Put to the sword: The life and politics of north Chennai's Buddhist strongman
This is the second story in a two-part series on former BSP Tamil Nadu chief K Armstrong who was murdered on July 5, leaving behind several questions regarding his life and death. Read the first part here.
Until he was brutally murdered on July 5, it appears nobody fully understood the political relevance of Bahujan Samaj Party’s (BSP) Tamil Nadu president K Armstrong outside the slums of north Chennai where he was born and raised. The national outlets picked up the news of Armstrong’s death only after BSP chief Mayawati called for a Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI) probe and raised questions about the quality of investigation by the Tamil Nadu police. “Even the people who were closest to him realised only during the 16th day memorial service that he wasn’t just the lawyer, Ambedkarite Buddhist leader, and state president of the BSP that they knew him to be — he was so much more,” says Sreerag TK, a Bengaluru-based filmmaker.
Sreerag was in Chennai to document Armstrong’s memorial service, which had drawn people from across Tamil Nadu. The turnout at the memorial far outstripped the traditional base of the BSP, which has a negligible presence in the state. Who were these people and what did Armstrong mean to them?
“There were thousands from across the state at the memorial. Many had nothing in common with one another. But they all had a deep personal connection with Armstrong. And most importantly, not all of them were Ambedkarites or even Dalits,” Sreerag says. “You should’ve seen the faces of the people in the rally — anger, sorrow, passion.”
There were several moving eulogies by Jesuit priests, Muslim clergymen, trade unionists, intellectuals, NGO leaders, and urban rights activists. Their testimonies, which spoke of Armstrong’s efforts at building larger solidarities, came as news to his immediate circle made up of his family, Buddhist fraternity, and BSP workers. “Going by the testimonies, Armstrong seemed like a man who was trying to frantically solve a jigsaw puzzle. There were clearly many moving pieces in his life,” Sreerag says.
Armstrong’s principle struggle through the BSP and his Buddhist organising was to set a progressive, anti-caste agenda in a state ruled by parties that claim a progressive, anti-caste legacy. Much of his Ambedkarite political organising was focussed on exposing the contradictions of the Dravidian parties, including the ruling Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (DMK) and the All India Anna DMK (AIADMK).
Even at his memorial service, over and above the emotional eulogies, leaders from different Ambedkarite groups had lambasted the DMK government led by MK Stalin. They said they lacked faith in the state’s law enforcement agencies and alleged that the investigation was being bungled.
Few in Chennai can remember a larger or more politically charged event led by Dalits, despite the city’s massive Dalit population. Indeed, the days leading up to the memorial rally were marked by an intense war of words between supporters of Armstrong and that of the ruling party. The DMK’s supporters claimed that Armstrong was involved with the mafia and his Ambedkarite activities were merely a front for his illegal businesses. Large sections of the media too went with this narrative.
Meanwhile, the event also had its own internal contradictions and exposed the deep divisions within the Dalit movement in the state.
The massive July 20 rally, which started with a march through the city, was organised by Tamil director Pa Ranjith’s Neelam Cultural Centre. Despite the spectacular turnout, there was a prominent absentee.
Thol Thirumavalavan, the leader of the Viduthalai Chiruthaigal Katchi (VCK), asked his cadre to stay away from the rally and said that it was being organised by people who are trying to denigrate his party. The VCK, which is in alliance with the DMK, is the most prominent Dalit party in Tamil Nadu. It was criticised for changing its stance allegedly because of its alliance with the DMK.
During Armstrong’s funeral a fortnight earlier, both Thirumavalavan and Ranjith were seen giving each other moral support as they struggled to hold back tears. But by July 20, equations had completely changed. Commenting on the memorial event organised by Ranjith, Thirumavalavan said, “Some political ignoramus on the payroll of some forces opposed to the VCK are exploiting Armstrong's murder and trying to denigrate VCK more than the DMK.”
As these political battles raged, the investigation into the murder was witnessing dramatic twists. A group of men surrendered within hours of the murder and one of the key suspects was killed by the police. The investigators claimed that Armstrong mixed up with the underworld and was murdered because of a gang war. The slain leader’s supporters alleged that the police were destroying evidence by staging extra judicial killings.
Although they fell out politically, both Thirumavalavan and Ranjith have consistently stuck to the stand that Armstrong’s murder is part of a larger political conspiracy and not the job of some gangsters.
Armstrong was the leader of one of the smallest parties in Tamil Nadu and the Buddhist movement he led is still fledgling. Whom did his existence threaten so much that he had to be taken out of the way?
Armstrong was powerful in a way that wasn't immediately apparent. He rubbed shoulders with the most powerful people in Tamil Nadu and his influence far exceeded his immediate social context. In the rough neighbourhoods of north Chennai where deprivation spawns violent desperados, Armstrong was able to match-up to men who had bigger organisations and powerful caste cartels backing them.
While claims of his involvement with the mafia have never been proved, Armstrong had a reputation as a strongman who was often approached by people for out-of-court mediation of disputes. People close to him say that he was one of the most powerful lawyers in the Madras Bar Association, for whose elections he could sway the votes of nearly a thousand lawyers cutting across communities.
Although nobody seemed to have a fully coherent theory, the overall sense we got from people close to Armstrong was that he had enemies across the spectrum. Their theories matched a key aspect of the investigations so far — the list of suspects detained by the police include functionaries of all major parties in Tamil Nadu, including the ruling DMK, the principal opposition party AIADMK, the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), and the Tamil Manila Congress (TMC).
Armstrong owned a licenced pistol and would rarely venture out without a group of supporters who doubled up as security. “Almost everybody we spoke to said he was the best archival resource on public common land and lands granted to Scheduled Caste and Scheduled Tribe communities. They all talked about his work on land rights in north Chennai. This brought him in direct conflict with builders, developers, and the land mafia,” Sreerag says.
Armstrong was hacked to death by a gang armed with machetes. His licensed pistol could have easily tilted the balance. But for some reason he wasn’t carrying it on the day he needed it most. Did his killers know that he would be unarmed? Armstrong usually travels in a group. Why was there only one person with him that day?
The Buddhist who forgot his gun
Bunder Garden Street, where Armstrong lived, now lies eerily silent, with double-locked homes and residents reluctant to speak about him. “If a leader like him can be killed outside his home and then branded a ‘rowdy’ to avoid accountability, what hope do we have? Our lives are in danger in Tamil Nadu,” says a street vendor, who asks to remain unnamed and not be questioned further.
A small memorial with Armstrong’s picture, built by the residents of the area, stands at the murder site, and fear hangs heavy. “The government wouldn’t even allow the burial of his body in his office, which is 100 metres from here. This is how casteism works in the state. For other leaders, burial sites are allocated within the city or near the Marina Beach. But Armstrong was sent out of the city limits, to a private land in Pothur village of Tiruvallur district,” says Armstrong’s neighbour.
In India, there is a stark contrast between how memorials are constructed for Dalit leaders and those from dominant castes or political elites. When a Dalit leader or individual passes away, it is often the community itself that must rally together to establish a memorial. On the contrary, when leaders from dominant castes or political elites pass away, the state swiftly constructs grand memorials, ensuring their legacies are cemented in the public consciousness.
