02/06/2026
The death of Henry Nowak is both devastating and heartbreaking. My thoughts are with his family, friends, and everyone who loved him. No family should have to endure such a loss, and no words can ease the pain they are currently experiencing.
The man responsible for Henry's death has now been found guilty and sentenced to life imprisonment. Whilst no sentence can ever bring Henry back or ease the pain of those who loved him, the verdict and sentence ensure that the perpetrator has been held accountable for his actions. The brutality of the crime warranted a significant custodial sentence, and justice has rightly been delivered through the courts.
What concerns me, however, is the speed with which some individuals and organisations sought to politicise this tragedy.
Almost immediately, calls began to emerge for the banning of the kirpan. Rather than allowing the criminal justice system to do its job and focusing on the actions of the individual responsible, the conversation shifted towards questioning the rights of an entire faith community.
The kirpan is not simply a knife. For initiated Sikhs, it is a religious article of faith, carried as part of a commitment to justice, service, and the protection of others. Millions of Sikhs around the world carry a kirpan peacefully every day and have done so for generations.
The question we should be asking is not whether a religious symbol should be banned because one individual misused it. The question should be why some people appeared more interested in using a family's grief to advance pre-existing political agendas than in addressing the wider issue of violence itself.
Knife crime remains a serious and growing problem across the United Kingdom. In 2024, reports highlighted that knife crime had more than doubled in five years, with women increasingly among the victims. Yet where is the same level of public outrage when women are killed by partners, ex-partners, family members, or acquaintances? Two women a week are killed by a current or former partner in the UK. Week after week, year after year, these deaths rarely dominate the national conversation in the same way.
As someone who has worked in the Violence Against Women and Girls sector for more than thirty years, I cannot help but notice the inconsistency. When women are stabbed to death, where are the emergency political campaigns? Where are the demands for fundamental change? Where is the collective outrage?
I also believe there is a difficult conversation that the Sikh community itself needs to have.
Many Sikh organisations, leaders, and representatives rightly condemned the death of Henry Nowak. They spoke clearly and publicly, and that is welcome.
But where was this collective voice when other victims lost their lives?
When Ronan Kanda was murdered with ninja swords, the response from large sections of the Sikh community was noticeably quieter. When women such as Kamaljeet Kaur were stabbed to death in our own communities, where were the statements, the campaigns, the calls for action? How many Sikh women have been murdered by husbands, partners, or family members without attracting the same level of attention?
If we are prepared to speak out now because a kirpan has come under scrutiny, then we must also be prepared to speak out when women are murdered, when young people are killed, and when violence occurs within our own communities.
Our moral outrage cannot be conditional.
The value of a human life should not depend upon whether a particular political issue is attached to it. Nor should our willingness to condemn violence depend upon whether our own interests are at stake.
Henry Nowak deserves justice, and the courts have now delivered that justice. But his death should not become a vehicle for political opportunism, nor should it distract us from the broader reality that violence, knife crime, and homicide are claiming lives across all communities.
If we are serious about preventing future tragedies, then our focus must be on tackling violence wherever it occurs, holding offenders accountable, supporting victims and families, and applying the same standards consistently—regardless of who the victim is, who the perpetrator is, or what weapon was used.
