Vijay Must Realise That a Fanbase Can’t Masquerade as a Political Party

For three days after the Karur stampede that killed 41 people and left many more injured, Tamil Nadu waited for actor Vijay to speak.

When his silence finally broke, more than 60 hours later, it was not with the humility of a leader shouldering responsibility but with the bravado of a movie star challenging his rival across the aisle. His video statement, carefully staged with cinematic pauses and dramatic inflections, said more about his immaturity and misplaced priorities than about the tragedy itself. What was needed was contrition, but what arrived was confrontation.

In the four-minute recording, Vijay claimed innocence: “We did not do anything wrong. We spoke at the place allotted to us.” He insisted that his party was being unfairly targeted by the police, and dared chief minister M.K. Stalin to “do whatever you want with me.” However, what he left out was the single most obvious fact – that he had arrived at the Karur rally almost seven hours late, keeping tens of thousands waiting in sweltering heat with inadequate arrangements.

This wasn’t an isolated lapse. At rallies in Vikravandi, in Madurai and Tiruchirappalli, chaos had reigned. Newspapers reported that at Namakkal, many attendees fainted from exhaustion. So, clearly, Karur was not a freak accident; it was a disaster waiting to happen, the culmination of negligence passed off as the effects of charisma. Vijay must realise that leadership is not about grand entries; it is about accountability and respect for the people who put their trust in their leaders.  

What makes his video particularly galling is not just its delay but its substance. Rather than mourning the dead, he raised the question: “Why only in Karur?” The insinuation was clear – that the tragedy was the result of a political conspiracy.

In the hours and days that followed, his supporters flooded social media with rumours of DMK sabotage, and opposition parties were quick to fan the flames. The BJP and the NDA, always searching for cracks in Tamil Nadu’s Dravidian fortress, were quick to act. The Centre dispatched a committee to Karur. By recasting a human calamity as a political plot, Vijay not only evaded responsibility but also opened the gates to opportunistic meddling from national parties eager to exploit the situation. The grief of families was thus swiftly converted into political capital.

The contrast between leaders is telling. Stalin traveled to Karur. Vijay retreated to Chennai and re-emerged three days later only through his video. 

Also read: Hero-Actor-Leader: Vijay's Unseemly Quest for Power and the Loss of Innocent Lives

A closer scrutiny reveals that the deeper problem lies with the Tamilaga Vettri Kazhagam itself. Karur exposed TVK for what it truly is at this stage: not a political party, but a fan club masquerading as one. When disaster struck, its machinery collapsed. Leaders vanished, phones went dead, and cadres were absent at hospitals. The fervour that fuels fandom, such as ecstatic devotion and unruly enthusiasm, became combustible without the grounding discipline of a political organisation. A political party requires structure, ideology, and cadres trained to serve. In contrast, TVK has relied solely on Vijay’s star power, without building the infrastructure of responsibility. The result was utter chaos in Karur.

If any further evidence of immaturity was needed, it came from within Vijay’s own camp. Adhav Arjuna, TVK’s propaganda in-charge, posted recklessly about a “Gen Z rebellion” with dangerous allusions to Nepal. It was a tone-deaf intervention in the middle of grief, and it invited sharp rebuke from across the spectrum. However, Vijay did not distance himself from the remark, allowing ambiguity to linger. A serious leader would have acted decisively to restore credibility. Vijay’s silence reinforced the impression of a man unwilling, or unable to discipline his own party, let alone lead a state.

The question before Tamil Nadu is larger than Vijay. The intricate relationship between cinema and politics has long shaped the state. However, for all their charisma, many of them painstakingly built political machines that extended far beyond fan clubs. They cultivated cadres, forged ideologies, and tested their mettle through years of organisational work. Vijay has shown no appetite for such labour. His politics is heavy on optics, light on substance, and wholly devoid of preparation. What Karur demonstrated is that charisma without discipline is not just inadequate but dangerous. Of course, Vijay’s defenders will argue that his intent was good, that he was not personally responsible for the stampede. However, leadership is not about intent. A man who cannot arrive on time, who cannot ensure crowd safety, who cannot steady his organisation in a crisis, is in fact not prepared to be entrusted with the responsibilities of governance. By proclaiming that he has done “nothing wrong,” Vijay has only deepened the perception that he is blind to his own failures, or worse, indifferent to them.

Ironically, Tamil Nadu’s electorate has always taken pride in its political awareness. But Karur must prompt them to introspect and reflect. The people must ask whether they can entrust their future to someone whose politics is indistinguishable from performance, whose party evaporates in crisis, and whose instinct in tragedy is to shift blame rather than accept fault. Vijay may shine as a star, but so far, he has failed every test of leadership. His video, instead of salvaging his credibility, has exposed his immaturity, irresponsibility, and unleaderlike temperament. Worse, it has shown how easily he can be misguided and misled by those around him.

The Karur stampede serves as a cautionary tale about the perils of confusing celebrity with genuine leadership. Forty-one families now carry unbearable grief because politics was treated like cinema. Until the people of Tamil Nadu demand accountability, punctuality, and seriousness from its leaders and would-be leaders, the risks will remain. Sadly, Vijay may continue to insist that he has done nothing wrong, but the lives lost in Karur will forever stand as a testament to the cost of his negligence. Leadership is not a role to be played; it is a burden to be borne. By that measure, Vijay has failed, and Karur is the proof.

P. John J. Kennedy is an educator and political analyst based in Bengaluru. 

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