Foreign interference is unacceptable in Canada. It shouldn’t become acceptable simply because it’s aimed at India.

I don’t pretend to have deep, on-the-ground knowledge of Alberta’s separatist debate. But Canada’s near-universal pushback against foreign interference in that conversation has been heartening, because it reveals a civic reflex Canadians still share, whatever your view on separation, you don’t want outsiders manipulating a domestic question.

Recent reporting has made the concern concrete. A study summarized by Global News warned that foreign actors, including American and Russian ones, are meddling in Alberta’s separatist debate in ways that threaten Canadian sovereignty (Global News, May 2026). Canada’s National Observer reported research showing inauthentic ‘news’ channels and influence campaigns amplifying Alberta secession and annexation narratives (Canada’s National Observer, April 2026). The Guardian reported a major Alberta voter-data breach linked to separatist organizing, exactly the kind of vulnerability experts warn can be exploited (The Guardian, May 2026).

So, Canada’s standard is clear: foreign interference is unacceptable, especially when it rides on disinformation, data exposure, and community targeting. Good. Now apply that same standard to how many Indians, across political views, have experienced the Khalistan file for years.

From India’s perspective, the core complaint is at least a few decades old that Canadian political space, and institutions have enabled an overseas separatist ecosystem to operate openly from Canada, often wrapped in ‘rights’ language, even as India links that ecosystem to extremism, intimidation, and criminality. That is not a characterization I’m inventing; it is an official position India has put on record. In September 2023, India’s Ministry of External Affairs explicitly referred to ‘Khalistani terrorists and extremists’ sheltered in Canada and said, ‘the space given in Canada to a range of illegal activities including murders, human trafficking and organised crime is not new’.

Canadians can disagree with India’s framing. But the asymmetry in Canadian instincts is hard to miss. When Alberta becomes the target, Canadians immediately reach for the language of sovereignty, manipulation, coercion, and democratic integrity. When India raises similar concerns about separatist organizing from Canadian soil, often paired with intimidation politics and crime allegations, Canada’s reflex is too often to repackage it as ‘a disagreement about free speech’.

Canada’s own intelligence reporting has, in fact, moved closer to India’s concern than Canada’s political class admits. The CSIS Public Report states that ongoing involvement in violent extremist activities by Canada-based Khalistani extremists continues to pose a national-security threat to Canada and Canadian interests, and notes that some fundraising can be diverted toward violent activity (CSIS Public Report, 2025). That is not India lobbying Canada. That is Canada describing a domestic threat.

The double standard isn’t only about what is tolerated on Canadian soil. It’s also about what Canadian politicians choose to amplify abroad and that record spans parties.

During the 2020–21 farmers’ protest, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau publicly called the situation ‘concerning’ and signalled support for peaceful protest and dialogue (Hindustan Times, December 2020). Conservative MPs spoke too. In the House of Commons, Arnold Viersen said Sikhs were ‘thinking of and praying for India’s farmers’ protesting new legislation (House of Commons Hansard, November 2020).

Conservative MP Brad Vis tabled petitions from constituents ‘concerned for the safety of farmers’ protesting domestic legislative changes in India (House of Commons Hansard, December 2020). Conservative MP Tim Uppal likewise said India’s farmers ‘deserve to be heard and respected’, a message amplified in media coverage (Scroll, December 2020). Ontario NDP MPP Gurratan Singh was also cited among Canadian politicians voicing concern about the protests, showing the commentary extended beyond Ottawa into provincial politics (Canada’s National Observer, December 2020).

The Amritpal Singh episode in 2023 is even more instructive because it involved public order and violence, not merely protest. Al Jazeera reported that Amritpal and supporters armed with swords, knives and guns raided a police station in February 2023 after an aide was arrested, an event central to the later crackdown and manhunt (Al Jazeera, April 2023). India Today reported Punjab Police describing the Ajnala, Punjab incident as an attack on police and highlighting pressure on authorities during the confrontation. (India Today, February 2023).

Now ask a simple question: if a mobilized group stormed a police station in Canada to force the release of an aide, under threat, with weapons visible, would Canadian authorities treat it as ‘civil liberties’ theatre, or would they enforce criminal law and restore public order?

