Explained : Why Aggressive Rhetoric by Indian Leaders Is Increasing | Opinion News and Its Impact

The provocative language and polemics—the nasty politics—are not limited to the West Bengal chief minister alone. Across India, politicians who claim to be in the opposition and are projected as “strong leaders” often rely on provocation, something that is not justifiable under any circumstances. In fact, this provocation is one reason they are seen as strong leaders.

Take Pinarayi Vijayan, for instance. The opposition in Kerala protested against the CPI(M) chief minister and waved black flags at him as part of their demonstration. In a democracy, such protests and expressions of dissent are nothing new. CPI(M) party members, however, were quick to act. In one such incident, party workers beat up a few protesters as they waved flags at the chief minister’s convoy. Even after videos surfaced showing party workers attacking protesters with flower pots and other objects, the chief minister justified the act, calling it a compassionate gesture and claiming they were trying to save the protesters’ lives from an automobile accident.

Politicians from Tamil Nadu are no different. Stalin, before becoming chief minister, allegedly said some vile things about Hindu wedding rituals while attending a Christian wedding. In a widely circulated video of his speech, he can be seen mocking “Vedic ceremonial” weddings, where the bride and groom do not sit on chairs, a ceremonial fire is lit in the middle, and smoke gets into everyone’s eyes, making them tear up. He described it as if everything turns tragic, and claimed that priests chant mantras, the meanings of which even they do not know.

The polemic does not stop with the Tamil Nadu chief minister. His son, Deputy Chief Minister Udhayanidhi Stalin, also courted controversy when he spoke about eradicating Sanatana Dharma, a statement that the Tamil Nadu High Court rebuked just last week. The court said the remark amounted to hate speech and was a clear attack on Hinduism. It also took note of the prevailing situation where “the persons who initiate hate speech are let scot-free, while those who react to such hate speech face the wrath of the law”.

Why do senior politicians across India choose nasty politics over a more respectful kind of politics—one that respects opponents, tries to understand their views, and disagrees strongly while still maintaining respect? The idea that, in order to project the image of a strong leader, one must resort to hate-mongering and inflammatory rhetoric seems to be followed by many leaders across India. Many leaders try to build the image of someone who does not hesitate to attack their opponents aggressively, believing that this contributes significantly to the masses perceiving them as strong leaders.

Take, for example, the resurgence of Periyar, also known as E.V. Ramaswamy Naicker, in popular discourse. Many of Periyar’s ideas and statements were so extreme that the then prime minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, reportedly suggested that such things could be said only by a criminal or a lunatic, and that Periyar should be sent to a lunatic asylum. Yet Periyar is back in the discourse with a bang, and the ruling DMK almost treats him as infallible. When asked about his inflammatory remarks on Sanatana Dharma, Udhayanidhi Stalin invoked Periyar and said that he had said nothing more than what Periyar had said. Even figures once criticised for extreme ideas are making a comeback. Is aggressive rhetoric becoming increasingly acceptable? Have we come to believe that “strong leaders” must attack their opponents and their ideas aggressively, sometimes even in a verbally violent way?

Does the public really find such rhetoric tasteful? Do they really like it? It is hard to answer these questions with a simple yes or no. Some people who are close to the leader, or who feel a strong emotional attachment to the party, might certainly enjoy aggressive and violent remarks and insults. After all, aggressive rhetoric can signal that a leader is willing to go to extremes for the cause of their party. However, the majority may find aggression and verbal violence unappealing. Yet we increasingly treat it as something expected of a strong politician, almost like a necessary evil. If most people find it unappealing, why has it become so popular among politicians?

Perhaps one reason is the media attention this kind of rhetoric brings. This is one of the factors that influences whether a politician chooses to “go nasty” or not, according to Thomas Zeitzoff, who calls this style of aggressive rhetoric “nasty politics”. Zeitzoff defines nasty politics as a set of tactics that politicians use to insult, accuse, denigrate, threaten, or, in rare cases, physically harm their domestic opponents. He writes: “While the public may find it distasteful, insults, accusations, threats, and actual violence receive out-sized attention from the media. […] The nastier and more threatening the language, the less acceptable the public will find it, but the more attention the politician will receive for using it.”

