Unlike past titles that arose from genuine public sentiment, this one feels as scripted as a Tamil soap opera, with Stalin himself fervently insisting that children across Tamil Nadu already address him as their political patriarch. But given the soaring crime rates against women and children, the question arises—are they calling him Appa out of devotion, or is it merely a desperate cry for help?
Political Branding: The Old Playbook, Rewritten
Tamil Nadu’s political stage has long been adorned with affectionate honorifics. The late J. Jayalalithaa wasn’t just a leader; she was Amma (Mother), a brand unto herself, stamped onto welfare schemes like Amma Canteens, Amma Drinking Water, and even Amma Pharmacies. Unlike Stalin’s self-imposed fatherly aspirations, her title was cemented by an intricate mix of governance, welfare, and relentless party propaganda.
Stalin, however, seems to believe that mere repetition can manufacture reverence. Already styled as Thalapathy (Commander), he apparently finds it insufficient for his larger-than-life ambitions. Thus, the push for Appa—not merely a leader, but the state’s benevolent patriarch. Or at least, that’s the sales pitch.
Appa: Affection or Audition?
The aggressive rollout of the Appa narrative has been evident at numerous state-sponsored spectacles. Be it the Muthalvan Scheme, the Breakfast Scheme, or the Innovative Women’s Scheme, Stalin has delighted in claiming that students lovingly refer to him as Appa. In a bizarre display, even at the North Chennai Development Project—an event utterly unrelated to education—he still found a way to remind the audience: “Students affectionately call me Appa.”
One must wonder: if you repeat something often enough, does it become true? DMK cadres have already received the memo, and one can foresee the inevitable trajectory—Thalapathy Appa, then Muthalvar Appa, and finally, just Appa, as if he alone fathered an entire state. If the DMK’s PR team had their way, Stalin’s portrait would replace ancestral photos in Tamil households, looming over dining tables like a Big Brother who only accepts garlanded adoration.
Will the Appa Persona Withstand Reality?
But history is unkind to manufactured cults of personality. Political monikers are either organically embraced or collapse under their own artificial weight. Jayalalithaa’s Amma endured because it was woven into the fabric of public welfare, leaving an indelible mark. Stalin’s Appa, however, risks being remembered not as a symbol of care, but as a grotesque irony in a state where women and children increasingly cry Appa!—not in reverence, but in terror.
If Stalin truly wishes to be Appa, perhaps he should start by ensuring Tamil Nadu’s daughters and sons feel safe enough to stop screaming his name in distress.
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