The footpath outside the Kerala Secretariat has witnessed its share of high-profile protests, from the ‘Nilpu Samaram’ led by C K Janu to the recent agitation by ASHA workers. And for some protesters, making their voices heard has meant going to extraordinary lengths.
For 114 days, candidates on the Lower Primary School Teacher (LPST) PSC rank list staged a protest at Statue Junction in Thiruvananthapuram, demanding that the government address their grievances.
Their agitation drew little attention until October 27, when S Valarmathi, secretary of the All Kerala Lower Primary School Teacher (LPST) Rank Holders’ Association, got her head publicly tonsured and announced a fast unto death.
It was a desperate attempt to make visible a struggle that had remained largely unnoticed — even by activists and political figures who had rallied behind the CJP-led protests in Delhi. Some, the protesters here note, even took flights to express solidarity.
Over the past few months, the PSC job aspirants have resorted to various forms of symbolic protest. They have eaten soil outside the Secretariat and knelt on pieces of rock salt. Yet, they say, the authorities have offered no concrete response.
Valarmathi’s head-shaving brought their grievances into sharper focus. Her friend Athira Mohan, who features on the rank list, recalls the indignities the protesters have endured.
“We were running from one minister to another till some days ago. The same leaders who expressed solidarity with us when in opposition are now avoiding or ignoring us,” she says.
“We kept a low profile during the 45 days sought by the new UDF-led government to study the issue.”
Jithu J, a rank-holder who has pitched a tent here, adds: “Even after that, we didn’t stage any charged protests. We only asked them about our demands, and they verbally agreed to grant our four requests: extending the rank-list period, delaying the new notification, bringing head teachers’ vacancies under the PSC umbrella, and reducing the student-teacher ratio to 1:25. But when we enquired, we found no action had been taken.”
Geethu V Nair, another PSC job aspirant, attributes the problem largely to what is known as ‘division fall’ — the loss of teaching posts when school divisions are merged to accommodate the 1:30 student-teacher ratio.
Valarmathi puts a number to it. “The teachers who are flushed out in this exercise are accommodated in retirement vacancies, depriving us of a chance to be appointed. There were around 600 such division-fall adjustments made last year,” she claims, adding that the ratio could be adjusted to suit the state’s circumstances, as it is in high schools.
Those on the rank-list say they have submitted detailed reports on vacancies and suggestions for reform to the government, but to little avail.
“There are several women in our midst who have families. We have left them all and come here. It’s been nearly 120 days now,” says Aswathy U V, another protester.
“Nobody funds our protest — as an association, we pool in money to organise it. Initially, some PSC coaching centres used to provide us food. Later that was stopped. Now, we sometimes cook kanji by the roadside for ourselves or make other local arrangements.”
On Wednesday, the protest site saw visits from the media and small voluntary groups expressing solidarity. Arathy Mohan, a protester, smiles at the sudden buzz.
“No one noticed us till now,” she says wryly. “We wonder where the activists — like Ranjini Haridas — are. Where are the rappers? Where are the likes of Tovino Thomas, Vineeth Sreenivasan, Ashiq Abu and Reema Kallingal? Where were the writers and intellectuals? The systemic rot linked to PSC placements is out there for everyone to see, right?”
Fellow-protester Vishnu R believes the standalone nature of their agitation may explain why it remained largely invisible. “We aren’t aligned with any political ideology or outfit, and are truly the voice of affected youth, who have to go through such travails time and again. That probably was our handicap, isn’t it?” he smiles.
Geethu recalls the efforts she and her fellow protesters made to bring their plight to public attention. “Many among us even tagged Abhijit Dipke of CJP with our protest pictures. We also commented on the posts they put up on social media, alerting them to our stir. Even when actor Prakash Raj visited Manaveeyam Veedhi, we requested to visit our protest venue. But no one even bothered,” she says.
“Maybe this protest doesn’t have the social media mileage activists seek. Yet, we will keep going. We fight for our survival. No perks or prompts are asked for or taken from any politician or vested interest. Our fight is for the people who have been let down by this state,” says Geethu.
Valarmathi, the protesters say, was pushed to shave her head to draw attention to their cause. Perched on a cot arranged at the pandal, she looks exhausted after an unsuccessful attempt to meet the Leader of the Opposition Pinarayi Vijayan and other officials at the Secretariat.
“The tonsuring was a painful decision. But I am glad it has yielded some response,” she says, pointing to the media coverage and posts by some national-level BJP leaders.
As we leave, the protesters raise slogans drawing parallels between the Secretariat premises and Delhi’s Jantar Mantar.
Vijin V C, who is staging a protest in a nearby pandal demanding the appointment of rank-holders from the 2025 PSC list to fill public health inspector vacancies, chips in: “Valarmathi and fellow protesters motivate us to not give up. We too don’t have any high-brow patrons. The jobs due to us have been given to contractual employees who may have been appointed at political whim. We will keep fighting.”