From protest to performance?

Time of India

17 hours ago

While Vedan's raw, politically charged rap resonates with a disaffected generation, his rise has been shadowed by allegations, contradictions, and persistent doubts about whether his rebellion is more aesthetic than ideological. As his popularity soars, deeper questions surface: Is he an authentic voice of resistance channelling marginalised realities, or a commercially packaged rebel crafted for audiences more interested in vibe than message? As crowds pack his shows and songs go viral, Vedan's ascent is entangled in questions of authenticity and ethics.
What began as a raw cultural rupture now risks becoming a spectacle, one whose energy might ultimately undermine the very politics it emerged from.
As his music, image, and voice become increasingly marketable, Vedan and those around him must now confront a critical question: Is the rapper still defending the vulnerable, or has he become a curated mask—a performance that dilutes the politics he once embodied?
This tension is sharpened by serious allegations of sexual harassment that surfaced against him. These claims shook the cultural space that had celebrated Vedan as a symbol of resistance. While no legal resolution has followed, the number and nature of the testimonies have forced many to reconsider their engagement with his work. Feminist scholar Dr J Devika is unequivocal: The allegations must be addressed seriously and without delay.
'We can support him when he speaks for the marginalised, but we must also confront the complaints against him; these two tasks are not contradictory. Ignoring them only risks fresh offences,' she said.
She also criticized the society's long-standing reluctance to face the darker sides of its celebrated cultural figures. 'Since the era of poet Changampuzha, we have often refused to believe uncomfortable truths. Facing these realities—and holding even our icons accountable—will protect many women,' Devika said.
Critics like writer and actor Joy Mathew argue that Vedan's interventions remain largely symbolic. 'I don't see his rap as a movement for the upliftment of the oppressed,' Mathew says. 'If he were socially engaged and committed, he would speak about pressing issues such as the ASHA workers' protests or the tribal 'Kudil Ketti' agitation. Only interventions like those can be called political.'
According to Mathew, most young people are drawn to Vedan's shows not for the depth of political content, but for the musical format and spectacle. In his view, Vedan lacks a meaningful understanding of the real struggles faced by Dalits and other marginalised communities, and his songs reflect neither a clear political vision nor a coherent philosophy. 'Political parties are now backing him for their own electoral gains,' he said. 'It wouldn't be surprising if CPM fields him as a candidate in future elections — but that would mark the end of his journey as a musician.'
There is also growing unease about Vedan's approach to caste in his music. While he has said he doesn't want to 'sell caste for money,' critics point to the monetisation of his identity—his stage persona, his branding, and his imagery. With merchandise, ticketed shows, and curated social media campaigns, many fear that Vedan's politics have been swallowed by the logic of the spectacle.
Yet Dalit thinkers like Sunny M Kappikkadu offer a more layered reading. 'If upper-caste actors and writers have long gained commercially from their social capital, why not Vedan?' he asks. However, Kappikkadu acknowledges that the sexual harassment allegations can't be ignored. For him, the real issue is not whether Vedan profits, but whether he reflects and refines himself. 'He bears responsibility—as an artist shaping social discourse. Flaws are human. But learning is necessary.'
At the same time, he urges listeners to consider the global scope of Vedan's artistic references—ranging from Ambedkar and Ayyankali to Jaffna, Gaza, and the plight of children in Somalia. To truly understand Vedan, he says, one must first understand the pain of his personal history—a life marked by exile, orphanhood, and systemic exclusion.
Despite his polarising image, Vedan's cultural traction is undeniable. His work cuts across caste, class, and religious boundaries. Political parties are increasingly eager to harness that appeal. But this popularity brings its own risks. As his voice becomes a tool for electoral mobilisation, the possibility of dilution—of becoming a 'brand' rather than a boundary-pusher—grows more real.
Activists like Geethanandan of the Adivasi Gothra Mahasabha, however, take a more forgiving stance. For him, Vedan's music itself is a form of service. 'He sings of liberation. That's enough,' he says. Yet even this generous view raises larger questions: What happens when rebellion becomes routine? When protest becomes programmed? Vedan stands at a critical juncture—not just as an artist, but as an idea. His persona may have begun as a rejection of insult, a defiant claim to selfhood. But symbols have lifespans. Vedan—and his fans—must now confront the possibility that his image is becoming a hollow echo, a false representation that no longer protects but distracts. In doing so, they must ask: Is this still resistance, or has it become its own trap?
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