Canadian political reactions again moved quickly into public positioning. Global News reported that MPs from multiple parties criticized India’s crackdown and internet restrictions, and it specifically noted Conservative voices as well. Conservative deputy leader Tim Uppal and Conservative MP Jasraj Singh Hallan among them (Global News, March 2023). Canada’s Foreign Minister Mélanie Joly said Canada was following developments ‘very closely’ (The Indian Express, March 2023). Jagmeet Singh called the crackdown ‘draconian’ and urged Canadian intervention (Hindustan Times, March 2023).

Outside government, the World Sikh Organization of Canada issued a formal statement condemning the “security operations” in Punjab and raising fears about extrajudicial harm, illustrating how non-government actors in Canada also shaped the narrative internationally (World Sikh Organization of Canada, March 2023)

India’s response to both episodes followed the same script: formal diplomatic pushback and a clear message that Canada was commenting on internal Indian matters. In 2020, India summoned Canada’s envoy, warned that Trudeau’s remarks could ‘impact ties’, and called the commentary ‘ill-informed’, ‘unwarranted’, and ‘interference’ (Al Jazeera, December 2020) (India Today, December 2020) (Reuters, December 2020).

In 2023, as Canadian politicians and organizations criticized the Punjab crackdown, Indian officials framed the operation as law-enforcement action to ‘nab a fugitive’, signalling that Canada’s commentary was external noise while India pursued policing. (The Indian Express, March 2023.)

Put the pattern together and the hypocrisy becomes harder to ignore. Canada is right to reject foreign interference in Alberta. But Canada’s political class has repeatedly engaged in rhetorical interference in India, on mass protests and on an internal security crackdown triggered by a police-station attack, then bristled when India said, plainly, ‘this is our internal matter’.

That is why the Alberta interference debate matters beyond Alberta. It has forced Canadians to admit, in real time, that democratic debates can be manipulated through proxies, disinformation, intimidation, and exploitation of institutional openness. Canada is suddenly fluent in the language of foreign influence because it can taste it.

The underlying principle is that sovereignty is not selective. If foreign interference is wrong when aimed at Canadian unity, it is equally wrong when Canadian space is used to inflame separatist politics abroad.

Foreign interference is unacceptable in Canada. It shouldn’t become acceptable simply because it’s aimed at India.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

Nancy Grewal’s family is demanding justice. Justice now means more than solving a murder.

Western democracies like to sermonize about rights, pluralism, and the protection of dissent. Their real test is simpler: what do they do when an ordinary immigrant woman says she is afraid and asks for help?

Nancy Grewal asked for help.

She was a 45-year-old Sikh woman who moved to Canada in 2018, settled in Windsor, Ontario, and worked as a personal support worker. Her union later described her as a steward and a committed worker. She was not a celebrity activist insulated by institutions. She was a frontline worker, often alone, who also became known online for criticizing the violent Khalistan movement and the people she believed used intimidation, influence, and religious spaces to dominate parts of her community.

On the night of 3 March 2026, after finishing work at a client’s home on Todd Lane in LaSalle, she was stabbed multiple times and later succumbed to her injuries. Police were unusually clear from the beginning: this was “not a random act of violence” but “an intentional act against her.” The Ontario Provincial Police later joined the probe. Nancy Grewal was not caught in random chaos—she was targeted.

What makes the case darker is that she appears to have predicted it.

CityNews reported on 5 March that Nancy’s sister, Alisha, said she had been receiving threats, believed she was being followed, and had already gone to police with the names of the people she feared. Alisha called the murder “pre-planned” and “revenge” for Nancy’s videos. Later, speaking to AM800, she asked the question that now sits at the centre of the case: if her sister was “giving names, giving everything,” why was she not taken seriously?

Nancy’s own words make that question impossible to ignore. In a video recorded after someone tried to burn her house in November 2025, she said: “I’m a Canadian citizen, but I don’t feel safe in this country right now.” She also pointed toward Gurdwara Khalsa Parkash in Maidstone, alleging that the intimidation came from men linked to that gurdwara. This matters because it places the story not simply in the realm of a private feud, but in a charged religious ecosystem where community power, diaspora radicalism, and fear can overlap.

After her murder, investigators released surveillance footage of what they described as a targeted arson at her home. A van stops. A man gets out with a gas can, pours liquid on the porch, sets it alight, and flees. This was no imagined danger—it was a documented attack on her home months before she was killed.

