CHENNAI: The aftermath of labour continues to live in our limbs, leaving us with the memories of deep cracked heels from walking, fading fingerprints from rolling beedis or lungs filling up with toxic fumes of sewers. To toil or not to toil is never a question, work is inexplicably linked to daily existence. In the veins of cities, working-class neighbourhoods are sites of resistance and have long witnessed struggles for rights. In Madras, the hotbed of commerce, landmarks of the city reveal the past of trailblazing movements that have shaped how labour is today.
Every May 1, red flags and clamorous slogans are raised across the world, a persistent, ongoing battle for better working conditions and a remembrance of a movement that revolved around eight-hour workdays. In Napier’s Park, the first May Day, led by M Singaravelu Chettiar, was first celebrated in India in 1923, writes AR Venkatachalapathy in the foreword of D Veeraraghavan’s book ‘The Making of the Madras Working Class’.
Today, this unassuming park provides solace for the seekers of solitude, students, stealthy couples or sleepy visitors in search of shade. During these sultry weekends, each green bench is filled with visitors and leisure and free time take priority. This park has long been a strong advocate for leisure, a believer in this basic right of rest. Past the clocktower, a statue — with the word ‘May’ and topped with designs of gears and a gun — is a breathing landmark, a reminder of the city’s unions. “Workers of the World, unite,” declares Tamil lettering on the statue, leaping out from the pages of Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels’ The Communist Manifesto. Another side offers us a quote by Pavendar Bharathidasan, “Spread the principle of public ownership to all corners of the world! Protect the sacred tenant as one’s own life!”
Over 100 years since the first celebration, this park continues to glimpse the hoisting red flags and congregations of union members. Manoharan, the park watchman who has witnessed eight celebrations here, says, “Just like a festival, a stage is set up and crowds gather. For workers like me, it is a celebration.”
Life of labour movements
During the British era, in 1869, the Madras municipality proposed the creation of a park in Chintadripet. Due to this parcel of land’s proximity to a drainage system, tendrils of vegetation and budding greenery sprouted, leaving a lush garden in its wake, explains historian V Sriram. This 14-acre space was named Napier’s Park, after the then-governor Lord Napier, and was mainly utilised by British officers. In the following decades, against the backdrop of brewing strikes, this park — located opposite the snaking MRTS station — witnessed moments of workers assembling, either for discussions or for a moment of leisure.
Chennai is a city of firsts. Apart from the first May Day celebration, India’s first union was established here with workers of the Buckingham and Carnatic Mills. “Labour has a very strong underlying current in Madras. The first recorded strike in India happened in Madras, the devadasis of Thiruvotriyur temple struck work in the 1600s,” says historian Venkatesh Ramakrishnan, adding that around 95% of the entire labour movement in Madras was concentrated in Perambur.
According to G Selva, CPI(M), Chennai district secretary, “Vada Chennai has an impression of having rowdy people and being a backward place in terms of culture and education but it was a society of intelligent and powerful working-class citizens.” Most unions, whether tramways, hand-pulled rickshaws, or palm tree workers, were concentrated in North Chennai.
In Mount Road and Chintadripet, automobile company Simpson & Co, newspaper The Hindu, and Spencer’s employed a fair share of residents from the community, and a trade union followed suit. “As an important engineering company, the first Indian car and bus was made there, The first Asian plane was made there,” says Venkatesh.
Far from being a political stronghold like North Chennai, this area has witnessed its fair share of protests and changed the tides of politics. In 1965, “during the anti-Hindi agitation, DMK leaders had been arrested. Around 50,000 students of Madras had decided to march to St George Fort from Napier’s Park; then Chief Minister Bhaktavatsalam refused to come out. It soon became violent and resulted in a police shooting,” says Venkatesh, adding that Congress never returned to power in Tamil Nadu, after this.
The city’s factories, beach, open spaces and landmarks reveal a past of workers that have fought tooth and nail, hammer and sickle through bloody protests and strikes for basic rights, benefits, holidays, and leave. “The park is an area to showcase that whenever rights are jeopardised, you have to protest or fight back. A symbol to say that ‘you have to work only eight hours’. It is a reflection of your rights and May Day Park and other sites mirror identities to show that eight hours of leisure is important,” underlines Selva.
Changed landscapes
In the 90s, while the then-chief minister late M Karunanidhi dubbed the park May Day Park, locals continued to call it Simpsons Park or May One Park. It was here that writer and filmmaker Tamil Prabha and other youngsters spent days playing floodlight cricket and endless games on the ground. “While we don’t have a strong or organic connection with the name May Day Park, it is a symbol of Chintadripet.”
For Tamil Prabha, the park was like a second home in the 2010s. “It has seen all my love failures, and loneliness. The park was like a friend with many trees and parrots. But suddenly, one day, people said this land was being acquired for the metro and unloading equipment (in 2013). For 10 years after that, we didn’t have a park and without a space like this, many youngsters indulged in smoking and drinking. This was our only ground, besides Rajaji Hall. This hall was later taken over and converted into what is now the Tamil Nadu Government Multi Super Speciality Hospital.” This imagery of cricket matches and loss of space enters his novel, Pettai.
A stone’s throw away from the park is 53-year-old Chokalingam’s tea stall. Serving piping hot tea to workers, this stall has been in Chokalingam’s family for four generations. Growing up, May Day Park was synonymous with butterflies and birds across species.” They would flock here as there were many plant species. At 3 pm, All India Radio would start playing in the park. There would be either news or Carnatic music till 8 pm,” says Chokalingam. Now, he refuses to return there as the metro rail and “development” have spelt ruin to the natural beauty there.
“Almost 80% of the May Day Park has been taken away for the CMRL Project,” points out Dr TD Babu of Nizhal NGO. Like residents, the trees, too, carry memories and histories of Chintadripet. A single neer kadamu tree, or barringtonia acutangula branching across the skies is an indicator that this landscape must have been a wetland or waterbody in the past. “This freshwater mangrove tree grows near waterways and bodies,” says Dr Babu, adding that this idea is cemented by the fact that weavers, whose profession requires waterbodies, settled here.
The putranjiva tree (thought to aid infertility) and the vaka tree (whose bark was an active ingredient in burn ointments) were among the vegetative species making up the dense lush park. “While these trees have disappeared, the fresh mangrove tree is a sole reminder of the park’s indigenous species; while this tree has narrowly escaped from land acquisition, neglect, concretising the base and planting of other trees in the vicinity threaten its existence. We need to conserve such heritage trees which decode the history and geography of the area. They are living landmarks of Chennai and the government must come forward and conserve such species,” says Babu.
On May Day, we return to Karl Marx: “The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to win. Working men of all countries, unite!”