The 1960s were a time of student uprisings across the world. Militant socialist students in Europe, especially in France and West Germany, staged protests with the aim of bringing about revolutions in their countries. Anti-war students and “hippies” in the US opposed the military intervention in Vietnam. There were student movements against undemocratic regimes in Latin America and in countries of the former Soviet bloc as well. While all these protests made for spectacular news, and are duly commemorated every year, only a few of them resulted in a concrete political change. The anti-Hindi agitations in Tamil Nadu of the 1960s are one such exception.

Led predominantly by students, the anti-Hindi agitations contributed to unseating the ruling Congress and bringing the Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (DMK) to power in 1967. Ever since, only Dravidian parties have formed the government in Tamil Nadu.

Also Read | How Dravidian politics offers a bulwark against the exclusionary politics of Hindutva

While the Dravidian Movement, its leaders and parties, its policies and governance have all received significant academic attention, there is not much work dedicated to the anti-Hindi agitations—which marked a decisive turning point in Tamil Nadu’s politics—apart from articles by the scholars Robert L. Hardgrave, Jr, and Duncan B. Forrester. R. Vijaya Sankar’s timely translation of Hindi Imperialism, whose author, Aladi Aruna, was an active participant in the anti-Hindi agitations and later became an important leader in the DMK, should kindle interest in this crucial political movement of modern Tamil Nadu among a wider audience. Not only is Hindi Imperialism a document of a turbulent time authored by a participant-observer, it also speaks to the political issues of our times.

Aruna asserts proudly: “Dravidians and Bengalis are the only people in the world who created a revolution to protect their mother tongue.” There has been a strong Tamil cultural-nationalist sentiment since the dawn of modernity in colonial Madras, accompanied by opposition to “Aryan” Sanskrit. Several Tamil intellectuals counterposed imagined egalitarian Tamil pasts against what they saw as a hierarchal north Indian-Sanskrit-Aryan culture. Hindi was seen as the tongue of Aryan domination over the South.

The Anti-Hindi ‘Revolution’

The anti-Hindi mood got sharpened when C. Rajagopalachari (popularly known as Rajaji), the then Premier of the Madras presidency, made Hindi a compulsory subject in 1937. This was opposed by several Tamil political leaders and social reformers. The protests saw the participation of people across caste and religious divides and was noted for the active involvement of women. The protesters Natarajan and Thalamuthu died in custody and instantly became martyrs of the resistance. “Periyar” E.V. Ramasamy, who was already an established leader by then, played a prominent role in these protests.

This period saw his reach grow wider with the entry of a new crop of militant and articulate youths, chief among whom was C.N. Annadurai. Meanwhile, a student, Muthuvel Karunanidhi, neglected his schooling to take part in the anti-Hindi agitations. Arrests failed to contain the uprising, and in 1940, Hindi as a compulsory subject was withdrawn—only to be reinstated soon after Independence.

When Annadurai broke from Periyar to form the DMK, most of the young Dravidianists who left with him had already proven their mettle as capable organisers and leaders. From 1949 to 1967, the DMK was uncompromising on Tamil assertion, federalism, and opposition to “Hindi imperialism”. Although there were other leaders and outfits fighting for Tamil rights, the DMK became the vanguard of the anti-Hindi protests in this period.

It is worth remembering that the 16th Amendment to the Constitution, which prohibits advocacy of separatism, was designed in response to the DMK. Aruna captures the key role played by these protests in shaping the Official Languages Act of 1963, which allowed for the continuation of English along with Hindi instead of Hindi as the sole official language as was originally planned. Further, the 1968 language resolution made it incumbent on the Indian state to protect and contribute to the languages in the Eighth Schedule. On coming to power, the DMK brought a two-language formula (Tamil and English) to the State, which has since been guarded by the different Dravidian Chief Ministers.