Nancy did not describe that arson as an isolated act. She linked it to an earlier shooting near St. Rose Avenue and Wyandotte Street East in Windsor. In her account, these were connected expressions of the same pattern. She said the “real man” behind the attacks does not come forward himself but “hires repeat offenders and criminals to do the job.”

That line is one reason public attention later turned to the names her family raised.

After Nancy was killed, her mother said she had feared Avtar Singh Kooner. She also named Barinder Shokar and Harpinder. According to the family, Harpinder befriended Nancy on Instagram, followed and surveilled her, came to her house, and checked for cameras around the home and car. Her mother’s point was blunt: Nancy’s location as a healthcare worker was not widely known, and it was highly unlikely that her employer had leaked it. If that account is true, this was not accidental exposure—it was deliberate access.

The Kooner name carries its own shadow. Air India inquiry records show that RCMP investigators searched Avtar Singh Kooner’s residence in June 1985. Reporting on Gurfathe “Laddi” Singh Kooner, Avtar’s son, described an earlier case in which he was seen tossing a bag from an F-150 pickup; the recovered bag contained guns and ammunition. The backdrop is darker still: Avtar Kooner appears in a social media photograph with Lakhbir Singh Rode, nephew of Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale. Rode has been publicly identified as a leading figure in the International Sikh Youth Federation, which Canada lists as a terrorist entity. None of this proves who killed Nancy Grewal, but it places the names raised by her family within a historical and political context far more serious than Canada likes to admit.

Then the institutional questions become impossible to ignore.

On 15 March, the OPP released the arson video and said they were trying to determine whether it was linked to Nancy’s murder. On 20 March, Alisha publicly asked why that footage had not been released sooner. By 23 March, AM800 reported that the OPP and LaSalle Police had taken over the arson file from Windsor Police because investigators believed there could be a connection. If a woman reports threats, if her home is later confirmed to have been targeted in an arson attack, and if that arson may be linked to her murder, then the issue is no longer simply whether she was afraid. The issue is whether the system acted with anything like the urgency her case demanded.

There is another deeply uncomfortable detail. Nancy had spoken to CBC in February about the threats she was facing. Canadaland later described that interview as one in which she said she feared for her life just days before she was stabbed to death. The interview, by later accounts, aired only after she was killed. CBC is entitled to its editorial judgment, but the moral question remains: when a woman says on record that she is under threat, what obligation does a public broadcaster owe—not just to journalism, but to urgency?

This should shame more than one institution. Police had warnings. Media had testimony. Her family says officers were given names and even a letter. Yet Nancy remained exposed until the danger she described became irreversible.

Canada has a habit of flattening such cases into the language of “community tensions,” as though threats, stalking, arson, and murder are merely difficult internal disagreements best managed quietly. That language is not neutral. It shields institutions from embarrassment while leaving vulnerable people to absorb the risk.

Nancy Grewal’s family is demanding justice. Justice now means more than solving a murder. It means answering the harder question Canada would rather avoid: When Nancy Grewal said she was in danger, why did Canada not act as if she was?

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

In Khalistan-adjacent cases, the route is often packaged as ‘human rights’, but the toolkit is familiar: coaching, paperwork, and performance.

In July 2023, The Times of India reported on a ‘sting’ based on a Daily Mail (UK) investigation in which an undercover reporter was allegedly coached by rogue UK lawyers to claim he was a Khalistani supporter to seek asylum. In the same month, The Economic Times reported the UK legal watchdog opened an investigation and noted then-Prime Minister Rishi Sunak condemned the conduct. The point isn’t the UK’s internal politics. It’s the mechanism, when an asylum channel becomes a repeatable script, coached identity, packaged ‘proof’, intermediaries paid to shape the story, it stops being protection and starts being a loophole.

Canada should recognize the same mechanics at home. Canada has grappled with politicized claim-making tied to India since the late 1970s and early 1980s, intensifying in the mid-1980s. What has changed is scale, and how easily a modern ecosystem can industrialize claims through brokers, staged political identities, and document markets. In Khalistan-adjacent cases, the route is often packaged as ‘human rights’, but the toolkit is familiar: coaching, paperwork, and performance.

