Heritage, History, and the Pursuit of Principles: A Punjabi Reflection

As a Punjabi, I have long observed patterns of behavior among my people that outsiders often note with suspicion. Punjabis are frequently described as cunning, opportunistic, and at times unprincipled. Some even perceive Punjabis as mercenaries. I do not shy away from these observations, having witnessed such traits myself. Yet I approach them with self-criticism, aware of the dangers of stereotyping, and mindful that context - not innate character - shapes behavior.

Punjab’s history offers insight into why these traits may have emerged. Long before the arrival of the British, the region was militarized and contested. Under the Mughals, Punjabi clans such as Jats, Rajputs, and Arains served as soldiers and mercenaries, often shifting allegiances depending on circumstance. During the 18th century, the Sikh Misls functioned as semi-autonomous military confederacies, maintaining their own armed forces, engaging in frontier defense, territorial expansion, and frequent skirmishes. The Sikh Empire under Maharaja Ranjit Singh further professionalized military service, producing disciplined and skilled soldiers. Areas such as the Pothohar plateau, which today contribute disproportionately to the Pakistan Army, were historically key recruiting grounds. Life in such volatile, contested regions naturally rewarded strategic thinking, adaptability, and pragmatic action.

With the British annexation of Punjab in 1849, these martial traditions were recognized, organized, and professionalized. Sikh and Muslim Punjabis were classified as “martial races” - a formal acknowledgment of their battlefield skill, discipline, and loyalty. Muslim Punjabis, including Jats, Rajputs, Awans, and Arains, were heavily recruited into cavalry and infantry units, while Sikhs formed an elite core of regiments. Entire villages became linked to army service through pensions, land grants, and social prestige. By the early 20th century, Punjabis, though a minority of India’s population, supplied the majority of frontline combat troops in the British Indian Army. Regiments such as the 36th Sikhs and the 51st Punjab Muslim regiments exemplify this deep, institutionalized reliance on Punjabi soldiers.

The Amritsar Massacre of 1919 offers a stark and uncomfortable illustration of the consequences of martial training, hierarchical obedience, and institutional loyalty. When General Dyer ordered troops to fire on unarmed civilians gathered at Jallianwala Bagh, it was primarily Punjabi soldiers and Gorkhas who carried out the orders with mechanical precision. While the moral responsibility for the atrocity lies with the commanding officers, the soldiers’ unquestioning obedience demonstrates how centuries of martial culture, discipline, and hierarchical loyalty could override personal moral judgment. It is a sobering reminder that strategic skill and obedience, while historically adaptive, can also manifest in ethically troubling ways.

It is tempting to see these circumstances as producing unprincipled behavior. Yet one must recognize that the British role was not one of coercion or corruption but of opportunity and organization. They provided structure, discipline, and merit-based pathways that allowed Punjabis - and Indians more broadly - to channel martial traditions into professional, honorable service. Many Punjabis gained education, training, and recognition, opportunities that were scarce in pre-industrial, clan-based societies. To the extent that traits like cunning, opportunism, or unquestioning obedience became pronounced, they were amplified by centuries of local history, not imposed by colonial rule. On balance, I believe that the British did far more good than harm to the Indian subcontinent, leaving behind systems of governance, administration, and infrastructure that continue to benefit the region.

My reflections are not limited to my own ethnicity. In Pakistan, I have observed that other ethnic groups, even those living in equally pre-industrial, tribal, and war-torn environments, often display remarkably principled conduct. The Pashtuns, for example, adhere to Pashtunwali, a traditional code emphasizing hospitality, loyalty, courage, and justice. Despite facing similar challenges of scarcity and historical turbulence, many Pashtuns consistently uphold ethical and social norms that are admirable and, in many respects, surpass what I sometimes observe among Punjabis. Recognizing this has been humbling and instructive: it reminds me that environment shapes behavior differently across communities, and that principled conduct is not determined by hardship alone.

For myself, these reflections are deeply personal. I strive to resist tendencies toward opportunism, expedience, or unquestioning obedience, cultivating principled conduct and ethical decision-making. German values of discipline, order, and integrity have been formative in this pursuit, providing a framework that allows me to act consistently and conscientiously. I do not claim perfection; I have my flaws, and I am often too harsh in my self-assessment. Yet the struggle between inherited tendencies, observed behaviors, and deliberate moral choice has shaped my character profoundly.

Ultimately, this reflection is both acknowledgment and aspiration. I am a Punjabi, heir to centuries of survival, strategy, and martial skill. I am also an individual striving to act ethically, principledly, and thoughtfully. I am mindful of the remarkable principled traditions of other ethnic groups, such as the Pashtuns, and I strive to learn from them. The British, by recognizing, organizing, and professionalizing martial abilities, provided avenues for growth that few other historical rulers could have offered. I am imperfect, self-critical, and aware of my limitations - yet it is precisely in this awareness that reflection, growth, and principled conduct become possible.