'Bhava, tuka yaad asa otthra Jun?' (Brother, do you remember the 18th of June?)
For many Goans, these are not merely the opening words of a poem by Manohar Rai Sardesai. It is a question passed from one generation to another. A question that grows more important with time. A question that asks whether we remember not only a date, but the courage, conviction, and love for Goa that made 18 June 1946 into one of the defining moments of our history.
This year marks 80 years since the Goi Kranti Dis, or the Goa Revolution Day, when on a rain-soaked Tuesday in Margão, ordinary Goenkars gathered under Portuguese rule to demand something many of us take for granted today: the freedom to speak, assemble, and live with dignity.
Inspired by the call of activists Dr Ram Manohar Lohia and Dr Julião Menezes, the gathering challenged a regime that had governed Goa for centuries. The significance of that day was not that colonial rule ended immediately. It did not. Its significance was that voices rose and fear receded first.
As a Goan, I often reflect on what it truly means to honour the sacrifices of the generation that stood up on 18 June 1946. Remembering them cannot be confined to speeches, wreaths, and social media posts once a year. The greatest tribute we can pay them is to remain vigilant about the future of the land they fought for.