The pipeline depends on a simple mechanism: documents. A widely circulated clip shows Simranjit Singh Mann (President, Shiromani Akali Dal (Amritsar)) describing issuing ‘letters’ used for asylum or immigration pathways to raise money for his political party. This was not only social-media rumour. The Economic Times ran a video report summarizing the controversy and the alleged admission about charging money per letter, while The Print reported on Punjabi illegal migration routes and described reliance on asylum letters and the surrounding political ecosystem. When intermediaries can mass-produce ‘persecution letters’ and coached narratives, asylum becomes a marketplace and the integrity cost is paid by everyone else.

A related thread amplifying the issue is here:

The second layer of evidence is adjudication. When these claims are tested against proof, many do not survive. In Canada, The Indian Express reported that at least 30 Federal Court judicial reviews tied to Khalistan-linked claims were dismissed in 2025, with judges giving ‘minimal weight’ to last-minute social-media posts, referendum cards, and templated affidavits. Hindustan Times summarized the same pattern and noted only a small number were sent back for rehearing.

Canadian legal reporting has also highlighted Federal Court-upheld refugee denials where evidence was found insufficient to substantiate persecution claims. Earlier legal summaries tracked rejected India/Sikh-identity claims where core elements could not be established on the evidence presented. (Lawyers Weekly summary, May 2016.)

The third layer is international: other democracies are seeing similar credibility gaps. In Australia, SBS Punjabi reported a tribunal finding that an applicant had fabricated persecution claims, including claimed political links.

In the UK, a High Court decision records an asylum claim refused and certified as ‘clearly unfounded’ under section 94 of the Nationality, Immigration and Asylum Act 2002. In New Zealand, Moneycontrol reported a tribunal rejecting an Indian Sikh man’s claim, citing inconsistencies and insufficient risk. Different legal systems, same conclusion: when evidence is tested, many narratives don’t hold.

This is the context in which policy choices in peer democracies make sense. In November 2023, the UK Home Office announced India would be added to its ‘safe states’ list under the Nationality, Immigration and Asylum Act 2002, facilitating removals and making most claims harder to sustain absent exceptional circumstances. It may be inaccurate to claim one sting ‘caused’ that decision, but it did expose exactly why safe-state tools exist: to prevent a high-volume, low-credibility claim stream from overwhelming the system while preserving an exception route for genuinely individualized risk.

Canada should draw the practical lesson, because Canada’s scale is now unforgiving. The Canadian Museum of Immigration at Pier 21 notes that before the modern determination framework matured, inland refugee claims were at the level of ‘hundreds per year.’ (Canadian Museum of Immigration at Pier 21, undated background page.)

Today, the Immigration and Refugee Board’s Refugee Protection Division shows 190,039 claims referred in 2024, with 272,440 pending at year-end. (IRB–RPD statistics, 2024.) India has become one of the largest source countries: 32,563 claims referred in 2024 (about 17% of all referrals), and 17,835 in 2025 (about 16.5%). (IRB–RPD statistics, 2024.) When volumes are that high, even a small percentage of coached, brokered, document-manufactured claims can distort the entire system.

That leads to the policy conclusion Canada keeps avoiding: Canada should treat India as a safe country of origin for most asylum and human-rights claims, while preserving a narrow, individualized pathway for exceptional cases supported by strong evidence. This debate should not be taboo. The question is not whether India is perfect. No country is.

The question is whether Canada should continue treating India, one of the world’s largest democracies with elections, courts, a vibrant press, and internal legal remedies, as presumptively equivalent to states where dissent reliably ends in disappearance. India’s democracy does not require Canada to ‘certify’ it; Canada does need to certify something, and that is the integrity of its own asylum system. A safe-country designation is not a medal for India. It is a governance tool for Canada.

Canada can remain committed to refugee protection while acknowledging what these outcomes signal: the system is being exploited, and exploiters rely on Canada’s procedural fairness as cover.

Canada should also take an immediate integrity step: any claims that relied on letters attributed to Simranjit Singh Mann should be re-examined and reconsidered, with document forensics where appropriate and consequences for intermediaries who knowingly facilitated falsified evidence. If inputs are compromised, outcomes cannot be trusted and a protection system that cannot revisit compromised inputs is not protection. It is a subscription service.

