Star Disaster

Tamil Nadu prides itself on its political theatre. From M.G. Ramachandran to Jayalalithaa, film stars have long strutted off the silver screen and into the Secretariat, converting charisma into votes with little more than a raised eyebrow or a wave of the hand. But the tragedy in Karur where nearly 40 people were crushed to death and more than 50 injured in a stampede at actor Joseph Vijay’s Tamilaga Vettri Kazhagam (TVK) rally, is not political spectacle. It is sheer negligence masquerading as mass mobilisation. It deserves censure in the strongest possible terms.

Nine children and 17 women were among the dead. The youngest victim was two years old. Vijay, the star whose halo drew the crowds, arrived six hours late. By then the restless masses, sardined together in a venue never designed to hold them, had swelled into a dangerous frenzy. When the actor finally appeared, he chose not solemn words of gratitude but the theatrical flourish of tossing water bottles into the crowd. Moments later, lives were lost in the crush.

The state government, led by M.K. Stalin, has rushed to contain the fallout. Hospitals were mobilised with rare efficiency, in contrast to the state’s sluggish response to the Kallakurichi hooch tragedy earlier this year, which killed over 60. Clearly, the administration sees political opportunity in aligning itself against Vijay’s fledgling party. Yet its readiness to scapegoat the star should not obscure its own culpability. Tamil Nadu’s police were on duty that night. The administration authorised the rally. Both failed catastrophically in their duty to protect lives.

Hard questions need to be asked here. Why was a mass gathering permitted without adequate safety protocols? Why were there no restrictions on numbers, no meaningful crowd control, no emergency exits? Why was the star politician allowed to arrive so late, fanning restlessness into panic?

The political culture of the State bears a fair amount of blame for this. Tamil Nadu’s electorate has long blurred the line between cinema and politics. Crowds do not attend rallies merely to hear speeches but to worship their demi-gods. Politicians encourage this theatre, choreographing entrances like box-office openings, stoking anticipation with long delays and equating adulation with loyalty.

Nor should the media escape censure. Commentators who screamed themselves hoarse during the 2021 Kumbh Mela stampede, demanding Uttar Pradesh’s chief minister resign, now remain curiously muted. Their silence betrays the double standards that corrode Indian journalism.

Tamil Nadu’s history suggests voters are forgiving of their idols. But a man who presides over the needless deaths of 39 citizens at his very first major rally has shown himself unfit for public responsibility. No apology or compensation will erase the fact that his vanity project cost children their lives.

Ultimately, the blame lies not only with one star, but with a system that prizes theatre over safety. Tamil Nadu is once again reminded that politics is not cinema. In cinema, chaos is scripted. In politics, it kills.