone from hiring Dosanjh, but their 500,000-strong body of union workers can refuse to work on any project Dosanjh is associated with. This can hamper production and cause unnecessary delays. In a sense, this is their “civil protest” being waged against Dosanjh.
This isn’t the first time cinema (or even Dosanjh) has found itself caught in the crossfire between India and Pakistan. In fact, censorship is the first recourse when geopolitical hostilities arise. Be it bans on Pakistani cricketers in the IPL matches, a sudden severing of cultural exchange programs, or erasure of Pakistani artists from YouTube’s cover art, it's consistently the soft diplomacy sectors—those with actual power to build bridges—that are sacrificed at the altar of nationalism. It’s easier to disinvite a singer than negotiate a ceasefire. Cinema and cricket often become convenient scapegoats in the theatre of public sentiment.
In February 2019, shortly after the Pulwama attack, FWICE gave a directive to Indian production houses, beseeching them to stop any collaboration with Pakistani artists or technicians. Dubey states that for six years, they have been “fighting this battle.” So, to them, arguments from the producers (which includes Dosanjh) of Sardaarji 3—that the film was shot before the Pahalgam attack and hence should be allowed a release—are mere excuses.
From National Pride To National Threat
Dosanjh has long been vocal about political issues, most notably during the farmer protests in 2020. After the Hindu right outfit Bajrang Dal protested the serving of alcohol and non-vegetarian food at his Dil-Luminati Indore concert in 2024, he responded with “Kisi ke baap ka Hindustan thodi hai” (India does not belong to anybody’s daddy), quoting poet Rahat Indori to rousing applause.
His outspoken support for the agitating farmers led to him being labelled a “Khalistani”—though there’s no credible basis for the accusation beyond his solidarity with the largely Sikh-led farmers’ movement. This has made it easy to target Dosanjh as a voice of dissent in an industry that is often compelled to toe the line.
Recently he made a cryptic dig at the censorship issues in India. His upcoming film, Honey Trehan's Punjab 95—which has faced multiple censorship hurdles in India—is based on the life of human rights activist Jaswant Singh Khalra, who exposed illegal mass cremations by the Punjab Police in the 1990s. Comedian Kunal Kamra, who watched the film, took to Instagram to pointedly remark that whoever wants to stop this film doesn't want anyone to celebrate “a hero that hails from a minority community today.”
That a film about state accountability is being stalled, while its lead actor is being vilified for cross-border artistic collaboration, says a lot about the priorities of public outrage.
There was a similar backlash against Ae Dil Hai Mushkil in 2016 for casting Fawad Khan, in the wake of the terror attack in Uri. Raees (2017) became a punching bag because Mahira Khan starred in it. Both films were forced to release with last-minute edits after facing protests. Post 26/11, cross-border collaboration in entertainment came to a screeching halt. After Uri and Pulwama, it happened again. Most recently, Fawad Khan’s Abir Gulaal was not allowed a release after the attack in Pahalgam. It’s a cycle that repeats itself like clockwork.
When asked whether “Aman ki Asha” (Hope for Peace) between the two nations was worth preserving, Dubey said, “Aman ek taraf se nahi hoti” (Peace can’t be one-sided). Those who continue to work with Pakistani artists, in his view, do so not for peace, but for fame and profit, putting personal gain over national interest.
FWICE had also written to Dosanjh when he agreed to perform at a concert in the US on September 21, 2019, promoted by Rehan Siddiqi, a Pakistani-American promoter. They shared that letter with 카지노 as proof of having engaged with him before this current flare-up. “Galtiyo pe galtiyaan kare jaaye aur hum maaf karte jaaye. Aisi na sarkar hai, na federation,” (He can’t be a repeat offender and expect forgiveness. That’s neither the nature of the current government nor the association) stated Dubey.
In January this year, Dosanjh met Prime Minister Narendra Modi, who praised him as “a combination of talent and tradition” and celebrated his global success. Modi even remarked, “When a boy from a small village in Hindustan shines on the global stage, it feels amazing.”
The sudden shifts around Dosanjh’s public image—from national pride to national threat—expose how fickle politically charged public outrage can be.
Moving Forward
It is vital to acknowledge national tragedies and stand in solidarity with victims of terror. But when bans are implemented in such blanket terms, we risk losing nuance. Not every Pakistani artist is a mouthpiece for the state. Not every Indian artist working with them is anti-national.
As many trying to argue in good faith online have pointed out, it's ludicrous to demand that Dosanjh publicly condemn his Pakistani co-actors or refuse to work with them altogether. Or that others do the same to him when he refuses to behave. We live in a deeply interconnected world. Millions of Indians live abroad, work for multinational companies, and collaborate daily with people from all nationalities, including Pakistanis. To expect artists to isolate themselves based on borders—when our economies, tech sectors, and even academic institutions thrive on global exchange—is both hypocritical and shortsighted. Individuals cannot, and should not, bear the burden of political hostilities or terrorist actions committed by a few.
What’s even more troubling is that such moral crusades are selectively applied. Bollywood has routinely profited from hypernationalist narratives, used military backdrops as emotional leverage, and demonised entire communities in the name of storytelling. But scrutiny for those films is often met with resentment instead of critical thinking. The outrage only erupts when someone dares to imagine a version of India that doesn’t include perpetual hostility.
It is troubling to note that in India, artists who are forced to constantly prove their patriotism are inevitably from religious minorities—be it Dosanjh, Naseeruddin Shah or Shah Rukh Khan or Aamir Khan. Their loyalty is never assumed; it must be performed, loudly and repeatedly, to earn the same acceptance their majority counterparts receive by default. After a point, this becomes a form of public humiliation—a price they must pay for belonging.
There’s an urgent need to resist these cycles of suspicion and division if we truly want peace. Even if such arguments feel idealistic, we must still compel ourselves to question. Is the demand to ban Pakistani artists or to police the loyalties of those like Dosanjh truly about protecting the nation? Or is it more about controlling narratives and enforcing conformity and obedience?
Debiparna Chakraborty is a film, TV, and culture critic dissecting media at the intersection of gender, politics, and power
