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Kerala has a reputation for political predictability. Governments come, governments go, and every five years, voters quietly switch sides. It’s a rhythm the state has followed for decades. So when the Left Democratic Front (LDF) lost in 2026, it could have been dismissed as just that, the system doing what it always does. The numbers, however, make that explanation feel insufficient.
The LDF has fallen from 99 seats in 2021 to just 35. The Communist Party of India (Marxist) [CPI(M)], which had led that victory, has been reduced to 26 seats, a steep drop from 62 and one of its weakest performances in decades. Thirteen ministers have lost, and long-held strongholds have slipped. And even in Dharmadom, a constituency that rarely produces uncertainty, Pinarayi Vijayan found himself trailing in the early rounds before recovering.
This is not how a routine alternation looks. It suggests that while Kerala may have returned to its pattern, it has done so with unusual force, and that force usually signals that something deeper has shifted.
The most immediate explanation is anti-incumbency, and it would be misleading to ignore it. Ten years in power was always going to test a government in Kerala’s political climate, no matter how strong its record may be. The accumulated dissatisfaction appears to have surfaced across the state in 2026, and the defeat of ministers across key portfolios indicates that voters were willing to hold the government directly accountable.
Yet anti-incumbency alone does not fully explain what happened. If it did, the shift would have been more uniform, a straightforward transfer of support from one front to another. Instead, what this election revealed was a set of fractures within the LDF itself, and those fractures played out in ways that directly influenced the results.
When internal dissent turns electoral
Some of the most consequential blows to the CPI(M) in this election did not come from the opposition. They came from people who had once been deeply embedded within the party itself.
The clearest example came from Payyannur, one of the CPI(M)’s most enduring strongholds. The constituency had remained with the party continuously since 1967, and in 2021, outgoing MLA TI Madhusoodanan had secured not just a massive victory margin of nearly 50,000 votes, but also 62.49% of the vote share — the highest vote percentage secured by any candidate in Kerala that year. Even KK Shailaja, whose Mattannur victory became symbolic of the LDF wave in 2021, had polled a slightly lower vote percentage despite winning by a bigger margin.
This is the constituency where V Kunhikrishnan, a rebel candidate backed by the UDF, defeated Madhusoodanan by 7,487 votes in 2026.
Kunhikrishnan himself had been a district committee member and a long-time organisational figure in Kannur. His rebellion followed months of public criticism against the local leadership, particularly against Madhusoodanan, including allegations of financial irregularities and the misuse of funds, including a martyr’s fund. The party expelled Kunhikrishnan, but that expulsion only strengthened the image he was trying to build, which was that of an old cadre member taking on a leadership that had become inaccessible and arrogant.
His campaign was particularly striking because he never positioned himself as anti-Left. In fact, he repeatedly argued that the Left remained necessary for Kerala, but that the CPI(M) in its current form was drifting away from what ordinary cadres and supporters believed it should represent. Many voters in Payyannur appeared to agree. His victory, therefore, became more than an upset. It became a symbolic breach in one of the CPI(M)’s safest fortresses.
Another prominent example was TK Govindan in Taliparamba. A senior CPI(M) leader and district secretariat member, Govindan walked away after strongly objecting to the candidature of PK Shyamala, wife of state secretary MV Govindan.
TK Govindan argued that fielding Shyamala after MV Govindan himself had represented the constituency for years created the impression that one seat was effectively remaining within a single political family. In a party that has historically opposed dynastic politics, the criticism struck a nerve. The leadership treated the rebellion as indiscipline, but the electorate appeared to read it differently. Taliparamba, another traditional Left stronghold, eventually elected a UDF-backed TK Govindan by a margin of over 12,000 votes.
Then there is G Sudhakaran, whose rebellion and subsequent victory in Ambalapuzha perhaps carried the deepest emotional resonance for traditional Left supporters. Sudhakaran belongs to an older generation of CPI(M) politicians who built their political identity through trade union activism and grassroots mobilisation. For many supporters, he represented a certain kind of communist leader that Kerala’s Left once produced in abundance — abrasive and stubborn, but deeply connected to ordinary cadre workers.