Interestingly, Rajaji, against whom the original anti-Hindi agitations were waged, himself opposed Hindi imposition in the 1950s and became a DMK ally in the 1960s. On the other hand, Periyar took a thoroughly anti-DMK position in the wake of the 1960s agitations; in some instances, he called for a ban on the party and, in others, for force to be used against the protesters who damaged public property. In Aruna’s partisan and linear narrative, such uncomfortable aspects of the history of Dravidian politics figure minimally.

There is a tendency among many Dravidianists today to view Dravidian politics as a seamless teleology from Periyar to M.K. Stalin via Annadurai and Karunanidhi. History does not attest to that. From the point that Annadurai separated from him and until he became the first Dravidian Chief Minister, Periyar treated the DMK as enemy number one and missed no opportunity to mock its politics. It is a testament to the political sagacity of Annadurai that not only did he trounce the powerful Congress and much-loved leaders like Kamaraj, but he also effectively navigated around the attacks by his mentor. And all this despite hailing from a non-elite background, with no inherited socio-economic or political clout.

DMK Chronicles

R. Kannan recounts the glorious days of Dravidian pasts and also dares to visit its grimy corners in his fact-by-fact account in The DMK Years: Ascent, Descent, Survival. The book can be seen as part of a “Dravidian trilogy”, preceded by Kannan’s biographies on Annadurai and M.G. Ramachandran (MGR).

In The DMK Years, Kannan attempts a biography of the DMK party and concurrently provides a panoramic view of Tamil politics post-Independence. He has used an impressive array of primary sources to build his narrative on how the DMK grew from a splinter of the Dravidar Kazhagam (DK) to become a dominant political power in Tamil Nadu. The massive anti-Hindi agitations of the 1960s catapulted the DMK to prominence. But more was at work. The party used grassroots organising, literature, street theatre, agitprop, and of course, cinema to reach to a wide public. The key DMK leaders were great speakers who could command the attention of their audiences, and they also published papers to propagate their views.

Annadurai, like Lenin, recognised the power of cinema as a pedagogic tool. Dravidian cinema produced no Eisenstein or Vertov, who brought innovative techniques to the art. Instead, it was boosted by writers and poets whose dialogues and songs containing explicit or coded pro-Dravidian messages were lapped up by the public. It also invested in and benefited from the stardom of N.S. Krishnan, Sivaji Ganesan, and the charismatic MGR, who attained the status of a demigod as film hero and politician. It must be noted here that Periyar was opposed to cinema and the DMK’s use of the medium.

Annadurai’s DMK wove a rainbow coalition by roping in the conservative Swatantra Party and the CPI(M). Although these parties had been bitterly opposed to the DMK earlier, they were brought together by a set of common, broadly progressive demands against a powerful adversary in the Congress; the post-Marxist theorists Ernesto Laclau and Chantal Mouffe would theorise about similar populist strategies much later. The DMK took from the DK a commitment to social justice measures; its firm pro-reservations stand earned the DMK the support of the OBCs and the SCs in Tamil Nadu. Kannan notes that after the DMK took power, “backward, Dalit and rural representation began to grow in government services”.

The DMK Years is not an academic book—Kannan candidly admits as much in his introduction—but it is a book that academics working on Tamil politics cannot ignore, simply because there is no other book in English that captures the story of the DMK from its formation until the present. The DMK suffered four major splits: from E.V.K. Sampath (1961), MGR (1972), V.R. Nedunchezhiyan (1977), and Vaiko (1994). All four were critical of Karunanidhi’s role in the DMK. It could be a coincidence that all these four leaders were from upwardly mobile non-Brahmin castes, while Karunanidhi hailed from a marginal one. MGR’s All India Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (AIADMK), when it captured power in 1977, kept the DMK in opposition until 1989. MGR’s split dealt a body blow to the DMK, but what it also did was push the non-DMK opposition in Tamil Nadu to the margins.

The DMK’s alliances with the parties that formed the government at the Centre were dictated by a combination of principles, tactical compromise, and opportunism. The DMK’s oppositional role during the Emergency has been glorified by its supporters for good reason. But Kannan also draws attention to how this was not straightforward. Karunanidhi was not above using the Maintenance of Internal Security Act to arrest his opponents; he was also eager to prove his patriotic credentials. Yet, he provided sanctuary to political dissidents from other parts of India.

