Adolf Hitler published his autobiography Mein Kampf (My Struggle) in 1925. He had worked on it for two years, starting with his time in jail for a coup. Erambala Krishnan Nayanar was five when Hitler brought out the book that detailed his life and guiding principles. When Nayanar, the gregarious Marxist politician known for his earthy humour, brought out his autobiography in English decades later, he curiously named it My Struggles. That, perhaps, is the only thing common between one of the most hated figures in world history and the longest serving and most loved chief minister of Kerala.
In 1980, when Nayanar first became chief minister, it was a struggle for him to manage a government full of ideological contradictions. Though he had 98 MLAs supporting him in a house of 140, the crucial numbers came from a breakaway faction of the Congress led by A.K. Antony (21) and the Kerala Congress led by K.M. Mani (8). In October 1981, 21 months after he came to power and 10 months after he published his autobiography, Nayanar’s struggles were over. When Antony and Mani pulled the rug out from under him, he quit.
Almost a year later, in September 1982, deep in the Cold War era, the CIA’s Office of Near East and South Asia Analysis did a secret assessment on Indian communists. The report had a sombre title: India: Dim Prospects for the Communists. At the time, West Bengal was the only state ruled by the communist party. Naxalism, which had shaken parts of India in the late 1960s and early 1970s, had also significantly receded.
The CIA concluded that “India’s communists are not a revolutionary threat”, because they had “traded their class struggle philosophy for a share of parliamentary power”. It further argued that their “long-term prospects for eventually leading a national government are almost as remote”.
That last part was almost accurate. In 1996, the CPI(M) came remarkably close to leading a national government. West Bengal Chief Minister Jyoti Basu was widely expected to be prime minister when the United Front coalition assumed office with outside support from the Congress. But the CPI(M)’s central leadership, which looked down upon ‘parliamentary delusions’, blocked the move. Basu called the decision a “historic blunder”, and walked away from power four years later. The left parties continued to impress after the blunder, and in 2004, when the United Progressive Alliance led by the Congress came to power with left support, communist parties wielded considerable influence over national policy matters.
Yet, in 2026, the CIA’s old assessment appears truer than it did in 1982. For the first time since 1977, there is no left government in India. This moment raises an uncomfortable question for the parliamentary left: is this merely another phase of decline before a rebound, or the beginning of the end?
How did the left reach here?
In the 1930s, while being detained at the Deoli concentration camp, communist stalwarts like Harkishan Singh Surjeet, B.T. Ranadive, G. Adhikari and P.C. Joshi used to place absurd bets on each other to pass time. Surjeet claimed he could drink a ser (nearly a kilogram) of ghee at one go. The others laughed it off, but once the ghee was somehow smuggled into the camp, Surjeet gulped it down. Terrified that he would not survive the night, his comrades stayed awake.
The following morning, Surjeet calmly picked up his lota and went to the fields. Once back, he faced his comrades and said: “Urban communists will have to work very hard to understand the real India.”
That tension—between theory and socio-political reality—has shadowed India’s left movement from the start. For decades, communist parties struggled to arrive at a shared understanding of Indian realities. Debates over the party programme—the core document defining the character of the Indian state, class relations and revolutionary strategy—often turned bitter. Even revising these programmes took decades of internal churn. The contradiction between revolutionary theory and administrative pragmatism surfaced each time communist parties moved from opposition politics to wielding power in the states.
These internal contradictions contributed to the parliamentary left’s declining relevance. The last left government in West Bengal was accused of embracing corporate and market-friendly economic policies while crushing popular dissent. Pinarayi Vijayan’s left government in Kerala faced similar criticism.
“Defending the government, CPI(M) state secretary M.V. Govindan repeatedly argued that this was not really a left government, but essentially a continuation of the Central government’s economic framework,” said G. Devarajan, general secretary of the All India Forward Bloc. “If a state government is merely a continuation of the Centre, then no state government can ever be criticised. Once people elect a legislature and vest it with lawmaking powers, you cannot simply say, ‘Everything is controlled from above, so nothing can be done’.”
