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The image of the socially progressive, land of Periyar and cradle of the self-respect movement has been tarnished yet again by the brutal murder of an upwardly mobile Dalit man named Kavin Selva Ganesh, a techie working in one of India’s topmost IT companies who dared to love across caste lines. This murder is to reiterate the fact that economic mobility does not necessarily guarantee social acceptance within a rigid caste order.
Pushed to respond more proactively towards casteism by Dalit movements and parties, the Dravidian government in the state has taken a number of symbolic measures recently to lay claim towards social justice. This includes the recent renaming of all student hostels of Other Backward Classes (BC), Most Backward Classes (MBC) and Scheduled Castes (SC) and Scheduled Tribes (ST) as Social Justice Hostels.
The aim is to erase all caste identifiers in educational institutions, with a view to tackling caste-based polarisation. Although this move, and other such symbolically important steps, are projected as advancing the social justice driven ideal of the much-promoted Dravidian Model, these champions of justice often remain muted in the wake of caste atrocities. It occurs even as the state has become a hotbed for caste atrocities, particularly caste-based so-called ‘honour killings’.
A couple of decades ago, such violence was largely seen as a phenomenon related only to places like Haryana and Rajasthan, rhetorically alluded to as the backward regions of the North rather than progressive states like Tamil Nadu. Politicians pointed to schemes to support inter-caste marriages as illustrating their commitment to eradicating caste discrimination. A. Kathir, the founder of the Madurai-based NGO Evidence says since 2017 they have documented 65 cases of honour killings Tamil Nadu. In what follows we ask what accounts for this rising caste violence and what can be done to prevent it.
The first point to make is that such violence was not unheard of before, and the seeming absence of such killings in the past may be due to under-reporting, or mis-recording of caste violence as ‘suicide’ or ‘violence due to previous enmity’. Despite this caveat, the spurt in caste based ‘honour killings’ in the recent past cannot be brushed aside or ignored.
The second point is to note that caste enmity is neither natural nor inevitable. Research on anti-immigrant sentiment illustrates how high unemployment only results in hostility towards migrants when such sentiments are stoked by far-right parties. Similarly, we argue that casteism is actively fomented. Central to the recent upsurge, we contend, is a meticulously planned political and cultural effort to discredit and devalue Dalit economic empowerment.We view it as a physical and psychological attack on upwardly mobile Dalit castes led by the Pattali Makkal Katchi (Toiling People’s Party) (PMK), and its founder S. Ramadoss, following the inter-caste couple Elavarasan and Dhivya’s love marriage in 2013. The PMK since then has circulated and popularised a strong anti-Dalit (false) narrative calling any inter-caste romance or love or marriage involving Dalit boys as nadaga kadhal (staged love) designed to usurp the riches of the intermediate or upper castes.
He openly accused young Dalit men wearing jeans, sunglasses and shoes of seeking to seduce caste Hindu women with their ‘newfound’ lifestyle. Not only have such assertions been floated on political platforms, they have seeped into popular culture by way of films and social media.
Going further still, the PMK along with numerous fringe caste outfits organised conferences in every district after floating a forum called Dalit Alladha Anaithu Saathiyinar Kootamaippu (Federation of All Castes Excluding the Dalits).
With this, politics in the state was turned on its head, from the non-Brahmin movement’s progressive radicalism to an effort to retrench caste privilege. Despite being launched in the so-called progressive state of Tamil Nadu, this political formation did not face strong opposition from either civil or political society, and it was left to the Dalit organisations parties and Left leaning movements to fight against it. Tellingly, most writers, academics, and social activists who claim to be progressives (with a few honourable exceptions) failed to condemn it vehemently.
The PMK and the federation if nothing else, were able to instill a certain language and rhetoric of anti-Dalitness among different sections of the society, particularly among the youth. An illustration of this tendency came in responses to the film Maamanan. The hero of this film, played by M. K. Stalin’s son, was a young Dalit who fought against social justice from within the fold of the Dravidian parties.
The nakedly casteist villain was clearly disapproved of in the plot, but was celebrated online as a symbol of caste pride and valour. The PMK and other intermediate caste organisations have already established a certain sense of caste pride among their youth as Aanda Parambarai (castes that ruled these lands) and with terms like nadaga kadhal, kalappu thirumanam (mixed marriages) were sanctioning anti-Dalit violence both physically and culturally.
Political personalities like Kaduvetti Guru (deceased now) delivered provocative speeches advocating violence openly in meeting after meeting, likewise leaders from the locally dominant castes in the Kongu region, southern Tamil Nadu and elsewhere followed this. Worryingly, such rhetoric is no longer confined to the politicians of caste-based parties as some intermediate caste film-makers have taken such narratives into the cultural sphere.
Though these films have not been commercially successful, they have served to amplify and normalise the circulation of caste hate speech and the reproduction and legitimisation of anti-Dalit violence.
