There appears to be a marked shift in the caste discourse after the brutal murder of Kavin Selvaganesh, a 27-year-old Dalit IT professional. Onus was placed on Subhashini, and suspicions were raised about her culpability. Her video, defending her parents’ innocence, garnered severe criticism. And she was chastised for her appeals to “drop” the issue, whitewashing the crime and failing to take a stance against the perpetrators.
Many also questioned the Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam-led (DMK) state government’s ineffectual anti-caste politics and its general apathy towards Dalits. People shared their anxieties regarding the increase in violent caste pride among intermediate castes.
On July 27, Kavin was brutally hacked to death in Tirunelveli for his relationship with Subhashini, a woman from the dominant Maravar caste. Kavin was an IT employee based in Chennai and was killed in broad daylight at KTC Nagar in Tirunelveli.
Both victim and perpetrator
The criticism of Subhashini deviated from how public narratives largely frame dominant caste women as victims of so-called honour killings. The murders of Dalit individuals who are in intercaste relationships are often referred to as ‘honour’ killings. The caste-supremacist view dictates that such relationships are a threat to the maanam (honour) of dominant communities.
In a caste-punitive society, murder is wielded as a means to keep intercaste relationships in check and uphold caste endogamy. In many caste killings, the loss of life has been that of a Dalit man, either hacked to death in broad daylight like Shankar in 2016 or found dead on deserted railway tracks like Ilavarasan in 2013. Each of them was punished for being in love with dominant caste women.
In 2016, V Shankar, a Dalit man, and his wife Kowsalya, who belongs to the Kallar caste, were brutally attacked in Tiruppur district. While Shankar succumbed to his injuries on the spot, Kowsalya survived despite her wounds. Kowsalya held firm and testified against her family, seeking justice for her husband.
Events after the 2013 caste killing of Dalit youth Illavarasan in Dharmapuri district played out differently. Following the suicide of her father, Divya, Illavarasan’s partner, returned home to her mother. Divya is from the Vanniyar community. She succumbed to the pressures of a caste society a few days before Ilavarasan’s death.
Kowsalya is now a fierce anti-caste activist, while Divya leads a quiet life, staying out of the limelight.
However, both women were considered victims.
The reason why Subhashini was held accountable by social media users is the changing perspectives of women’s roles in Tamil caste society. Dominant caste women are no longer regarded solely as victims but as active benefactors of the system. Several critiques even flipped the derogatory narrative of naadaga kaadhal (fake love), using it to describe how Subhashini cost Kavin his life.
The term naadaga kaadhal was first used by the Pattali Makkal Katchi (PMK), a Vanniyar-majority party, to falsely accuse Dalit men of 'luring' dominant caste women. Vanniyars are categorised as Most Backward Class (MBC).
There is no denying that caste, like patriarchy, oppresses all women. Both systems rob women of their autonomy, agency and personhood and fundamentally treat them as mere birthing vessels meant to further male and caste lineage. The practice of endogamous monogamy was institutionalised in order to ensure the idea of ‘purity’ in bloodlines. As a result, a woman’s freedom was curbed, and restrictions were placed to control who she can love and marry.
Despite the knowledge that both patriarchy and casteism thrive on women’s subjugation, dominant caste women’s critique and opposition have been uneven. While women from all quarters put up a fierce fight to dismantle patriarchy, the struggle against casteism is largely led by Dalit women.
Many dominant caste women content themselves with tepid criticisms. This is because the hierarchical and gradational nature of caste offers them considerable privilege.
A privileged caste position provides women with social and cultural capital that their gender identity does not. Caste privilege helps them navigate patriarchal hurdles and even reap some extra benefits along the way.
Challenging portrayals of Savarana women in cinema
Mari Selvaraj’s portrayal of dominant caste women in his films offers insightful examples of how such caste privilege works.
In director Mari Selvaraj’s Maamannan (2023), Rathnavel’s (Fahadh Faasil) wife Jyothi (Raveena Ravi) is docile and subservient. She, quite literally, has a silent presence in the film, as she has no dialogues. Despite being confined to her house for the most part, she ultimately bags a seat at the Legislative Assembly, clearly a fruit of her dominant caste status.
One can argue that she stands in the election only at her husband’s bidding and is a puppet in his hands, calling attention to her oppression as a woman. Nevertheless, it is undeniable that her path to power is relatively easier and not as arduous as that of the film’s eponymous Dalit protagonist (Vadivelu). His life and dignity and that of his family’s are perpetually at stake.