There was an apprehension of centralisation and unbridled repression that compelled him to voice his opposition to the Emergency, leading to his government’s dismissal in 1976. Many DMK leaders were arrested. Stalin was beaten up brutally in jail, and Chittibabu, former Mayor of Chennai, succumbed to his injuries following torture.

In 1977, the DMK aligned with the Janata Party (JP) to defeat the Congress. Soon after, the DMK walked out of the JP alliance and offered its support to Indira Gandhi in 1980, claiming that she alone was capable of providing stable rule. On her part, Indira Gandhi forgot her past fabulous accusations of the DMK’s secessionism, corruption, and its plots to hurt her and vaunted the party as an ally.

This is not a trait of the DMK alone, though. The AIADMK aligned with the Congress in the general election of 1977 and got a thumping victory in the State. In the State Assembly election that year, it was supported by the CPI(M) that turned a blind eye to the alliance between the AIADMK and the party that declared the Emergency. When Morarji Desai became Prime Minister, MGR promptly cosied up to him. In 1980, MGR discovered that the Congress was undemocratic.

The Dravidian parties were similarly flexible in aligning with the BJP. Jayalalithaa’s AIADMK supported the Hindutva party in 1998, not because of any commitment to its principles but, as Kannan claims, because she wanted serious corruption charges against her withdrawn and Karunanidhi’s government dismissed. When this did not happen, she withdrew support. The DMK then backed the BJP because it felt at that time that Jayalalithaa’s corruption was worse than the BJP’s communalism. This uneasy alliance, too, did not last. Other parties in the State, whether centrist, caste-based, Dalit, or leftist, have done similar flip-flops in aligning with the DMK or the AIADMK.

Irrespective of their alliances at the Centre, the Dravidian parties compete with each other on protecting federalism, defending reservations, promoting Tamil rights, and delivering on populist welfare schemes. However, Kannan indicates that in cases of conflict between labour and capital, whichever Dravidian party is in power errs on the side of capital. Both the DMK and the AIADMK are pro-investors. Critics in Tamil Nadu, depending on their political affiliations, tend to focus on the errors of one party while minimising those of the other. Thankfully, Kannan brings that much-maligned word, objectivity, to the table.

The DMK Years was released in September to coincide with the 75th anniversary of the DMK’s founding. But one cannot avoid the feeling that the book was published in a hurry. The copyeditors could have taken more care to avoid errors, some of which are quite glaring. For instance, a subheading on page 5 on “Non-Brahmin Identity and Assertion” has nothing on this theme but instead has trivia on Karunanidhi’s naming of M.K. Stalin and on the number of his Facebook followers. The author claims on page 98 that the “Congress never missed an opportunity to advocate cultural nationalist issues” and follows on page 99 about “Congress’s deep-seated indifference to cultural nationalism”, alleging that it bungled on this front. A table about the 1980 parliamentary election on page 252 shows the DMK as having contested in 16 seats and winning in 48. The index has jumbled up Pasumpon Muthuramalinga Thevar with Pon. Muthuramalingam.

Also Read | DMK at 75: How Karunanidhi’s vision collides with caste realities in modern Dravidian politics

However, both books present valuable information on Dravidian politics. Kannan notes that with the demise of Jayalalithaa and Karunanidhi, the time of mass leaders is over. Stalin’s regime banks more on performance than on personality as the current DMK tries to protect the political and socio-economic achievements of past governments even as it tries to build more effective policies. But it faces vociferous challengers. Currently, the BJP and the Tamil nativist outfit the Naam Tamilar Katchi seek to discredit the whole of the Dravidian movement and overthrow Dravidian rule.

The popular Tamil actor Vijay recently floated the Tamilaga Vettri Kazhagam but does not seem to propose an alternative to Dravidian politics, rather a continuation of it. At the first conference of his party, he declared Periyar as his leader, said that Dravidianism and Tamil nationalism are like his two eyes, and spoke strongly in favour of State autonomy, Tamil rights, and social justice, all part of the Dravidian vocabulary. His party’s flag anthem positions him along with Annadurai and MGR. If he grows, he is likely to take away the non-DMK votes.

