top of page

By:

Abhijit Joshi

31 August 2024 at 10:09:24 am

Uddhav Thackeray’s Long March Ahead

While defections may weaken the Shiv Sena (UBT), Maharashtra’s politics is shaped as much by emotion and identity as by arithmetic. As the Shiv Sena marks the 60th anniversary of its foundation, the celebrations are accompanied by introspection as much as festivity. Both factions - the Shiv Sena led by Deputy Chief Minister Eknath Shinde and the Shiv Sena (UBT) led by Uddhav Thackeray - continue to claim ownership of the party’s legacy, ideology and emotional bond with Maharashtra's...

Uddhav Thackeray’s Long March Ahead

While defections may weaken the Shiv Sena (UBT), Maharashtra’s politics is shaped as much by emotion and identity as by arithmetic. As the Shiv Sena marks the 60th anniversary of its foundation, the celebrations are accompanied by introspection as much as festivity. Both factions - the Shiv Sena led by Deputy Chief Minister Eknath Shinde and the Shiv Sena (UBT) led by Uddhav Thackeray - continue to claim ownership of the party’s legacy, ideology and emotional bond with Maharashtra's electorate. Yet one development continues to reverberate across the state: the steady migration of leaders from Uddhav Thackeray’s camp to the Shinde-led Sena. Political Flip-Flop The latest reports suggest that six of the nine Shiv Sena (UBT) Members of Parliament may align themselves with Shinde in what has been described as ‘Operation Tiger.’ The larger question, however, concerns the ordinary Shiv Sainik, the grassroots worker who spends years campaigning, mobilising supporters and defending the party through good times and bad. For such workers, political realignments often produce confusion and disillusionment. One day they are instructed to oppose a rival faction; the next, they find their leaders sharing platforms with former adversaries. The dilemma is profound: whom should they follow, and where does their loyalty now lie? As the Shiv Sena enters its seventh decade, the future of its cadre may matter as much as the future of its leadership. Regional parties in India rarely disappear overnight. They endure electoral setbacks, organisational crises, leadership feuds and even the loss of their symbols. What allows them to survive is the emotional connection between their leaders and their grassroots workers. The undivided Shiv Sena founded by Balasaheb Thackeray in 1966 remains perhaps the clearest example of this phenomenon. Rebellions Galore Over the past three decades, the party has weathered a series of rebellions. In 1991, Chhagan Bhujbal departed with a significant section of the organisation. In 2005, Narayan Rane rebelled, expecting dozens of legislators to follow him, though only a handful eventually did. Raj Thackeray’s exit in 2006 inflicted a deep emotional and organisational wound, even though no MLA initially joined him. The most damaging rupture came in 2022, when Eknath Shinde led a revolt involving 40 legislators, bringing down the Uddhav Thackeray government and eventually securing control of the original Shiv Sena name and its iconic bow-and-arrow symbol. Now, four years later, Uddhav Thackeray faces another test. If the reported departure of six MPs materialises, the party’s parliamentary presence would be substantially weakened. Yet it would merely constitute another chapter in the long and turbulent struggle over Balasaheb Thackeray’s political inheritance. What is striking is that every rebellion in the Shiv Sena’s history has shared a common feature. Chhagan Bhujbal's departure was shaped by the political churn of the Mandal-versus-Kamandal era and his rivalry with Manohar Joshi. Narayan Rane believed that Uddhav Thackeray's rise blocked his own path to the top. Raj Thackeray reached a similar conclusion, convinced that Balasaheb’s preference for his son limited his prospects within the organisation. Even Shinde’s revolt was rooted in the perception that Uddhav’s leadership style had become an obstacle to the ambitions of many senior leaders. Despite these repeated schisms, the Shiv Sena’s core support base has displayed remarkable resilience. The average Shiv Sainik has historically remained loyal not merely to an election symbol but to a broader sense of identity, ideology and belonging. Above all, that loyalty has been anchored in the enduring memory of Balasaheb Thackeray. That emotional capital remains Uddhav Thackeray’s greatest political asset. The evidence was visible in the 2024 Lok Sabha election. Despite losing the party name and symbol, the Shiv Sena (UBT) secured nine parliamentary seats. Although the party subsequently suffered setbacks in the Maharashtra Assembly election, the Lok Sabha outcome demonstrated that a substantial section of Marathi voters continued to regard Uddhav Thackeray as the authentic political heir to Balasaheb’s legacy. The challenge before him today, however, differs fundamentally from the one faced by his father. Balasaheb commanded the organisation through charisma, authority and an almost unmatched emotional hold over the cadre. Uddhav must instead rely on organisation, persistence and sustained public engagement. The next three years will therefore be decisive. If he intends to remain a serious contender ahead of the 2029 Lok Sabha and Assembly elections, he will have to spend considerably more time on the ground. Reconnecting with workers, rebuilding local leadership structures and expanding the party beyond the politics of sympathy will be essential. Electoral revival cannot be achieved through nostalgia alone. There is, however, one development that could reshape the political landscape. The recent rapprochement between Uddhav and Raj Thackeray has revived hopes of a broader Marathi political consolidation. After years of rivalry, the Thackeray cousins appear to have recognised that political survival may require cooperation rather than competition. Should this understanding evolve into a durable alliance, it could consolidate the Marathi vote in urban Maharashtra, particularly in Mumbai, Thane, Nashik and parts of the Konkan. For Uddhav Thackeray, the immediate future remains difficult. Organisational defections continue to haunt the party, and reports suggest that legislators, too, are being courted by rival camps. Yet Maharashtra’s political history offers a useful reminder. The Shiv Sena has repeatedly survived predictions of its demise. Every split has weakened the organisation; none has succeeded in severing its emotional connection with a significant section of its cadre. The battle for the Shiv Sena is therefore no longer merely a contest over legislators, MPs or election symbols. It is a struggle over memory, legitimacy and identity. Eknath Shinde may possess the official party name, the symbol and a larger legislative presence. Uddhav Thackeray, however, still retains a considerable portion of the emotional constituency that Balasaheb painstakingly built over five decades. Whether that emotional reservoir can once again be converted into electoral success remains the defining question. The answer will be determined on the streets, in shakhas and among party workers across Maharashtra over the next three years. For now, Uddhav Thackeray stands politically wounded, but far from defeated. In Maharashtra politics, that distinction often matters more than the numbers.

