We are no longer witnessing leaders in action; we are watching characters in a tragicomedy, stumbling through a script that offers them nothing but defeat
The recent Tamil-language political programme offered a masterclass in absurdity, capturing the zeitgeist of our times. It featured two of our esteemed parliamentarians, Palani Digambaran and Velukumar, who effortlessly reminded us that when it comes to elevating public discourse, we’re not merely dealing with a low bar—it’s buried somewhere deep in the recesses of our collective psyche.
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| Live Drama: Two Sri Lankan MPs morph a TV debate into a WWE smackdown – proving yet again that politics isn't just a game; it's a no-holds-barred spectacle! [ A Screengrab] |
In the red corner, Palani—champion of a Sajith’s Alliance, Tamil Progressive Front—took his gloves off, calling his adversary “Barkumar.” Velukumar, not to be outdone, countered with the uninspired “Kudu Diga.” Forget policy discussions, or the minor inconvenience of governing a nation—this was a Shakespearean tragedy, stripped of its depth, leaving only the raw melodrama of a Jerry Springer brawl, minus the guilty pleasure.
Calling these men “intelligent” would be a grave misstep. In a world where intelligence implies an engagement with higher forms of thought, these two seem determined to remain firmly in the realm of the base. But maybe the question isn’t whether our politicians should be intellectuals. Perhaps it’s this very rejection of intellect that mirrors our times. Who needs wisdom when juvenile name-calling draws bigger crowds and higher ratings?
This wasn’t a debate; it was an existential crisis dressed as political theatre. You could almost hear the silent scream of irrelevance echoing through the television, as these two parliamentarians—who have contributed little of value to society—floundered for a scrap of dignity. Ironically, the harder they clung to their personas, the more they revealed their inner emptiness, exposed to the harsh gaze of an apathetic public.
The psychological theatre unfolding before us speaks volumes about the state of our democracy. Palani and Velukumar were not merely insulting one another; they were acting out their inner desperation in the most public way possible. They weren’t debating policy or ideas but fighting to maintain the illusion of relevance, reduced to grotesque caricatures of the offices they hold. It was a moment of public self-immolation, not unlike a gladiator who, in realising he’s already lost, stabs wildly in all directions, hoping to strike a final blow before the end.
This collapse of decorum isn’t confined to these two individuals; it’s symptomatic of a broader societal decay. What we witnessed was not an isolated incident, but a reflection of a political order that no longer rewards intellect, integrity, or even basic decency. Our political system now thrives on the spectacle of incompetence. The truth is, we the audience are complicit in this degeneration. We have become so desensitised that we consume this circus as though it were a mindless sitcom, laughing at the absurdity while ignoring the tragic implications for our society.
Beneath this farce lies a deep-seated existential fear—the fear of irrelevance, the fear of being forgotten in a system that has long moved on without them. Velukumar and Palani weren’t simply trying to humiliate each other; they were crying out against their own impending political extinction. Their public meltdown is a reflection of a system that has devolved into a grotesque parody of itself, where the line between leadership and entertainment has dissolved entirely.
But as we chuckle at the absurdity of “Barkumar” and “Kudu Diga,” it’s important to recognise that their humiliation is, in a sense, ours too. These are men who are paid to represent the people, yet they have become gladiators in a media spectacle, performing for an audience that has long stopped caring. Their personal grievances, aired for public consumption, are a sad reminder of how far our political culture has fallen.
We are no longer witnessing leaders in action; we are watching characters in a tragicomedy, stumbling through a script that offers them nothing but defeat. As the nation watches, perhaps laughing, perhaps crying, one must ask: how did we let it come to this? How did we reach a point where leadership is measured not by wisdom or vision, but by who can land the best insult on live television?
In their desperation, these politicians serve as a reflection of our times—a world where depth and substance are sacrificed at the altar of spectacle. This is the age of leadership by ridicule, where the gladiator who hurls the most cutting insult reigns supreme. But as the laughter fades and the dust settles, what remains? A broken political system, leaders who have long forgotten their purpose, and a society that has learned to expect nothing more than the next act in this never-ending farce.
Where do we go from here? How many more public meltdowns must we endure before we demand better? Or have we crossed the Rubicon, forever bound to a political culture that has traded dignity for drama, and vision for the next cheap punchline?
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