The political war over Tamil Nadu’s history

Tamil Nadu doesn’t just fight elections in the present.

It campaigns through the past.

Here, history isn’t background — it’s identity. It’s strategy.

And every political party is telling its own version of it.

You can see that most clearly right now.

Why does a temple visit make headlines?

Why does an excavation site turn political?

Welcome to Tamil Nadu —

where history is part of the campaign.

“Nēṟṟai aṟintāl nāḷai uruvākum.”

If you understand yesterday, you can shape tomorrow.

In Tamil Nadu politics, that’s not just a saying.

It’s strategy.

Because speeches and symbols aren’t just about today —

they’re about who gets to define the past,

and shape the future.

And that battle is playing out everywhere.

Let me explain.

Culture and identity matter deeply in Tamil Nadu.
they shape how people see themselves, their history, and their future.

Which is exactly why it matters how it’s used.

At The News Minute, we’ve been closely tracking this.

From the debates around Keeladi to language politics and questions of identity…

And for this election, we are on the ground, meeting candidates, experts and people, to break it all down for you

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In May 2023, Prime Minister Narendra Modi installed the Sengol inside the new Parliament building, placing it near the Speaker’s chair.

The government presented it as a historic symbol of the 1947 transfer of power, linking it to Jawaharlal Nehru, C. Rajagopalachari, and a ceremony conducted by Tamil Shaivite mutts.

But historians pointed out there is no clear archival evidence that the Sengol marked any formal transfer of authority. It was a ceremonial gift, not a constitutional symbol.

Critics raised a deeper concern. Placing a royal sceptre inside Parliament risks suggesting that authority flows from religion or monarchy, not from the people.

This concern goes back decades. In 1947 itself, C. N. Annadurai questioned the role of the aadheenams, arguing they were trying to stay in the good books of the new rulers.

In Tamil Nadu, where Dravidian politics has long resisted religious authority in governance, the move was seen not just as cultural recognition, but as a political attempt to reframe history.

PM Modi has over years stepped up his outreach to Tamil history, especially the legacy of the Cholas.

In July 2025, he visited Gangaikonda Cholapuram to mark the birth anniversary of Rajendra Chola I.

This was not a routine temple visit. It was designed as a large, highly public political event, complete with cultural performances, temple rituals, and a carefully staged speech.

Modi spoke about the Cholas not just as Tamil rulers, but almost like early global superpowers, talking about their naval expeditions to Southeast Asia, their influence in places like Indonesia and Malaysia, and presenting them as proof that India once dominated international trade routes.

But that shift in framing matters. Because a history that is deeply Tamil in identity is now being retold as part of a larger Indian power story, where the regional context slowly fades into a national narrative.

It was a striking visual. But it was also deeply political.

Look closely at how the event itself was structured.

Heads of prominent Shaivite mutts, including traditional aadheenams, were brought together and given visibility alongside the Prime Minister.

Many of these aadheenams are tied to specific caste hierarchies and religious lineages, particularly within dominant Shaivite traditions. Their presence is not neutral. It signals an outreach to influential religious networks and caste groups, including sections of OBC communities that the BJP has been trying to mobilise.

That is significant in Tamil Nadu. Dravidian politics, shaped by leaders like Periyar and Annadurai, has historically questioned the role of religion and priesthood in public life.

The presence of mutt leaders was not just ceremonial. 

Here, religious authority was placed at the centre of a political event. 

This pattern goes back a few years.

In October 2019, Modi hosted Chinese President Xi Jinping at Mahabalipuram.

Instead of Delhi, the meeting was staged among Pallava era monuments like the Shore Temple and Arjuna’s Penance.

The visuals were broadcast globally. Ancient Tamil architecture became the face of Indian diplomacy.

It looked like cultural pride. But politically, it also folded Tamil history into a broader Indian civilisational narrative.

In 2022, Modi launched the Kashi Tamil Sangamam in Varanasi. It was a month-long programme at Banaras Hindu University. It brought students, scholars, artists, and artisans from Tamil Nadu to Kashi.

There were cultural performances. Academic exchanges. Exhibitions. Even curated displays of Tamil literature and temple traditions in Varanasi. 

Supporters called it a revival of ancient civilisational links between Kashi and Tamil Nadu. Critics saw it as an attempt to fold Tamil identity into a wider Hindu cultural frame rooted in the North. 

The same approach shows up repeatedly in speeches.

Modi has quoted the Thirukkural multiple times, from Parliament speeches in 2020 to addresses at the United Nations and diaspora events.