While the DMK is criticised by allies for its handling of labour issues, such as the recent Samsung workers’ strike, there is recognition of its value for secular politics at the local and national levels. Principled support and criticism from the Left can guide it to follow reasonable pro-labour policies. The ghosts of Dravidian pasts hold much lessons for Dravidian futures. 

Karthick Ram Manoharan is Assistant Professor of Social Sciences at the National Law School of India University, Bengaluru. He is the author of Periyar: A Study in Political Atheism (Orient BlackSwan, 2022).

When Tamil filmstar “Thalapathy” Vijay, or General Vijay as his fans fondly call him, stepped on to the podium on October 27 to deliver a 45-minute speech, he was greeted by roars and applause in a charged and theatrical event that opened yet another exciting chapter in a State where politics and cinema have been conjoined twins since the 1950s.

The occasion was the maiden political conference of Tamilaga Vettri Kazhagam (TVK), the political party launched in February this year by the 50-year-old megastar. The venue was Vikravandi, a small town some 150 km south of Chennai, in Villupuram district.

The event had all the trappings of the star’s multi-crore blockbuster films, including a thundering monologue in which he promised to write an epitaph to the nearly six-decade-long rule of the two Dravidian parties as well as eliminate any pretenders to the throne.

Ideological contradictions

While the cannily choreographed event held his fans in thrall, the script was a bit confused, as some analysts pointed out. In his ambitious pursuit to appropriate two phrases/concepts currently in political circulation—“Dravidam” or Dravidian ideology and “Tamil nationalism”—Vijay seemed to have fallen into a web of ideological contradictions. Given his popularity, he definitely has one foot in the door of Tamil Nadu politics, but gaining a firm footing in the State’s complex landscape will take some doing.

Also Read | How Dravidian politics offers a bulwark against the exclusionary politics of Hindutva

Vijay’s speech invoked “Periyar” E.V. Ramasamy, Dr B.R. Ambedkar, Congress leader and former Chief Minister Kamaraj, and freedom fighters Velu Nachiyar and Anjalai Ammal, as ideological mentors, leaving his fans convinced that the star’s performance in politics would make as much impact with the masses as his superhit films. But hardnosed pundits were less easily swayed. The truth lies somewhere in between. While it is undeniable that Vijay has created a mass political impact, his venture’s ideological underpinnings seem to be riddled with severe contradictions.

For instance, Vijay claimed that “Dravidam” and “Tamil nationalism” were the two eyes of his party, but this betrays a lack of understanding of the oxymoronic nature of such a combination. Dravidam, unlike Tamil nationalism, is an inclusive ideology that does not discriminate on the basis of language. In fact, the film director-turned-politician S. Seeman pitches Tamil nationalism against Dravidam as the credo of Naam Tamilar Katchi (NTK), the party he launched in 2010, which has found resonance among a section of youngsters in the State.

Vijay also made a statement on rationalism and atheism, which brought back memories of “Annaism”, a term that matinee idol M.G. Ramachandran (MGR) coined after he launched the All India Anna Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (AIADMK) in 1972. (It was in reference to his mentor and former Chief Minister, C.N. Annadurai’s political philosophy.) Vijay said that while he accepted Periyar as his ideological mentor, he disowned Periyar’s atheism. He then went on to state: “We will follow Anna’s principle of ‘Onre kulam, oruvane devan’ (‘One community, one god’).”

He said that for him, both Periyar and Ambedkar were on the same page. Yet, both Periyar and Ambedkar spoke strongly against any form of religion that sanctifies caste. Vijay denounced birth-based hierarchies, which is the basis of “varnashrama dharma”. He quoted Tamil poet Thiruvalluvar’s words, “Pirapokkum ella uyirkkum” (all are equal by birth), but accepted on that very stage a copy of the Bhagavad Gita, which upholds the principles of “varnashrama dharma”.