G Mohan’s movie Draupathi is an example. The trailer begins with Martin Luther King’s assertion that ‘injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere’. It claims to be based on real life events and showcases caste hatred and violence. At this point, however, the narrative shifts. Louts who are identified as Dalit through use of well-known political slogans, are portrayed as seeking to ensnare Vanniyar (low status but socially dominant caste) women who are forced to fight back to defend their honour.
‘For us land and women are both important’, a Vanniyar woman in the film states, ‘if anyone lays a hand on either we will chop it off’. In a clear echo of the PMK’s political campaign that accused Dalit boys of deliberately and deceitfully wooing Vanniyar women, Shekhar notes in Outlook, the film urges ‘young girls to protect their family pride (and thus, caste and community)’. Writing for the Indian Express, Ezhilarasan observes that ‘Director G Mohan believes that many cases of honour killings were not true and that thought finds explicit reflection in some scenes and dialogues’.
Films such as this, serve to erode the cultural legitimacy of campaigns against ‘honour crimes’ and legislation designed to eradicate untouchability. In suggesting that the only way to combat ‘uppity Dalits’ is through force, the film reinforces the particularistic and exclusive nature of caste boundaries.
The upshot of this is the spate of caste-honour killings from across the state, alongside brutal murders of assertive or non-compliant Dalits – some in broad daylight. These violent murders are celebrated on social media by the caste youth, and the perpetrators are hailed as heroes. As pointed out by Aisha K. Gill in their book “Honour Killing and Violence: Theory, Policy and Practice”: “In countries where ‘honour’ killings occur regularly, perpetrators who are arrested often proudly display their handcuffs as many believe that killing for the sake of individual or collective honour is heroic”.
When Yuvaraj of Dheeran Chinnamalai Peravai [Dheeran Chinnamalai Front], currently serving a jail term for the murder of Dalit youth Gokulraj, came out on parole to attend a family function he was given a hero’s welcome, and he is routinely valourised on social media. The self-styled leaders from different intermediate castes attended the function to showcase solidarity, thus legitimising his act as a protection of caste honour.
Dheeran Chinnamalai was an 18th Century Kongu Vellalar chieftain who fought against the British East India company. His re-discovery and re-signification as a caste hero, is telling of the ongoing processes through which caste pride is inculcated by organisations.
In his study of riots and disorder in the UK, social historian E. P. Thompson noted that collective violence was facilitated by the legitimation of such action. ‘By the notion of legitimation’, he explains (Thompson 1971: 78), ‘I mean that the men and women in the crowd were informed by the belief that they were defending traditional rights or customs; and … were supported by the wider consensus of the community’.
The actions and utterances of the PMK and likeminded organisations, we argue, have created the conditions within which casteist violence can foment and spread: where young caste Hindu men can come to see violence as the only form of communication that protects their ‘honour’ and their community.
Whilst welcoming the DMK government’s belated attempts to reduce caste tensions and foster cross-caste interaction, it is clear that symbolic actions alone are insufficient to put the caste genie back into the bottle. Just as a sustained and systematic campaign has got us to this pass, changing cultural values and attitudes will require significant action. One simple first step would be for the governing party to routinely call out and condemn caste-based violence when it happens. It is an indictment of the Dravidian parties’ claims to social justice that even this small step is routinely neglected for fear of alienating intermediate caste voters.
To leave the condemnation of casteism to Dalit and Left parties is to relinquish all commitment to a fairer society. Secondly, governments should ensure prompt and impartial police investigations and action against culprits. Too often, caste power appears to over-ride state power when it comes to apprehending perpetrators.
Thirdly, caste hate-speech should be rendered punishable by law and roundly condemned whenever it occurs, irrespective of who the speaker is. Failure to do so, lends tacit support and legitimacy to such rhetoric at the very least. Finally, serious consideration should be given to decades old demands for specific legislation against (dis)honour killings.
Whilst Chief Minister Stalin may be right that existing legislation should be sufficient to act against such violence, his stance displays a lack of understanding and imagination. Given the Government’s own emphasis on the symbolic actions mention in the introduction, surely they do not need to be reminded that legislation is never purely instrumental.
It is important to emphasise the social significance of legislation: it raises awareness, shines a light on particular forms of discrimination, highlights the need for action and helps to shift norms. As Waughray argues, such legislation would not create issues where none exist (any more than legislation against corporal punishment or marital rape created new issues) but it would send a powerful signal that we are no longer willing to tolerate forms of discriminatory and prejudicial behaviour.
Tamil Nadu has a proud history of politics committed to social justice. Failure to act decisively against the scourge of caste-violence and so-called honour-killings, contributes to the perception that egalitarian commitments have been sacrificed at the altar of electoral politics. Those spouting hate-speech and lecturing against cross-caste marriages are the primary instigators of the rise in caste violence, but the inaction of the Dravidian parties mean that they too are culpable.
Karthikeyan Damodaran is an Assistant Professor in Social Sciences at the National Law School of India University, Bangalore.
Hugo Gorringe is a Professor and Head of the Department of Sociology, at the University of Edinburgh, United Kingdom.
Views expressed are the authors' own.