A reading like this might go against the grain of what the director believes in and wants to convey. Mari, in many of his interviews, maintains the conviction that women are hapless victims and that their victimisation by patriarchy is worse than the caste marginalisation faced by a man. Regardless of his position, due to the realistic tenor of his films, the caste privilege of dominant caste women is apparent in the upper hand they have over Dalit men.
Take, for instance, Jo (Anandhi) from Pariyerum Perumal (2018). When the dominant caste Jo falls in love with Pariyan (Kathir), she has the freedom and space to be honest about her feelings and express them boldly. On the other hand, Pariyan, a first-generation Dalit law student, is attacked multiple times to force upon him the realisation that he is forbidden to love Jo.
The scene in which Jo professes her love for Pariyan screams loud and clear the haunting caste disparities between them. They are seated on a bench outside a hospital, unaware that a murderer hired to kill Pariyan is lurking there. Jo confesses her love to Pariyan with her eyes closed and adamantly keeps them closed, not heeding his request to open them.
With her eyes shut, Jo appears oblivious to caste reality and the imminent dangers that threaten their love. While her caste privilege shields her, Pariyan, without any such protective armour, is forced to bear the consequences of her love and face the wrath of the casteist society.
Jo’s caste privilege manifests in the form of caste blindness. Despite witnessing Pariyan’s sufferings, she fails to ascertain the cause and is therefore unable to do what is necessary to fix it. The film, instead of faulting her, endorses her behaviour as innocence and goodness. Pariyerum Perumal seems to rely on such apolitical goodness for social equality.
In the last scene, Jo is presented as an agent of change because she brings tea to her father and Pariyan in two glass tumblers. The sequence refers to the two-tumbler caste segregationist practice common across Tamil Nadu. Dalits are often served tea in disposable cups.
However, her obliviousness to caste and her political ignorance throughout the film only help preserve the status quo, leading to problems for Pariyan. If she had been aware or even half as shrewd as Jyoti in Maamannan, who locked her husband up at a crucial moment to prevent him from killing people, Pariyan may have been saved from a lot of violence and humiliation.
Political awareness and intentionality are non-negotiables in anti-caste struggles. Unfortunately, the characters and the movie are too keen on protecting Jo’s supposed innocence.
In contrast to the caste-oblivious women characters in Mari Selvaraj’s films, we find blatantly casteist women in Pa Ranjith’s movies. In Natchathiram Nagargiradhu (2022), Arjun’s (Kalaiyarasan) mother, sister and aunt are appalled at the idea of him marrying a Dalit woman.
The mother, in a fit of rage and emotional frenzy, scolds, beats, pleads and blackmails to dissuade her son from marrying an “SC” girl. Here, the dominant caste women are not just portrayed as bigoted, prejudiced, and regressive but as custodians of the caste system. This rings true, as dominant caste women are particular about observing caste rules in the domestic spheres and actively try to protect the caste structure to safeguard their own privilege and standing in the society.
In the larger framework, women’s casteism is often overlooked and even excused, as they are primarily regarded as victims of patriarchy. A fine example of this would be Dhinah Chandra Mohan’s short film Modi and a Beer (2020), bankrolled by Neelam Productions. Through an inter-caste couple’s fight, the film pits patriarchy against casteism to determine which is the “bigger” evil. The film exposes the Brahmin girl’s casteism and the Other Backward Class (OBC) man’s sexism. In the final showdown, the Brahmin girl is established as the “bigger” victim.
Periyar’s quote, “The way a man treats women is much worse than the way the high-caste treat the low-caste and the landlords treat servants,” is strategically used by the film to acquit the girl of her casteism. The intersections of caste and gender are complicated. Being a victim of patriarchy does not exempt one from being a perpetrator of casteism. Both are not mutually exclusive.
Due to the stranglehold caste has on families, dominant caste women become susceptible to casteist conditioning from a young age. Their gender role as keepers of daily house rituals and worship, as formulated by the society, solidifies their casteism. While patriarchy and casteism stifle free thinking in women, they continue to perpetuate casteist practices uncritically. Unable to move beyond traditional practices and fixed patterns of thinking, they continue to serve and enable their own oppression. They don’t realise that the safety offered to them in exchange is precarious.
Dominant caste women are not a monolithic entity, and their engagement with caste may not be uniform. Some might be victims of it. Some are complicit in it. Some resist only the misogynistic aspects. Some even weaponise it to break the shackles of patriarchy and advance in society. Relying on one oppressive system will not help survive another.
True liberation is possible for women only when both the oppressive systems are dismantled. And a constructive step towards that is addressing our own casteist tendencies and unlearning them.
Aazhi is a research scholar in the Department of English at Stella Maris College, Chennai. Opinions expressed are the author’s own.