Targeting DMK

In his speech, the star-turned-politician declared that that the right-wing with its divisive agenda was his ideological enemy, and corrupt forces his political enemy. Although he consciously avoided naming any political party, he indirectly targeted the “corrupt Dravidian model of governance” of one family and took a strong stand against the ruling party by claiming that he would bring “genuine” social justice to the State.

Vijay’s attempt to expose the alleged duplicity of certain political parties who brand their opponents as being “fascist” when they themselves are guilty of displaying fascist tendencies also drew flak, as some wondered whether his mocking tone betrayed his lack of understanding of what the term actually means.

While he targeted right-wing majoritarianism, he made only mild references to contentious issues such as the Governor’s chair, NEET, and the caste census. The strong critical reaction to what was widely perceived as Vijay’s “soft” censure of the BJP government at the Centre soon forced the TVK to resort to some damage control. Within days of the Vikravandi speech, an executive committee meeting was convened in which the party passed a few more resolutions against the Central government, including those against the “One nation, one election” plank and the three-language formula.

On the day of the event, the biggest surprise came at the very end of Vijay’s speech when he announced, almost as an afterthought, that all political outfits were welcome to join him in his fight against the “corrupt Dravidian family politics” and that, if elected, he would offer them a “share in power”.

The State’s political parties, especially the DMK’s allies, to whom the “offer” was ostensibly made, reacted cautiously. Except for two Dalit outfits—Puthiya Thamizhagam and Puratchi Bharatham, which are not in the DMK alliance—no other party has shown interest in the offer so far, although it has created a buzz in the State.

Two-fold agenda

Vijay’s agenda is twofold: break the DMK alliance and prevent the AIADMK from forming one. Political watchers believe that the offer of a share in power is an attempt to weaken the DMK’s alliance, which has remained intact since the 2019 Assembly election, largely to the DMK’s benefit. Vijay clearly sees Thol. Thirumavalavan’s Viduthalai Chiruthaigal Katchi (VCK) as the weakest link in the alliance, for which he cannot be faulted.

Of late, there have been differences of opinion within the VCK, with second-rung leaders openly discussing power sharing, Ministerial berths, and even the Deputy Chief Minister post. But these demands are not new; Thirumavalavan has often said that the party would stake its claim at the opportune time.

After Vijay’s speech, one of VCK’s deputy general secretaries, Aadhav Arjuna, posted his views on the social media platform X, which created embarrassment for both the DMK and the VCK.

Arjuna, a former DMK sympathiser, tweeted that Vijay had scripted a new chapter in State politics by offering to share power. What Vijay and Arjuna fail to understand, say experts, is that in the first-past-the-post electoral system, power sharing is generally a post-election exercise.

VCK dilemma

For some time now, the VCK leadership has been under enormous pressure from a few small but persistent Dalit groups to exit the DMK alliance. These groups, active in social media, are averse to what they call the “patronage politics” and “big brother” attitude of the Dravidian majors, especially the DMK.

But VCK general secretary D. Ravikumar told Frontline that Thirumavalavan had repeatedly clarified the party’s stand on power sharing. He said: “These rumours are constantly peddled by those trying to break the alliance. The actor is hesitant to even name the BJP, which he declares as his ideological enemy, but attacks the DMK and its allies who fight fascist forces. What sort of politics is he taking up?”

While the confusing signals emanating from the VCK might be the reason for Vijay’s overture, it is no exaggeration to say that his offer has slightly dented the armour of the alliance. The uneasiness is palpable; both the DMK and the AIADMK have to tread cautiously, since both suffered some erosion in their vote share in the recent Lok Sabha election.

The other DMK allies face no such predicament. Durai Vaiko, principal secretary of the Marumalarchi Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (MDMK), an ally in the DMK alliance, dismissed Vijay’s accusations against the DMK as “unnecessary”. The Congress said that it would “wait and watch”. The Left and other allies refused to be drawn into any controversy that might upset the alliance. Interestingly, the AIADMK has also remained non-committal after Vijay’s arrival.

