The Light We Give

In the heart of Texas, a young boy with a turban faced a choice that would define his relationship with identity, faith, and belonging in America. When eleven-year-old Simran Jeet Singh was called a "terrorist" by a soccer referee who demanded to search his turban for weapons, he could have responded with anger or retreat. Instead, he leaned forward, allowing the search, driven not by principle but by pragmatism—he simply wanted to play. This moment of childhood humiliation would spark a lifelong journey of discovering how to transform hate into love, fear into courage, and difference into connection.

Singh's story unfolds against the backdrop of post-9/11 America, where Sikh Americans found themselves caught between worlds—visibly different due to their turbans and beards, yet largely unknown and misunderstood by their fellow Americans. Through his experiences as a scholar, activist, and father, Singh demonstrates how ancient Sikh wisdom can offer profound solutions to modern challenges of identity, belonging, and purpose. Readers will discover how the practice of seva—selfless service—can become a path to personal fulfillment, how the principle of ik oankar—divine oneness—can heal divisions, and how maintaining one's authentic identity can become an act of resistance and love in a world that often demands conformity.

Born in San Antonio in 1984, Simran Jeet Singh grew up in a family that embodied the American immigrant dream while maintaining deep roots in Sikh tradition. His parents, Gurvinder and Parvinder, had left Punjab to escape religious persecution and build a better life for their children. They settled in Texas with only eleven dollars and infinite hope, eventually establishing a successful software business while raising four turbaned sons who would learn to navigate American society as visible minorities.

The Singh household operated on principles that blended American opportunity with Sikh values. Every evening before dinner, the family would recite prayers of gratitude and discuss how "love makes the world go around." Their home became a gathering place for friends of all backgrounds, with doors always unlocked and an open invitation for anyone to stay for meals. This hospitality reflected the Sikh principle of treating all people as family, regardless of their origin or appearance.

Yet life outside their nurturing home presented constant challenges. The four brothers—Harpreet, Simran, Darsh, and Raj—became accustomed to answering curious questions about their turbans and explaining their faith to classmates, teachers, and strangers. These interactions ranged from innocent curiosity to outright hostility, requiring the boys to develop thick skin and quick wit. They learned to use humor as both shield and bridge, deflecting ignorance while educating others about their identity.

Sports became both a refuge and a testing ground for belonging. Despite facing discrimination from referees who questioned their equipment or fans who hurled racial slurs, the Singh brothers excelled in soccer and basketball. Their success on the field helped them build friendships that transcended religious and cultural differences, proving that shared experiences could overcome prejudice. When teammates stood up for them against discrimination, it reinforced their belief that authentic relationships could bridge any divide.

These formative experiences taught Singh valuable lessons about resilience, identity, and the power of maintaining dignity under pressure. Rather than allowing discrimination to embitter them, the family chose to see each encounter as an opportunity for education and connection. This approach would later inform Singh's philosophy of responding to hate with love, viewing difference as strength rather than liability.

The terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, shattered any illusion that the Singh family could quietly blend into American society. As seventeen-year-old Simran watched the Twin Towers fall from his high school classroom, he immediately understood that his brown skin, beard, and turban would make him a target for America's grief and rage. The resemblance between Osama bin Laden's appearance and that of Sikh men was not lost on anyone, including the Singhs themselves.

Within hours, death threats began pouring into their home. For the first time in their lives, Singh's mother locked their front door as the family huddled inside, watching news reports of hate crimes targeting anyone who appeared Middle Eastern or Muslim. Sikh Americans faced approximately ten attacks per day in the immediate aftermath of 9/11, including the murder of Balbir Singh Sodhi, a gas station owner in Arizona who became the first casualty of post-9/11 hate crimes. The randomness and cruelty of these attacks forced Singh to confront the reality that his physical safety was genuinely threatened.

Yet amid the darkness, unexpected light emerged. While strangers drove by their house shouting threats, neighbors, classmates, and teachers arrived with flowers, food, and support. Coach Maxwell defended Singh's brother Darsh's right to play basketball with his turban, writing "HE CAN PLAY" on his whiteboard when opposing teams questioned the headwear. These acts of solidarity revealed to Singh that love was indeed more prevalent than hate, though hate often commanded more attention and fear.

The crisis catalyzed Singh's transformation from passive observer to active participant in social justice. He realized that ignoring racism or deflecting it with humor was insufficient when people's lives were at stake. The luxury of being "non-racist" was replaced by the necessity of becoming "anti-racist," actively challenging prejudice wherever it appeared. This shift marked Singh's evolution from someone who simply wanted to fit in to someone willing to stand out for principles.

The experience also deepened Singh's connection to his Sikh identity and its teachings. During nightly conference calls with Sikh communities across America, he heard discussions about how to respond to hatred while maintaining spiritual principles. The community's commitment to standing with Muslim Americans rather than distancing themselves from the association demonstrated the Sikh value of universal justice. This period of crisis became Singh's calling to dedicate his life to education, advocacy, and building bridges between communities.

Singh's journey into the depths of Sikh philosophy began not from abstract interest but from urgent necessity. Following the 2012 massacre at a Sikh temple in Oak Creek, Wisconsin, where white supremacist Wade Michael Page murdered seven innocent worshippers, Singh found himself consumed by anger and hatred toward the killer. This internal rage conflicted with his public calls for unity and love, creating a painful disconnect between his proclaimed values and his actual feelings.

The breakthrough came during a conversation with Sikh children at a summer camp, when a young girl's innocent comment about the shooter being "evil" forced Singh to confront his own dehumanization of Page. The children's discussion of ik oankar—the fundamental Sikh principle that divine light exists within everyone—challenged Singh to see even his enemy's humanity. This concept doesn't deny the reality of harmful actions but refuses to write off any person as irredeemably evil, maintaining that all humans share the same essential divine nature.