Former Naxalite and human rights activist K. Ajitha draws an important distinction between left parties in states where they have never held power and in those they have governed for long periods. “In the first category, the left is still fighting for people’s rights and remains grounded. But in the second, the longer they stay in power, the less sensitive they become to people’s issues. We saw this happen in West Bengal, and now we are seeing it in Kerala,” she said.
C.P. John, general secretary of the Communist Marxist Party—which split from the CPI(M) in 1986 and has remained with the Congress-led UDF ever since— is currently the only minister in the country who belongs to a party that has ‘communist’ in its name. “The Indian communist movement actually has an important democratic history to show the world,” he said. “But today’s situation [where John is the only “communist” minister] is ironic and worth discussing.”
The LDF has suffered major electoral setbacks before and has still managed strong comebacks in Kerala. This time, however, the situation is drastic. The CPI(M) lost crucial constituencies such as Payyanur, Taliparamba and Ambalappuzha—long seen as left fortresses—to rebel leaders who broke away alleging nepotism, corruption and arrogance of leaders. “Payyanur, in particular, has historically been one of the strongest bastions of the CPI(M), not just in Kerala but in all of India,” said T.K. Govindan, MLA, who rebelled against the party’s decision to field M.V. Govindan’s wife in Taliparamba. “These were the very centres from which communist movements and struggles once emerged.”
Sruthi Rajan, an academic and social commentator from Payyanur, said that what unfolded in traditional CPI(M) strongholds reflected voters placing ideology above party machinery. Rebel candidate V. Kunhikrishnan—who was expelled from the CPI(M) in January 2026 after publicly raising allegations of misappropriation of martyr funds—went on to win the seat. “When two communist candidates stood against each other, voters made their own judgement about who was right and who was wrong, instead of mechanically siding with the official LDF candidate,” said Rajan. “They chose to think as communists first.”
The shrinking ground is evident in many left pockets across the country. At Sebdulla Jote, a neighbourhood of Hatighisa village in Naxalbari, West Bengal, BJP’s saffron flags dominated the Trinamool Congress colours. None of the youngsters THE WEEK spoke to had any idea that Sebdulla Jote was home to Kanu Sanyal, one of the architects of the Naxalite movement.
Sanyal’s modest house, where he took his life in 2010, stood locked and silent. Shanti Munda, one of the surviving faces of the Naxalbari uprising, recalled the feudal oppression that drove peasants like her into Sanyal’s movement. Though educated only up to fourth standard, Munda mobilised people across the region. During Sanyal’s final years, she looked after him, even helping with his daily chores.
Despite living only a few steps away, Munda, now in her eighties, no longer visits Sanyal’s home. It is controlled by a communist faction with which she parted ways long ago. The ironies of history are hard to miss. A BJP flag flutters from a tree in Munda’s courtyard as well—likely put up without her knowledge or consent.
The saffron expansion into erstwhile left strongholds, and the continuing fragmentation of left forces along ideological lines, is by no means unique to Munda’s story. In many ways, it reflected a broader national trend: as the left has splintered and retreated, political spaces it once dominated have increasingly been claimed by the BJP.
Notably, post the recent assembly elections in Kerala and West Bengal, it was noted that sections of the left’s traditional support base are increasingly willing to cross long-standing ideological boundaries and vote tactically for their erstwhile adversaries. This has meant backing not only the Congress but, in some instances, even the BJP, albeit for different reasons. In an intriguing parallel, after the elections, Chief Ministers V.D. Satheesan of Kerala and Suvendu Adhikari of West Bengal thanked sections of the left cadres for contributing to their respective victories.
M.A. Baby, general secretary of the CPI(M), rejected that assessment. “There is no question of our cadres voting for the Congress, let alone the BJP,” he told THE WEEK. “Having said that, it has to be acknowledged, from the preliminary information we have received, that some sections which had traditionally voted for us did not vote for us this time.” T.K. Govindan, meanwhile, sounded a note of caution. “In India, the leadership of the left largely rests with the CPI(M). So, when the party weakens or degenerates, the entire left movement is affected, and that space will eventually be occupied by right-wing and extreme right-wing forces.”