This is not an attack on Indians, Sikhs, or dissent. It is recognition that asylum is not a lifestyle option, not a business model, and not a political shield. It is protection for the genuinely persecuted and Canada should start governing like it still believes that.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

Nancy had said she was unsafe. She had said her home was targeted. She had gone to police with names.

Nancy Grewal was a Canadian Sikh woman who came to Canada in 2018 to work, support her family, and build a life through sheer effort. She worked in Windsor, Ontario, as a personal support worker, often long hours, and became known in her union as a committed member and steward. But beyond her work, she became known for something else: she spoke openly against the violent Khalistan movement and against those she believed wielded fear and influence within her community.

That public voice came with a cost. According to CityNews Canada reporting on March 5, 2026, Nancy’s sister, Alishaa Grewal, said Nancy had been receiving threats, believed she was being followed, and had already gone to police with the names of people she feared. Alishaa described the killing as a “preplanned murder” and “revenge” for Nancy’s videos. These details place Nancy’s death in the context of repeated warnings, not sudden chaos.

On the night of March 3, 2026, Nancy was stabbed outside a home on Todd Lane in LaSalle, Ontario, shortly before 9:30 p.m., after finishing work at a client’s residence. CityNews reported that she was attacked outside and “stabbed continuously.” LaSalle Police later said the killing was “not a random act of violence” and was being investigated as “an intentional act against her.” The Ontario Provincial Police were later brought in to assist.

What makes this case especially troubling is that Nancy had already described the danger in her own words. In a video recorded before her death, she said someone had thrown gasoline on the front porch of her house in November 2025 and stated plainly: “I’m a Canadian citizen, but I don’t feel safe in this country right now.” In that same video, she alleged that the man behind the attack was linked to Gurdwara Khalsa Parkash in Maidstone. She also connected that intimidation to an earlier shooting near St. Rose Avenue and Wyandotte Street East in Windsor.

Local reporting in the Windsor Star confirms that Windsor police investigated shots fired in that area on March 9, 2023, at the location (St. Rose Avenue and Wyandotte Street East) that houses Pal’s Auto Service. In Nancy’s telling, these were not isolated incidents—they formed part of a pattern.

Her account went further. Nancy said the “real man” behind the attacks never comes forward himself, but instead “hires repeat offenders and criminals to do the job.” She described a family with a criminal background, said one man had already faced a drug case, and claimed his son kept illegal weapons in a vehicle and tried to dispose of them before police caught him.

That detail gives particular relevance to the public record surrounding Gurfathe “Laddi” Singh Kooner, as reported by the Windsor Star. Reporting on Gurfathe Kooner’s case (son of Avtar Singh Kooner) stated that he was seen tossing a bag from the window of his F-150 pickup, with the recovered bag containing guns and ammunition. Nancy did not name him directly, but the overlap between her description and that record is striking.

After Nancy was killed, her mother’s videos further sharpened the picture. She said Nancy was brutally killed by enemies she had long feared, that those enemies were tied to Gurdwara Khalsa Parkash in Maidstone, and that Avtar Singh Kooner was among the men Nancy feared. She said Nancy had been pressured to apologize to him, that people linked to the gurdwara threatened she would lose “her job” and “her home,” and that someone had previously tried to attack her at home but fled when cameras were noticed.

She also said Nancy had reported “each and everything” to police, including submitting a letter. CityNews independently reported that Nancy had indeed gone to police and supplied the names of people she feared.

The name Avtar Singh Kooner also carries historical weight. Air India inquiry materials record that RCMP investigators searched his residence for guns in June 1985. On Avtar’s social media, he appears in a photograph with Lakhbir Singh Rode, nephew of Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale. Rode has been identified in public archival and terrorism-related references as a figure associated with the International Sikh Youth Federation, an organization listed in Canada as a terrorist entity.

That history may not answer the question of who killed Nancy Grewal, but it gives the local network she and her mother described a deeper and more serious context.

In the aftermath of the murder, Nancy’s mother was later seen softening or retracting parts of her earlier accusations. Even so, the core facts did not change: Nancy had said she was unsafe. She had said her home was targeted. She had gone to police with names. Then she was killed in what police themselves described as an intentional act.

Nancy Grewal’s story is not simply the story of a murder. It is the story of a working woman who warned that she was under threat, identified the people she feared, and was killed anyway. Her family, and much of the wider community, are now living not only with grief but with fear—and they are demanding justice.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.