A senior DMK spokesperson said that the party’s allies had decided to revisit confidence-building strategies. Their leaders met DMK president and Chief Minister M.K. Stalin to reassure and reiterate their commitment. A party source said that Stalin asked his party leaders and cadres to not “react impulsively”.

Excitement in electorate

While actors such as Kamal Haasan engage in part-time politics, Vijay’s full-time plunge into an arena where the DMK and AIADMK are entrenched, enjoying a combined 60-65 per cent of the vote share, has whipped up excitement among the electorate and raised curiosity.

During the conference, Vijay said: “At the peak of my career, I am forsaking it for the welfare of my people. A few questions have been nagging me for some time now. What have I done to those people who have made me what I am today? How can I pay them back? And this is it.” He also promised “a corruption-free, secular, and social justice government”.

Any attempt to create a third front as an alternative to the two Dravidian majors does not hold promise, going by past experience. In 2016, the Makkal Nala Kootani was a flop. But Vijay’s confidence might stem from the fact that he presumes that a space has opened up for a third party after the demise of two tall leaders on both sides of the Dravidian flank, M. Karunanidhi and Jayalalithaa.

“It is premature to discuss a political strategy as the next election is more than a year away,” said Prof. G. Palanithurai, former Professor of the Rajiv Gandhi Chair for Panchayati Raj Studies at the Gandhigram Rural Institute.

Possible impact

Speaking to Frontline, he said that Vijay could mainly play spoilsport for now. “Although there is a general disenchantment among certain sections against the parties that had ruled and are ruling, how he is going to perform remains to be seen. Vijay’s entry will escalate the value of votes in today’s market-driven politics,” he said.

Also Read | Political power is essential for a subaltern party: Thol. Thirumavalavan

Dravidian politics and Tamil cinema have always had a symbiotic relationship. From the DMK’s founders Annadurai and Karunanidhi to the actors MGR and Jayalalithaa, and later Vijaykanth and Kamal Haasan, not to mention Rajnikanth’s occasional cryptic signals, there is very little politics without cinema in Tamil Nadu. Vijay’s entry ensures that continuity.

At this time, Vijay’s major catchment areas are clearly marked: first-time voters, Dalit and Vanniyar youth, and his fan clubs, which his father and director S.A. Chandrasekhar studiously cultivated since 2009 and which are a dedicated source of supply of cadres. The fact that Dalit and Vanniyar youths are among his ardent fans will cause major worries to the VCK, the Desiya Murpokku Dravida Kazhagam (DMDK), and the Pattali Makkal Katchi (PMK). Vijay is also likely to trigger a major erosion in the NTK.

The major takeaway from Vijay’s maiden speech is that his ambition is possibly to reconstruct the Dravidian political fortress from within its precincts. It is a challenging feat that will require staying power and a more sharply delineated ideological stance.

When the workers of the Samsung Electronics unit in Sriperumbudur, 40 km from Chennai, went on strike for better wages and improved conditions on September 9, little did they realise that their struggle would evolve into a watershed moment in Tamil Nadu’s labour movement in the post-liberalisation era. When it finally ended on October 16, it had lasted for 38 days, becoming the longest industrial unrest in recent times. The last such prolonged strike was in 2018 at the Royal Enfield factory, which lasted for 50 days.

Also Read | Our main demand is recognition of the union; if that happens, we will call off strike: A. Soundararajan

The strife at the Samsung plant began like any other labour unrest and was confined to the striking workers of the South Korean electronics giant, their families, and supporters. The Centre of Indian Trade Unions (CITU), the labour wing of the Communist Party of India (Marxist), was the lone organisation that supported it in the early stages. However, when the strike showed no signs of ending, various political parties in Tamil Nadu including allies of the ruling party, the Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (DMK), jumped in, causing acute embarrassment for the State government.

