T M Krishna the mind questions, the music moves, the mountains beckon
On August 9, in a town named Nanguneri in Tamil Nadu, a Dalit boy and his sister were attacked by six of his classmates who belonged to a dominant caste. Before the attack, he had been constantly bullied, forcing him to even contemplate leaving that school. Apparently, his academic proficiency was one of the reasons he was being picked on. The boy informed his mother of the harassment only after much persuasion and she complained to the school. The response was an attack with sickles.
This ghastly incident has shaken the people of Tamil Nadu. But should we be surprised? According to Kathir, who heads the NGO ‘Evidence’, between November 2022 and January 2023, nearly 450 cases have been registered under the Schedule Caste and Schedule Tribe (Prevention of Atrocities) Act. This excludes a few districts where data is not available. ‘Honour killings’ are also not uncommon in the state. But the Nanguneri incident is an inflection point, because the perpetrators are teenagers at school.
Tamil Nadu prides itself for progressiveness and, over the past few years, has put forth the idea of a ‘Dravidian Model’ that is said to have its foundations in equality and inclusivity. As the land of Periyar, we have unapologetically placed caste and gender in public socio-political discourse for a very long time. Yet, even today, the level of violence against the most vulnerable is alarmingly high. It is time we, the people and the State, acknowledge our failure in protecting the most marginalised.
This is not to deny the fact that Dravidian policies have led to the upliftment of many. These successes have been despite the culturally embedded systemic violence that emanates from all sectors of society. Government policies, reservations and laws provide a framework for the support, upliftment and security of the marginalised. But there will be cultural change only when the people in power believe in the vision.
This belief cannot be motivated by selfish political requirements. At a philosophical, social and emotional level, there must be an internalisation of equality. Communities that hold caste power will need to reflect and drastically change. Unfortunately, we have done little to make this possible. Politicians, government servants, the police force, and large sections of the dominant castes still behave in a deeply casteist manner.
Naturally, schools are also entrenched in caste. Barring a few ‘good’ individuals, teachers and the establishment play by caste rules that infiltrate the manner of teaching, language of speaking, choices given to children from marginalised sections and their treatment. Their cultures, way of life, understandings, arts and celebrations are not a serious part of education. Thus, the inference drawn by children is that Dalits are not to be respected and treated as equals. Schools must be places that challenge all oppressive tendencies, not perpetuate them.
When politicians from Tamil Nadu speak of equality, they often quote and stand on the shoulders of Periyar. But Periyar did not focus only on affirmation through changes in the political system and power distribution. He urged personal and community change. Periyar spoke to all kinds of people and wontedly made caste powerful and the political class uncomfortable. He compelled people to recognise and own up to their blindness. Some love him and some hate him, but no one can deny that he forced everyone to reflect. Through his provocative words and potent actions, he was aiming at a socio-cultural renaissance.
But there hasn’t been enough political investment in finding creative ways of converting Periyar’s ideals into real-world transformations. Policies have been largely rote and functional. Very little has been done to push people to change the way they feel, see, practice living, even mark death. Periyar would not have wanted future generations to remain cloistered within his mind. That is exactly what has happened. Other than a constant repetition of Periyar’s words, philosophers have not been able to build on his work and create new paradigms that address emerging issues or aspects in Periyar’s social re-imagination project that he might have missed.
Staunch Dravidian-ists will pounce on me for even suggesting that there is anything beyond Periyar. My hunch is that Periyar would be disappointed that we have not been able to celebrate him on a larger ideational and critical platform. I opine that this intellectual failure also has a role in the unabated caste violence across Tamil Nadu.
In a recent Tamil film titled Maamannan, Udayanidhi Stalin, Minister for Youth Welfare and Sports Development, Tamil Nadu, and the son of Chief Minister M K Stalin, played the role of a Dalit MLA’s son. The story traces the generational caste struggle between his father, himself and members of the dominant caste in their constituency. The son does not speak to the father due to a past incident in which his Dalit friends were stoned to death, while he himself just about escaped. Their crime: swimming in the temple well. His father is unable to get justice for the young victims and his son does not forgive him for that. The father’s meek surrender is due to the political might of the dominant caste. The film, though, ends on a positive note, with victory for the Dalit protagonists.
I would like to believe that Udayanidhi Stalin in this role was not just an actor doing an interesting role nor was it just a convenient political performance. I hope that, somewhere, in playing this part, there was an acceptance of our social failing, a pointer to how his generation will address the issue and a strong warning to casteists in Tamil Nadu.