Understanding ik oankar intellectually was only the first step; Singh had to learn to feel this interconnectedness viscerally. Through conversations with massacre survivors who embodied chardi kala—eternal optimism—he discovered that their resilience came from seeing divinity even in their darkest moments. Their ability to maintain hope despite tragedy wasn't naive positivity but a deep spiritual practice of recognizing the sacred in all circumstances, including their own suffering.

Singh began practicing daily gratitude and connection exercises, training himself to see divine light in everyone he encountered. What started as forced discipline gradually became natural inclination, transforming his experience of racism and hostility. Instead of taking attacks personally, he began to understand that others' hatred reflected their own inner darkness rather than any truth about him. This shift liberated him from the emotional weight of others' prejudice while maintaining his commitment to challenging injustice.

The principle of radical connection extended beyond individual encounters to systemic change. Singh learned that true activism must be rooted in love rather than hatred, seeking to heal division rather than deepen it. This approach didn't soften his critique of racism or injustice but changed his methodology from attacking enemies to transforming hearts. By seeing the humanity in those who couldn't see his, Singh developed a sustainable form of resistance that nourished rather than depleted his spirit.

Singh's family instilled values-based living from an early age, requiring the children to articulate their principles and practice them daily. During a memorable weekend with leadership consultant Larry Mills, the Singh family developed a mission statement centered on five core values: faith, integrity, love, service, and excellence. This document became Singh's North Star, guiding decisions from college choices to career moves, providing clarity in moments of confusion and strength during times of persecution.

The power of these values became evident during Singh's early teaching career at Trinity University, where his social media activism defending Muslim students led to calls for his firing. When administrators investigated the complaints, they found his online presence consistently reflected love and justice rather than hatred or extremism. The values he had practiced daily for years served as protection, demonstrating that authentic character-building creates both internal peace and external credibility.

Singh's approach to fearlessness, inspired by Guru Tegh Bahadur's teaching that wise people "fear none and frighten none," transformed his relationship with air travel and public spaces. Instead of contorting himself to ease others' discomfort with his appearance, he learned to maintain dignity while remaining sensitive to legitimate security concerns. This balance between self-respect and compassion for others' fears exemplified the Sikh ideal of standing firm in principles while showing grace to those who don't understand them.

The practice of creativity as a spiritual discipline, drawn from the Sikh concept of karta purakh, influenced Singh's approach to activism and education. Rather than simply criticizing systems of oppression, he focused on building alternatives that embodied his values. His scholarship, teaching, and public engagement consistently offered constructive solutions rather than mere complaints, following Guru Nanak's example of creating new institutions rather than just condemning existing ones.

Discipline emerged as the foundation for all other values, with Singh discovering through marathon training that regular practice builds internal strength applicable to all areas of life. The daily commitment to running translated into greater ease in maintaining other healthy habits, demonstrating how focused discipline in one area creates ripple effects throughout one's character. This insight reinforced the Sikh teaching that spiritual growth requires consistent practice rather than sporadic inspiration.

The Sikh practice of seva—selfless service—provided Singh with a framework for activism that transforms both the server and the served. Unlike traditional models that measure success purely by outcomes, seva emphasizes the server's intentions and internal transformation. This approach allowed Singh to remain engaged in justice work without burning out from frustration over slow progress or others' intransigence, finding fulfillment in the act of service itself rather than external validation.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, Singh initially struggled with feeling useless while his physician wife served on the frontlines. His discomfort revealed how much his identity had become tied to visible activism rather than the broader concept of service. Caring for their children and maintaining their household was indeed seva, enabling his wife's more direct service while teaching their daughters about love through daily actions. This realization expanded Singh's understanding of how service takes countless forms, all equally valuable when performed with the right intentions.

The practice of seva as empathy-building became particularly powerful during times of isolation and self-centeredness. When Singh felt consumed by his own worries and fears, deliberately serving others—even through small acts like listening to friends or helping neighbors—pulled him out of narcissistic spirals and reconnected him with his larger purpose. This consistent practice of reaching beyond himself created a sustainable antidote to the depression and anxiety that can accompany social justice work.

Singh's approach to seva emphasized authentic connection over performance activism, distinguishing between genuine care and virtue signaling. True service requires listening to those being served rather than imposing one's own assumptions about their needs. This humble approach prevents the savior complex that can plague well-intentioned activism, ensuring that service actually benefits recipients rather than just making the server feel good about themselves.

The integration of seva with spiritual practice created what Singh calls a "technology of the self"—a daily discipline that simultaneously serves others and cultivates inner qualities like humility, compassion, and resilience. By making service a spiritual practice rather than just a moral obligation, Singh found a sustainable way to engage with social justice that enriched rather than depleted his soul, demonstrating how the means of justice work can be as important as its ends.

Simran Jeet Singh's journey from a turbaned boy facing discrimination in Texas to a scholar-activist bridging ancient wisdom and modern challenges illustrates how maintaining authentic identity while serving others can transform both individual lives and broader communities. His story demonstrates that the path from victimhood to empowerment lies not in abandoning one's distinctiveness but in deepening one's understanding of what that distinctiveness represents and offers to the world.

The core insight of Singh's experience is that responding to hate with love requires both spiritual discipline and practical wisdom, sustained by daily practices that cultivate inner strength and connection with others. His integration of Sikh teachings with contemporary social justice work offers readers concrete tools for remaining engaged with difficult realities while protecting their own emotional and spiritual well-being. These lessons prove especially valuable for anyone feeling overwhelmed by current events or struggling to maintain hope while working for positive change in seemingly intractable circumstances.