Kerala is a small state. One end to the other can be covered in less than 20 hours by road. And everywhere you go in this congested state today, you will see mostly one person smiling at you: Pinarayi Vijayan, Chief Minister of Kerala and leader of the Left Democratic Front, now in the last leg of its second consecutive term in power.
The thing with power is that it must be seen as doing good to perpetuate itself. Few understand this better than Prime Minister Narendra Modi. All of India is Modi’s mirror. We see him as he sees himself, everywhere. He is the source. He is not merely seen as doing things, but as giving things.
The visibility of power is exponentially greater in smaller states. Kerala’s CM, through relentless self-promotion, has achieved a seemingly god-like status. If he is not cutting ribbons at events, he is giving things away to the needy. To the brave, he gives medals. To the poor, he gives money. To writers—and there are many of them in Kerala, a state that famously produces more writers per capita than anywhere else in India—he gives golden shawls. Never mind the tropical humidity.
Vijayan smiles at you from large hoardings by the roadside and across green paddy fields. He hangs from bridges. He looks at you from behind speeding buses, from newspapers, from stages. He is everywhere. He inaugurates lower primary school sports events, university arts festivals, free-speech seminars, and literature festivals. Everywhere, Vijayan is seen as giving.
In Gerontion, T S Eliot talks about history as full of “supple confusions” and, because of that, its “giving famishes the craving”. Something similar is at work here, but it’s not Vijayan’s fault. This is how power works. He, like Modi, is a relentless exponent of the art.
When the LDF government celebrated the first anniversary of its second term, it generously gave itself ₹15 crore to spend. By the fourth year, the year-round celebrations were allotted over ₹100 crore, according to reports. The government’s public relations department cleared ₹25.91 crore for a blitz, of which ₹15.63 crore was reportedly earmarked for 500 hoardings featuring the CM. It’s as if the face of the leader has become the single-most urgent infrastructure project in a state struggling with mounting liabilities.
True, compared to states like Uttar Pradesh, Karnataka, Rajasthan, or Andhra Pradesh, the scale of self-promotion—and the money spent—may appear modest. But Kerala’s total outstanding debt is projected to reach around ₹4.65 lakh crore by the end of 2025-26. Government finances remain strained; there are periodic reports of delays in salary and pension disbursements.
Yet, there is money for what can only be called a cultural frenzy—especially art and literature festivals. There are scores of them, from the panchayat to the district and state levels. The Kerala Literature Festival, for example, is substantially funded by the government. The event is usually inaugurated by the CM or prominently features him. The point is simple: every so-called cultural window frames just one face—Vijayan’s.
The Vijayan government’s love for the arts is not accidental; it is strategic. Power has always found a way to consolidate and flourish by co-opting artists and writers. And many writers in Kerala are willing participants—for both historical and career reasons.
The Left played a vital role in Kerala’s reformist and progressive movements from the 1940s onwards. By the 1950s, the communist movement had brought about a rare marriage of humanist politics and the arts, resulting in an explosion of great works in literature, theatre, and cinema.
As a result, there persists a traditional assumption that Left politics is a priori fashionable. Most writers in Kerala find it difficult to adopt an independent or critical stance towards the government. Then there is the survivalist problem: if you alienate the Left establishment, awards, fellowships, and academic appointments turn elusive. The LDF’s reach is so deep that even the police force often functions like an extended party network.
There are other government-sponsored extravaganzas too—such as Keraleeyam, which celebrates the formation, development, and culture of the state. Independently as well, there have been events like a mass dance three years ago, where about 500 women dancers choreographed a tribute to Vijayan as the source of all that is good.
Last month, when Mohanlal was honoured with the Dadasaheb Phalke award, the government lost no time in holding a public event to felicitate the actor. Reportedly, ₹2.84 crore was spent on the celebration, and ₹1 crore of that came from the Diamond Jubilee Fellowship for Young Artists—a fund meant to nurture emerging talent. Vijayan presided over this thinly-disguised cross-branding exercise. Giving often is taking, too.
Last week, there was yet another government celebration—this time to praise itself for having achieved “extreme poverty eradication”. Of course, Vijayan was there, along with a frail-looking Mammootty, endorsing the government.
The assembly elections are scheduled for April-May 2026, but one doesn’t have to wait that long. The local body elections, due this month, will offer a preview of what lies ahead. The Congress-led opposition makes the right noises, but infighting has crippled it. Nor does the Congress have any clear economic or development strategy for the state. A third term for the LDF would mean more of the same face. Isn’t that great!
C P Surendran | The author’s latest volume of poetry is Window with a Train Attached
(Views are personal)
(cpsurendran@gmail.com)