Major crisis

The issue soon snowballed into a major crisis, and the DMK government feared that it would drive away potential investors who had been promised a hassle-free and peaceful industrial environment and thwart the State’s ambitious mission to transform into a $1 trillion economy by 2030. The DMK was also apprehensive that the strike would raise uncomfortable questions about its “Dravidian model” of development. Pushed to a corner, the DMK government decided that it was in its best interests to “end” the strike as early as possible. It is this haste that led to misunderstanding and friction not only among the workers but also among its allies. It is now clear that when the strike began, little thought had gone into how the government ought to respond in the event of a prolonged stir. In fact, in the initial phases of the strike, the DMK’s labour wing, the Labour Progressive Federation (LPF), had supported the CITU and the striking workers.

As the strike prolonged, the State government finally sent its Ministers as envoys. However, the first tripartite meeting, led by a committee of three Ministers—T.R.B. Rajaa (Industries), T.M. Anbarasan (Micro, Small & Medium Enterprises, or MSME), and C.V. Ganesan (Labour)—failed to break the logjam, and at this point, the LPF quietly withdrew its support. LPF general secretary M. Shanmugam even accused the CITU of “blowing out of proportion the demands of workers and refusing to put an end [to the strike]”.

It was clear that the ministerial committee had handled the issue clumsily. Having wrangled some guarantees from the Samsung management, including for better wages and amenities, the government prematurely declared that the strike had ended. But the CITU and the striking workers had rejected the deal. Their main demand was that the CITU-backed Samsung India Workers Union (SIWU) be registered, but the company objected to this, claiming that its main concern was the union having Samsung in its name.

Government missteps

At this time, the State government made its second mistake. It sent the police to intimidate the workers, dismantled the tent at the protest site, and even arrested a few workers. This added fuel to the fire and led to the allegation that the government was acting in cahoots with the company. Following this, CITU leader A. Soundararajan warned that there might be some “serious political ramifications”. He said: “The government seems to have apprehensions that the Samsung strike might spread to other industrial units.” The CITU refused to buckle under pressure, political or non-political, and the Samsung workers, too, remained united and strong.

For Chief Minister M.K. Stalin, the strike had now become a political hot potato. On the one hand, he wanted to please the multinational and send out the signal that the environment in Tamil Nadu was investment-friendly. On the other, not only had his allies gone against him, his own party’s image of fighting for workers’ rights was under attack.

Drawing flak from multiple quarters, he ordered a second tripartite meeting with a rehashed committee. The MSME Minister was replaced by Public Works Minister E.V. Velu. This time, an agreement was reached with the understanding that the demands of the workers that would be officially finalised would include registration of the union, improved wages and working conditions, and a commitment that no retributory action would be taken. A visibly relieved Stalin took to X to express happiness.

Legal challenge

Meanwhile, the writ petition filed in the Madras High Court by P. Ellan, general secretary of the newly formed SIWU, seeking registration came up for hearing. Samsung filed a petition to implead itself in the case. In its representation, the company objected to the use of the word “Samsung” in the labour union’s name, which it claimed would affect the “company’s reputation”. Its counsel G. Rajagopalan also claimed that the company had incurred a loss of around $100 million as a result of the strike.

Also Read | Samsung strike: Workers arrested as battle for union recognition continues

The senior lawyer N.G.R. Prasad, appearing for the petitioner, told the court that this was not a trademark dispute. “We are not rivals in their business,” he said. He pointed out that the writ was confined to the trade union and its registration, and the Trade Unions Act, 1926, did not prohibit the use of a company’s name. The case has been adjourned to November 11.

The Samsung strike appears to have reignited the labour union movement in Tamil Nadu and rekindled the hopes of the working class that they will be able to fight against exploitation. Politically, the CPI(M) appears to have decided to identify itself closely with labour issues once again.

In today’s exploitative neoliberal environment, marked by widespread uncertainty affecting skilled and unskilled workers, both organised and unorganised, and with the rise of artificial intelligence posing a new challenge to labour, trade unions face an uphill battle. They must work harder than ever to safeguard both industrialisation and the rights of workers.

While the unrest has been sorted out for the time being, there is still speculation about how similar issues will play out in future and whether the State government, as the nodal agency of mediation, will stand by workers.