He has also frequently referenced Sangam literature.

But the selective quoting seemed to bring out the irony. Sangam literature also speaks about social hierarchy, war, and everyday struggles. Those layers are rarely highlighted.

And that is where the political contest begins.

Because the DMK does not just repeat this history. It frames it very differently, roots it in Tamil identity, and uses it to challenge exactly this kind of national retelling.

The same past, but a completely different political meaning.

Take Keezhadi for example.

Located near Madurai, Keezhadi has revealed an urban settlement dating back to around the 6th century BCE. Excavations have uncovered brick structures, ring wells, drainage systems, evidence of industrial activity, and Tamil-Brahmi inscriptions.

For many scholars, this closely aligns with descriptions in Sangam literature, reinforcing the idea of an advanced early Tamil civilisation.

But politically, Keezhadi does something more.

It challenges how Indian history has often been told. For decades, mainstream narratives have placed the origins of civilisation largely around the Indus Valley in the northwest. Keezhadi shifts that lens southwards.

It suggests that complex, urban, literate societies were living in Tamil Nadu along their own trajectory, not as an extension of northern civilisations, but in parallel.

For the DMK, this becomes a powerful argument. That Tamil identity is not derived from or secondary to a larger Indian past, but has its own deep antiquity and continuity.

The turning point came in 2017.

That is when archaeologist Amarnath Ramakrishna, who led the initial excavation phases, was transferred by the ASI to Assam.

This triggered protests. Political parties, historians, and activists questioned the timing.

The DMK accused the Modi government of trying to dilute or control findings that could challenge dominant narratives about Indian civilisation.

Keezhadi quickly became part of a larger Tamil Nadu versus Delhi narrative.

And once in power, the DMK turned that narrative into policy.

After 2021, Chief Minister M. K. Stalin significantly expanded state funding for archaeology.

The Keezhadi museum, inaugurated in 2023, was built at a cost of around 18 crore rupees.

Excavations in sites like Kodumanal, Adichanallur, Sivagalai, and Porunthal were expanded.

Each site added new evidence to the idea of a continuous and advanced Tamil civilisation.

The state also increased annual archaeological budgets, set up dedicated research teams, and pushed for more carbon dating and scientific analysis of findings.

Public exhibitions and outreach programmes were organised across districts to take these discoveries beyond academia and into everyday political discourse.

In 2023, Stalin also released reports highlighting Iron Age findings, stating that Tamil civilisation’s antiquity must be recognised globally and independently.

This argument is now being pushed further back into the Iron Age in South India.

At Sivagalai in Thoothukudi, burial urns dated to around 1000 BCE with skeletal remains, iron tools, and black-and-red ware point to early technological advancement and organised societies much earlier than previously recognised.

These findings were used to argue that Tamil civilisation has deep antiquity and must be recognised on its own terms.

For the BJP, this creates a dilemma.

Engaging with Keezhadi helps connect with Tamil pride.

But endorsing its interpretation complicates its broader narrative, which often emphasises the Indus Valley and Saraswati civilisation.

So the response remains cautious.

Because pushing Keezhadi too strongly means shifting the centre of Indian civilisation southwards, and that unsettles a long held narrative.

And sometimes, history turns into a mass movement overnight.

In 2017, the ban on Jallikattu triggered protests across Tamil Nadu.

Protesters called it an attempt to take away Tamil tradition and identity.

Many blamed the Union government and the BJP.

The AIADMK government  had to rush an ordinance to keep Jaliikattu going.

What stood out was the scale and spontaneity, with thousands of young people gathering at Marina Beach without a central political leadership.

It showed how quickly history and culture can become political mobilisation.

In 2019, BJP leaders started sharing an image of Thiruvalluvar in saffron robes, some even vibhudhi and rudrakshi beads. 

Thiruvalluvar is a Tamil poet and philosopher and scholar, the author of the Thirukkural.

In Tamil Nadu, he is seen as a moral voice, cutting across caste, religion, and politics.

For decades Thiruvalluvar had been depicted in white as auniversal figure.

DMK accused the BJP of trying to saffronise a cultural icon.

The debate escalated ahead of elections.

The controversy was amplified across political rallies and television debates, turning into a larger argument.

In Tamil Nadu, history is never just about the past.

It is constantly being interpreted, contested, and politically repurposed.

Because here, elections are also fought on identity, memory, and belonging.

And the question:

Who gets to define the story of the past, and through that, shape the future of Tamil Nadu.

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