One may wonder why a senior politician would need media attention. A chief minister, a deputy chief minister, or a senior party leader will always be in the news. There is no need for them to do something different to attract coverage. Attention-seeking is not something we would typically expect from a chief minister. The fact is, these leaders are not doing this for their constituency or their vote banks. The aim is to attract media attention across the country. Usually, such aggression is exhibited by those in the opposition. Leaders who are outsiders or have declining electoral prospects are likely to “gamble for resurrection”, writes Zeitzoff.

Leaders who resort to nasty politics may be senior politicians, but they are largely seen as outsiders beyond their own state. This circus is performed for a new audience, not for followers on their home turf. In Tamil Nadu, few people would bat an eye if someone said something vile about Brahmins, Hinduism, or even Sanatana Dharma itself. But when such comments come from a deputy chief minister, the media will inevitably amplify them in pockets where the DMK has little political presence. And of course, across India, media debates and public discourse, as well as columnists and writers, discussed Udhayanidhi Stalin’s remarks for a long time. A politician who, until then, had largely been seen as just another link in dynastic politics suddenly received coverage in almost every state in the country.

A similar case is that of Mamata Banerjee. Her theatrics, too, are not meant primarily for people in West Bengal. They are aimed at a wider audience. The goal is to project herself as a national leader, someone with the might and mettle to take on major leaders from the opposing party. For that, she needs to get her name into the news in the South and in other regions where the Trinamool Congress has little political relevance. And so far, that strategy seems to be working quite well.

That politicians engage in nasty politics to gain attention at the national level does not, however, make the tactic justifiable. It can, in fact, be corrosive. The image-building achieved through such exercises may be far removed from reality. Examples are plenty, though one particularly striking one may be mentioned here. A firebrand leader from Tamil Nadu, during the LTTE-Sri Lanka war in 2009, warned that if anything happened to the LTTE’s top leadership, there would be a bloodbath in Tamil Nadu. About a month later, that leadership was wiped out. When asked about this, the Tamil Nadu leader refused to accept the fact. He claimed the top leader was still alive and would “surface at the right moment”.

The threatened bloodbath, therefore, did not happen—not because the warning was empty, but because the condition, according to him, had not been met: the leader had not been killed. The image of a strong leader might be just that—an image, and far from who one truly is. Archie Brown, in his book The Myth of the Strong Leader, argues that in a democracy, “the leader’s advertised strength is often an artifice or illusion”. It is precisely this illusion that many leaders try to manufacture through PR exercises, image management, theatrics, and nasty politics.

There is one more obvious reason why nasty politics can be dangerous when senior politicians resort to it: it might end in physical violence. This is usually seen in communally charged scenarios and communal politics, but it can sometimes happen otherwise, too. Whenever incitement is used as part of aggressive politics, there is a danger that it can slip into actual physical violence. When dehumanising metaphors are used against certain groups, this too can end in violence.

Zeitzoff writes: “Dehumanising rhetoric is where politicians describe certain individuals or groups as ‘animals’, ‘cockroaches’, or ‘a cancer’. When you frame your opponents in terms of an infestation or a disease, you are saying that they need to be exterminated, eliminated, or cut out and removed to keep the country healthy. [This] sets up the logic that they are not to be bargained with, or accorded normal rights, but rather treated as a threat to be eliminated.”

The danger of dehumanising rhetoric, in which opponents are framed in terms of disease, has been widely discussed by political scientists and sociologists, including Erin Cassese and Nour Kteily. Remember that this kind of dehumanising rhetoric was used by Udhayanidhi Stalin when he said that Sanatana Dharma is a disease like malaria and dengue, and that it should be eliminated. Interestingly, left circles, or the left-wing intelligentsia, which very often shape the course of political discourse, and which would have been rightly upset if such dehumanising metaphors were used against other groups, were totally silent. More strikingly, Udhayanidhi Stalin was celebrated in many such circles for these comments.

Whether it is Udhayanidhi Stalin, Mamata Banerjee, or Pinarayi Vijayan, nasty politics is not just a matter of poor taste or these leaders “crossing the line”. It is a calculated strategy, sustained by a media ecosystem that rewards outrage, and a public culture that increasingly confuses aggression with courage. But this is a dangerous confusion. A democracy does not need leaders who sound fearless; it needs leaders who can disagree without poisoning the atmosphere, who can oppose without dehumanising, and who can lead without constantly manufacturing enemies.