Selective Outrage

India’s left-liberal media has long prided itself on being the torchbearer of secularism, dissent and moral rectitude. In the aftermath of ‘Operation Sindoor,’ the precision military strike launched by the Modi government against Pakistan-based terror camps, it has revealed its not a principled commitment to peace or truth, but a disturbing penchant for ideological prejudice, performative sanctimony and selective outrage.


The operation itself was a textbook display of calibrated force and geopolitical prudence. Prime Minister Narendra Modi, often caricatured as ‘authoritarian’ by the ‘liberal’ English-language commentariat, chose patience over provocation. He consulted opposition leaders, held detailed discussions with defence chiefs and took key international stakeholders, notably the United States and Russia, into confidence before authorising limited military action. The symbolism of ‘Operation Sindoor’ was also carefully crafted: a pointed reminder that the attack’s real victims were Hindu women widowed by Pakistan-sponsored militants in Kashmir. The government’s briefings were also strategic and symbolic as two ranking female officers, one of them Muslim, were made the public face of the mission, underlining a new Indian confidence that blends military muscle with democratic pluralism.


But this was unacceptable for India’s entrenched ‘left-liberal’ press, steeped in academic jargon, Western validation and a knee-jerk hostility to anything remotely ‘Hindutva.’ That a Muslim officer briefed the nation on ‘Operation Sindoor’ was branded ‘tokenism’ by such commentators. Others crudely alleged that the April 22 Pahalgam massacre was the logical culmination of reported atrocities against Muslims since Modi came to power in 2014.


The semantic nitpicking over ‘Operation Sindoor’ was maddening. An editor of a prominent magazine dubbed the operation’s name as ‘patriarchal’ and coded in Hindutva tropes. In a bizarre case of moral inversion, sindoor was likened to symbols of ‘honour killings’ and gender oppression, ignoring both its cultural resonance and the cruel reality that these women had lost their husbands in cold blood. For years, India’s ‘secular’ commentariat nurtured a preordained binary: the Congress may be flawed but was at least ‘secular’ while the BJP was an inveterate ‘fascist.’ Thus, the 2002 Gujarat riots are always focused upon but the Congress-backed pogrom of the Sikhs in 1984 is either downplayed or rationalised. Terrorism in Kashmir is tragic, but state retaliation is ‘jingoism.’ A strong Muslim voice in government is ‘tokenism’ but its absence is ‘exclusion.’ Even journalistic rigour is selectively applied. When Pakistan claimed to have downed Indian jets, some Indian outlets rushed to amplify the story before verification, inadvertently echoing enemy propaganda.


Dissent is vital in any democracy. But when its becomes indistinguishable from disdain, when editorial choices are dictated by ideological conformity, then the press becomes a caricature of itself. Ironically, many of these journalists enjoy robust free speech and loudly lament India’s supposed slide into ‘fascism’ from the safety of their X handles. Yet they turn a blind eye to Putin’s repression, Erdogan’s purges or Xi Jinping’s camps. In their eyes, Modi remains the greatest threat to democracy even as they broadcast their outrage freely, without fear of censorship or reprisal. ‘Operation Sindoor’ was a statement of cultural self-confidence. That confidence has rattled those who have spent their careers gatekeeping Indian discourse. Today, their monopoly is over. The people are watching and they no longer believe that the emperor has clothes.

Comments

bottom of page