His fallout with the leadership had been visible for years. Sudhakaran had publicly spoken about feeling humiliated and sidelined within the party, and disciplinary action against him after the 2021 election deepened that rupture. By the time he decided not to renew his party membership and contest against CPI(M)’s official candidate H Salam with UDF backing, the contest had already become larger than a local electoral battle. It became a referendum on how the party was treating its own veterans and whether loyalty and ideological commitment still held value within the organisation.
Taken together, these rebellions suggest that one of the CPI(M)’s greatest historical strengths – its tightly knit organisational structure and culture of internal debate – may have weakened over time. Communist parties have traditionally depended on collective functioning, where disagreements are argued internally before the organisation arrives at a position. But this election seemed to reveal a growing perception that discussions no longer meaningfully influenced decisions in the party and that once the leadership settled on a course, dissent was treated less as part of party democracy and more as indiscipline.
That perception extended beyond dissidents. Discussions around KK Shailaja reflected a similar discomfort among sections of supporters. Her handling of the Nipah outbreak and the COVID-19 pandemic had made her one of the most recognisable faces of the LDF government, both within Kerala and nationally. Yet her removal from the cabinet after the LDF’s sweeping 2021 victory triggered disappointment among many supporters, especially because she had just won Mattannur with a record margin of over 60,000 votes. Her defeat in Peravoor in 2026, after being shifted from Mattannur, only added another layer to that sentiment.
The party defended its decisions regarding Shailaja by pointing to its practice of cabinet reshuffles and generational rotation. Politically, however, the perception that lingered was different. For many supporters, Shailaja came to symbolise the feeling that leaders with strong independent public appeal were increasingly being sidelined, while political influence appeared concentrated around one man, Pinarayi Vijayan, and a relatively small circle around him.
The LDF’s 2021 victory had been built heavily around Pinarayi’s image as the “Captain” who steered Kerala through crises, and that centralisation initially appeared politically effective. Over time, however, critics both inside and outside the party began arguing that the same model had weakened collective leadership within the CPI(M), reduced space for internal disagreement, and made the party appear increasingly top-down in its functioning.
Even among those who continued to respect Pinarayi’s administrative abilities, there was growing discomfort with the perception that the party’s organisational culture was changing. In a cadre-based movement that historically prided itself on collective functioning and internal consultation, the concentration of authority itself became a political issue.
Ideological ambiguity
Alongside these organisational questions is a more complicated ideological one. The CPI(M) has traditionally drawn much of its strength from a relatively clear political identity — secular, class-oriented, and consciously distinct from both Congress-style soft majoritarianism and the BJP’s openly Hindutva politics. That clarity mattered because it gave the party a recognisable ideological space in Kerala politics. In recent years, however, many supporters and observers began to feel that this distinction was becoming less sharp.
The shadow of Sabarimala has hung over Kerala politics for years, but the CPI(M)’s handling of the issue continues to shape perceptions in complicated ways. In 2018, when the Supreme Court allowed women of menstruating age to enter the temple, the LDF government under Pinarayi Vijayan initially took a firm constitutional position. Pinarayi publicly defended the verdict, framed the issue around gender equality and constitutional morality, and made it clear that the government would implement the judgement. At that stage, the CPI(M) appeared willing to absorb the political backlash to defend what it saw as a secular and progressive position.
But the intensity of the protests that followed, particularly from sections of Hindu devotees and right-wing organisations, altered Kerala’s political atmosphere significantly. The BJP attempted to turn Sabarimala into the emotional centre of its Kerala strategy, while the Congress gradually shifted from its earlier ambiguity to a more openly devotee-sensitive position. Over time, the CPI(M)’s own language around the issue also appeared to change.
