The crackle of footsteps on gravel, the hush before the bugle’s cry, and the solemn echoes of “Lest we forget”—ANZAC Day remains one of Australia’s most powerful rituals. But in 2025, as the nation marked 110 years since the Gallipoli landings, a single image taken at Melbourne’s Shrine of Remembrance ignited a different kind of noise. The photo showed a man in a turban and military-style uniform participating in a ceremonial torch procession—an otherwise quiet moment that quickly turned into a lightning rod online.
The image, which surfaced on social media platform X the day before ANZAC Day, triggered a wave of commentary. Some praised it as a moment of long-overdue recognition. Others saw it as symbolic overreach. One user posted, “Why is an Indian Sikh in our ANZAC parade?” sparking a digital firestorm of applause, outrage, and everything in between. The annual commemoration, usually united in solemnity, suddenly found itself at the centre of a national argument about who belongs in the story of sacrifice.
The irony, of course, is that Sikhs and other Indian soldiers were always there—on the battlefields and in the background of history. Around 16,000 Indian troops served at Gallipoli in 1915, including large numbers of Sikhs and Gurkhas under British command. The 14th Sikhs regiment endured catastrophic losses during the Third Battle of Krithia, with over 80% of its men killed or wounded in a single day. These weren’t ceremonial roles—they were front-line fighters, charging into machine-gun fire. Yet their memory has often been relegated to the margins of ANZAC narratives.
This year, that silence was harder to maintain. Across Australia, events quietly acknowledged the contributions of Indian soldiers. At Glenwood Lake Park in Sydney’s west, the Sikh Anzac War Memorial—unveiled in 2023—became the site of reflection and floral tributes. Attendees spoke of nine Sikh men who enlisted in the Australian Imperial Force during World War I, none of whom fought at Gallipoli but whose service still formed part of the wider ANZAC legacy. In Perth, Sikh youth performed martial arts at a multicultural ANZAC event in Kings Park. In Adelaide, marchers carried banners that read, “Lest We Forget: Sikh ANZACs.”
Yet the online controversy made clear that not everyone is ready to widen the frame. One X user sarcastically warned that ANZAC Day might be rebranded as a “multicultural safety day,” imagining future claims like “ANZACs fought for trans rights in Turkey.” It was an unsubtle jab at changing narratives and a sign of deeper discomfort—one that’s been brewing for years. In 2012, a Sydney Morning Herald piece questioned how ANZAC Day fits into a culturally diverse Australia. Thirteen years later, the question remains live.
The unease isn’t about military history. It’s about ownership. Who gets to wear the badge of sacrifice? Who gets to be included in the mythos of courage, of mateship, of loss? For many in the Indian community, participation in ANZAC events isn’t about rewriting the past—it’s about finally being acknowledged in it. “We’re not claiming anything that isn’t already part of the record,” said one community leader at a memorial event. “We just want people to see what’s already there.”
That record has been well documented. Historian Peter Stanley’s book Die in Battle, Do Not Despair recounts the bravery of Indian soldiers during the Gallipoli campaign in unflinching detail. Their names may not be etched in the same plaques, but their blood was spilled in the same soil. They served under the same command. They faced the same guns. And yet, for decades, their story has been treated as a historical footnote.
As Australia grows more multicultural, the tension between heritage and inclusion will continue to surface—sometimes quietly, sometimes in 280-character bursts. The last few years have seen spirited debate over everything from Australia Day to The Voice referendum. ANZAC Day, long seen as sacred and above reproach, is now finding itself caught in these cultural currents. That doesn’t mean the tradition is under threat. It means it’s evolving, like the country itself.
Perhaps the real discomfort lies not in the presence of a man in a turban at a memorial, but in the growing realisation that Australia’s history is broader than the stories we’ve repeated. That expanding the frame isn’t a threat—it’s an invitation. Not everyone will accept it. But the facts are steady, like the eternal flame at the Shrine.
Sikhs were at Gallipoli. Some came home. Most didn’t. Their legacy doesn’t need defending. It needs remembering.
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A pic from ANZAC Day 2025—one torch, one turban, & a firestorm on X. Some called it inclusion. Others called it dilution. But 16k Indian soldiers fought at Gallipoli. Their story was always there. We just didn’t look. #ANZACDay #LestWeForget #Gallipoli110https://t.co/1epTQ1moCn pic.twitter.com/B1Fnh9cTFE
— The Indian Sun (@The_Indian_Sun) April 24, 2025
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