States
A cut-out of actor-politician Vijay in one of his rallies (Facebook)
The fledgling political journey of actor Vijay, who has for months drawn swelling crowds at Tamilaga Vettri Kazhagam (TVK) rallies, has now been derailed by a tragedy.
Around 40 lives have been lost in a deadly stampede at his rally in Karur, Tamil Nadu and many more remain injured, both in hospital beds and in fractured families forever left behind.
The nightmarish images from Karur (people crushed to death, the wounded being taken to overwhelmed hospitals, grief echoing through wards to the soundtrack of plaintive music played on prime-time news) have jolted Tamil Nadu.
There are tragedies that scar societies, and there are tragedies that reveal them. Karur is both.
Conspiracy theories abound
As in every such calamity in India, explanations for what really happened remain blurred, filtered through rumour, conspiracy theories, and partisan storytelling.
Was the location, packed into a corner of Karur, purposefully chosen to undercut Vijay’s surging popularity?
Was the administration, seen as aligned to the ruling dispensation, a bit casual in handling a potentially explosive gathering?
Could Vijay’s own party have anticipated the size and desperation of the crowds drawn to his presence and taken commensurate precautions?
No answer is entirely convincing, but all seem credible enough to warrant scrutiny. Karur, thus, is the latest example of how State authority and the organisers of mass events collude in negligence, either by looking away or by not caring enough.
Only earlier this year, a celebratory rush at the Chinnaswamy Stadium in Bengaluru, after Royal Challengers Bangalore’s IPL championship triumph, resulted in casualties. Questions were raised, headlines screamed, promises were made. Yet, only silence remains now.
The same was true when one fan was killed during a commotion at a screening of Allu Arjun’s blockbuster in Andhra Pradesh. The actor himself was drawn into police inquiry, but once the spotlight shifted, no real responsibility was fixed. Nothing changed structurally.
The Karur catastrophe is cut from the same cloth. In truth, in India, no one is ever really held accountable for stampedes and mass tragedies. The victims’ families are given compensation cheques, and the story shifts.
The politics of grief
In Karur, the politics has almost been almost instantaneous. Even before the injured were stabilised, leaders sought to position themselves on the right side of public perception. Chief Minister MK Stalin reached the site overnight, a gesture that suggested sympathy but also revealed political opportunism. His administration, often accused of being tardy and indifferent during last year’s devastating Kallakurichi hooch tragedy, where scores more perished, seems more visible after this incident.
That senior ministers jostled for visibility at Karur, when the same political faces went missing during the hooch deaths, reveals the cynical calibration of grief. Udhayanidhi Stalin’s decision to cut short his Dubai trip reinforces the symbolic weight the State government wants to attach to this tragic event.
Meanwhile, television channels, all too eager to amplify the drama, filled their reports with lament-rich montages, set to background scores designed less to inform than to manipulate emotions.
Vijay fails the test of leadership
Yet, the spotlight ultimately turns on Vijay. As much as the ruling party may 'weaponise' this disaster, the reality is that TVK must confront its own culpability. A mass rally that ends in dozens of lives lost cannot be brushed aside as circumstance. The swelling power of crowds can no longer be treated as a badge of popularity alone, it must also be recognised as a grave responsibility.
Vijay’s decision to leave Karur hurriedly, without meeting the injured families or holding ground in the tragedy’s aftermath, has exposed him to accusations of callousness. His hasty retreat to Chennai, justified perhaps in the heat of panic, robbed him of the chance to stand before his followers in their darkest hour. A true leader, critics argue, would have stayed put, consoling, owning responsibility and explaining.
That Vijay didn’t face the media or meet the grieving has, in the public imagination, cast doubts about his ability to shift from screen icon to political anchor. Leadership is not forged in the glow of rallies alone, but is hammered into shape in the crucible of crises.
Beyond Karur
At stake now is not just Vijay’s party, but an entire culture of neglect that surrounds public safety in mass gatherings across India. Crowds have been trampled at temples, stampedes have broken out at railway stations and festival congregations, and political rallies continue to be unsafe theatres of disorder.
The fact that India still does not have robust nationwide crowd-control protocols for political or religious gatherings is indictment enough. Every incident is described as 'shocking', yet each one replicates the last. The operating grammar of mass public life remains unchanged.
For all the politicking and theorising, it is the ordinary attendee, the humble supporter, whose body is crushed and memory erased. For them, politics is often a distant promise; their only act of faith is to show up, to gather, to cheer. In Karur, that faith turned into their final, fatal act.
For Vijay, the road ahead will be strewn with suspicion and scrutiny. His party will have to demonstrate more than charisma. It will need professionalism, protocols, and clear responsibility structures. Without that, the Karur shadows will linger over every TVK meet, every rally, every step forward.
For the State government, Karur is another reminder that selective sympathy corrodes credibility. In its rush to capitalise, it risks revealing the deep cynicism in its governance.
And for Indian democracy as a whole, Karur is another haunting testimony. Unless structural changes are made to public safety and systemic accountability, tragedies will continue to repeat.
One city’s cries will soon sadly be drowned by the next city’s tears.