The government never formally reversed its stand, but its messaging became noticeably more cautious. Leaders who had once framed the issue strongly in constitutional terms increasingly began speaking about “devotee sentiments” and emotional sensitivities. For supporters who had defended the government’s original stand as a matter of principle, this was an ambiguity that created discomfort. At the same time, the softer posture did not necessarily erase the resentment among conservative Hindu voters who remained angry over the original events of 2018.
In effect, the CPI(M) risked alienating both sides simultaneously.
This unease deepened further through developments like the Ayyappa Sangamam and the political messaging surrounding it. The Sangamam was projected as a devotional and cultural mobilisation linked to Sabarimala, but critics argued that it also reflected an attempt by the CPI(M) to engage more directly with Hindu identity politics in response to the BJP’s growing presence.
For sections of the party’s traditional supporters, especially secular and minority voters, the optics felt unfamiliar. The concern was not that the CPI(M) was suddenly becoming a Hindutva party, but that it appeared increasingly willing to enter political terrain that it had historically criticised Congress for occupying.
That worry sharpened further when Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister Yogi Adityanath sent greetings to the event, and a CPI(M) minister publicly read out his message at the inaugural session. The moment drew attention because Adityanath is not merely a BJP leader but one of Hindutva’s strongest majoritarian figures.
Several political observers raised precisely this concern after the election. Their argument was that once a party like the BJP occupies the space of explicit majoritarian politics, attempts by other parties to partially imitate or accommodate that language often become politically self-defeating. The BJP can always perform majoritarian politics more convincingly because that is its ideological core. For a Left party, however, moving ambiguously toward that terrain risks weakening its own distinct political identity without necessarily attracting the voters it seeks to win over.
The “Sabarimala gold theft” allegations also became a major political talking point, especially after the Ayyappa Sangamam renewed public attention on temple-related issues. The BJP and sections of the Congress used the controversy aggressively to question the government’s handling of temple affairs and to reinforce a narrative that the LDF had both mishandled Sabarimala politically and lost credibility on issues connected to devotees. Even where the allegations themselves remained contested, politically they proved damaging because they kept Sabarimala alive as an emotional issue long after the original women’s entry controversy had subsided.
The party’s outreach to community figures also became contentious. Vellappally Natesan, leader of the SNDP Yogam and father of BJP-aligned BDJS leader Thushar Vellappally, became a particularly sensitive figure in this discussion. Pinarayi’s political proximity to Vellappally, including public appearances and even symbolic gestures like travelling together during the campaign period, was interpreted by critics as part of a broader attempt to consolidate sections of the Hindu Ezhava vote and prevent its movement toward the BJP.
Electorally, this strategy may have appeared understandable. The CPI(M) has long depended significantly on Ezhava support, and the BJP’s attempts to expand within that social base posed a real political challenge. But the optics created complications elsewhere. Vellappally had repeatedly made controversial and openly Islamophobic remarks about Muslims, Malappuram, and the Muslim League over the years, and the CPI(M)’s willingness to maintain such a connection with him created unease among sections of minority voters who had increasingly moved toward the LDF after 2016.
This became particularly significant because the LDF’s second consecutive victory in 2021 had partly depended on unprecedented minority support in several constituencies. By 2026, however, there were visible signs that portions of that support had drifted back toward the UDF. At the same time, the CPI(M) struggled to effectively counter persistent narratives around alleged tactical understandings with the BJP, accusations amplified heavily by the Congress during the campaign.
The party also found itself trapped in contradictory messaging. It strongly attacked organisations like Jamaat-e-Islami politically, while simultaneously facing accusations from opponents about indirect SDPI support in certain constituencies. The result was that the CPI(M) often appeared defensive on multiple fronts at once, struggling to maintain a coherent political narrative.
The election results now suggest that these recalibrations did not produce the political gains the party may have hoped for. Hindu consolidation did not move significantly toward the LDF, while sections of minority voters appeared to move away from it.
Governance vs perception
On paper, the LDF entered this election with a substantial administrative record. Over the last decade, the government consistently highlighted its achievements in welfare delivery, public infrastructure, digital governance, and crisis management. The rebuilding efforts after the 2018 floods, the handling of Nipah outbreaks and COVID-19, welfare pension distribution, expansion of road infrastructure, public school modernisation, LIFE Mission housing projects, and the push toward digital public services all contributed to the image of a government that was active and interventionist and administratively efficient.
Even critics acknowledged that the government was not lacking in visible work. Ministers like P Rajeev frequently pointed to Kerala’s improved ease-of-doing-business rankings and industrial investments, while departments such as Local Self Government highlighted projects around digital literacy, local governance, and poverty eradication. The LDF’s campaign itself leaned heavily on this governance narrative, repeatedly foregrounding statistics, completion rates, and administrative delivery.
But elections are shaped less by documented achievements than by how governance is emotionally experienced and politically perceived.
The situation in Wayanad after the devastating 2024 landslide illustrates this gap particularly well. The disaster transformed Wayanad into one of the most emotionally charged regions in Kerala, placing the government’s response under intense public scrutiny. The LDF projected its rehabilitation programme as evidence of administrative efficiency, especially through the announcement of a major township project featuring 410 three-bedroom homes for survivors.
The scale of the rehabilitation effort was undeniably large, but on the ground, the pace and lived reality proved more complicated than the government’s presentation of it. By the time elections arrived, only a portion of the promised houses had been completed and handed over, and several beneficiaries reportedly complained that many homes were not fully ready for habitation. Questions also persisted around broader issues in Wayanad, including healthcare access, poor transport infrastructure, and recurring human-animal conflict, concerns that predated the landslide but became politically sharper afterwards.
This does not necessarily mean the rehabilitation effort failed. In many ways, the scale of reconstruction itself was unprecedented. But once again, politically, perception mattered more than intention. The gap between the government’s optimistic narrative and the frustration still visible on the ground gradually created a credibility problem. The UDF ended up winning all three constituencies in Wayanad.
Similar perception gaps emerged elsewhere too. In healthcare, the government continued pointing to Kerala’s strong public health system and earlier crisis management successes. Yet repeated controversies involving alleged medical negligence, infrastructure shortages, and public anger around specific incidents steadily eroded confidence. Veena George, who replaced Shailaja as Health Minister, remained under continuous public scrutiny through much of the government’s second term.
Higher education also became politically contentious, particularly around allegations of favouritism in appointments and concerns about institutional functioning. More broadly, critics increasingly argued that the government had become less responsive to criticism and more inclined to defend itself aggressively.
Communication played a major role in shaping these perceptions.
Over time, the tone of leadership itself became part of the political story. Pinarayi had long cultivated an image of firmness and administrative authority, and for years that image worked in his favour. But the same style gradually began attracting criticism for appearing distant and dismissive toward dissent.
Public memory around Pinarayi’s confrontations with the media never fully disappeared. His now-famous “kadakku purathu” remark, effectively telling journalists to “get out” during a press interaction years ago, remained culturally embedded as shorthand for his adversarial relationship with criticism. More recent exchanges reinforced that perception. His response to a supporter during a public interaction – “veettil poyi chodichaal mathi” (“go home and ask”) – was also interpreted as another sign of political arrogance.
Individually, such moments may appear minor. But politics is cumulative, and repeated instances gradually shape emotional impressions about leadership.
The Nava Kerala Sadas reflected this contradiction particularly clearly. The programme was designed as a large-scale public outreach initiative, with ministers and the Chief Minister travelling across Kerala to directly engage with citizens and showcase the government’s achievements. Administratively, it was projected as an innovative exercise in public communication and accessibility.
Politically, however, the optics became more complicated. The luxury bus used for the yatra attracted criticism at a time when many people were already struggling with inflation and economic pressure. More damagingly, visuals of Congress protesters being forcefully assaulted during demonstrations against the programme circulated widely. The government’s defence of some of these incidents, including references to them as part of “rescue operations” or crowd management, often came across to critics as dismissive and lacking sensitivity to public anger.
Taken together, these issues contributed to a broader political feeling that the government was no longer reading public mood as effectively as it once had.
Media and confrontation
The party’s relationship with the media adds another important dimension to this story. Tensions between the CPI(M) and sections of Kerala’s media are not new. In many ways, this conflict stretches back to the Liberation Struggle and the long ideological battles between the Communist movement and influential media houses aligned with dominant-caste, landlord, or religious interests. For decades, the CPI(M) viewed large sections of the media as politically hostile, while sections of the media viewed the party through the lens of authoritarian communist traditions.
In recent years, however, that relationship appears to have become far more combative and personalised.
The Pinarayi Vijayan era especially intensified this friction. The outgoing CM had long argued that sections of the media functioned as a “media syndicate” working politically against him and the party. After returning to power in 2021, he publicly accused sections of the media of attempting to manufacture narratives against the government and distort its achievements.
From the CPI(M)’s perspective, these accusations were not entirely unfounded. Kerala’s highly competitive television news environment often rewards confrontation and spectacle, and there were instances where allegations against the government were amplified aggressively before weakening under scrutiny later. Party leaders and sympathisers frequently argued that sections of Malayalam television media had drifted from adversarial journalism into overtly opposition-style politics.
At the same time, the government’s response to criticism increasingly created its own political problems.
Over the last few years, multiple journalists and media organisations found themselves facing police cases, legal notices, questioning, or direct public targeting after reporting critically on the government or the party. Asianet News, in particular, became the centre of repeated confrontations with the CPI(M). Reporter Rejaz M Sheeba Sydeek of Maktoob Media faced police action over his reporting on alleged anti-Muslim bias in the Kalamassery blasts investigation, while journalists from outlets such as Mathrubhumi and Madhyamam also came under police scrutiny in different contexts.
CPI(M) cyber supporters regularly targeted journalists online, particularly television anchors seen as hostile to the party. In return, several channels adopted an increasingly aggressive tone toward the government, especially around scandals, corruption allegations, and controversies involving ministers or the Chief Minister’s office. Prime-time discussions often became less about public debate and more about direct political combat.
None of this means the CPI(M)’s complaints about media bias were entirely baseless. Even senior journalists have acknowledged that parts of Kerala’s media became more aggressive and theatrical in their political coverage over time. But politically, the larger issue was perception. For many voters, the repeated spectacle of journalists facing cases, protests outside media offices, or direct verbal attacks from party supporters contributed to the impression of a government that appeared increasingly uncomfortable with criticism.
And in democratic politics, especially after a decade in power, governments are often judged less by whether criticism is fair and more by how confidently they are seen handling it.
The electoral map
The 2026 electoral outcome could be a cumulative reflection of all these factors. There is little doubt that UDF’s victory, with 102 seats, represents a decisive mandate rather than a marginal shift. The Congress improved its strike rate significantly, while the Indian Union Muslim League (IUML) consolidated its position within the alliance. The BJP, despite only a marginal increase in vote share, managed to win three seats, indicating that localised shifts and fragmentation also played a role.
For the CPI(M), the reduction to 26 seats is significant not only in numerical terms but also in what it represents. The party has been weakened in constituencies once considered secure, and that suggests a deeper erosion of its organisational base.
This election cannot be explained by a single cause. It is the result of multiple developments converging over time. But what the verdict makes clear is that Kerala’s electorate has not rejected the idea of the Left. Instead, it has expressed dissatisfaction with how that idea has been practised in recent years. That distinction is important because it suggests that the party’s current position is not beyond recovery. However, recovery will depend on whether the CPI(M), and by extension the LDF, recognises these signals and addresses them with seriousness.