That the left support base is splintered across several parties has also contributed to the present plight. Over the years there have been several unsuccessful attempts for a reunification of the CPI(M) and the CPI, which had split in 1964. It was the CPI(M), the more dominant of the two parties that had been stonewalling that effort. “For a long time, we have been advocating the reunification of all communist groups in India on a principled basis, considering the current political situation,” said CPI central executive member K. Prakash Babu. “This formulation has continued to feature in the political resolutions adopted at every party congress, held once every three years.”
The CPI(M), however, is not yet convinced of a merger. “Had differences ceased to exist, we would have merged long ago,” said Baby. “As they say, we shall cross the bridge when we come to it. As of now, communist parties maintain very close coordination. We organise joint programmes, and this will be strengthened further.”
The CPI has abandoned the idea of unification or reunification and is now advocating ‘unity’. The CPI(M) could not agree more. “The idea is that unity should not remain a top-heavy arrangement among leaders alone,” said Vijoo Krishnan, CPI(M) Polit Bureau member and general secretary of the All India Kisan Sabha. “Through struggles, we have to build and deepen that unity among the ranks as well.”
Ironically, the erosion of the parliamentary left’s strength across states is now seen by many as an inevitable catalyst for closer coordination among left parties. Dipankar Bhattacharya, general secretary of the CPI(ML) Liberation, is convinced that the present political situation will force left parties to come closer, burying ideological rivalries. “For example, in West Bengal, we were never part of the Left Front,” he said. “Even when the Left Front was in power, we functioned as an independent left party, responding to the government’s omissions and commissions on the basis of policy and political merit. But this time, we entered into an electoral understanding with the Left Front, even though we are still not formally part of it. So, left parties are increasingly coming together through joint actions, and that is probably how a closer understanding and more sustained left unity will evolve.”
An interesting microcosm of left unity against hindutva politics can be seen at the Jawaharlal Nehru University in Delhi. According to SFI leader K. Gopika Babu, vice president of the JNU Students’ Union, this unity emerged as left student organisations recognised both the growing strength of the ABVP and the changing student demography of the campus. “I would not say JNU is important in some exaggerated sense,” she said. “But if you look seriously at JNU politics, one important lesson it offers is how to build united fronts without diluting ideological positions.”
Yet, replicating such a model in mainstream electoral politics is far more difficult. Apart from the CPI(M), the CPI and the CPI(ML), the Revolutionary Socialist Party (RSP) and the Forward Bloc are also part of the broader “left unity” platform. But contradictions continue to haunt this project: even as parties speak of unity, they remain constrained by the compulsions of electoral politics in different states. “What has been happening is that we keep going behind regional parties, compromising for a few seats, while failing to convince people that the left exists as a united political bloc,” said G. Devarajan. “Take Bihar, for example. Until just before the elections, the CPI(M), the CPI, the Forward Bloc and the CPI(ML) Liberation had all come together in the name of left unity and organised major marches, protests and demonstrations. But once elections arrived, the CPI(ML) Liberation negotiated seats separately. Seeing that, the CPI followed suit, and then the CPI(M) did the same. By the time we reached the people, they were already saying, ‘Haven’t all the left seats already been divided up?’ As a result, parties ended up contesting separately in different places, and in many seats, they even had to compete against one another.”
Interestingly, in Kerala, both the RSP and the Forward Bloc are part of the UDF that defeated the LDF. In a striking irony, the UDF—traditionally labelled the valathupaksham (right wing)—today has more communist and left-nationalist parties than the LDF. Yet, the CPI(M) has not viewed parties such as the CMP and the RMP—both born out of splits within the CPI(M)—as natural constituents of a broader left unity platform. C.P. John described the position as a reflection of the CPI(M)’s “myopic” vision. He added that discussions are now underway on building an alternative left platform in Kerala, with his CMP seeking to play a leading role.
Left leaders insist the movement’s relevance cannot be measured solely by electoral power or parliamentary presence. “The Communist Party formed India’s first non-Congress government in 1957,” said Dipankar Bhattacharya. “But after that, it was only from 1977 onwards that communists remained continuously in power in either West Bengal, Tripura or Kerala. So, the absence of a left government today does not make the left irrelevant. It remains an important political and ideological stream in India, especially at a time of growing fascist consolidation. We are already experiencing the ‘fury of fascism’, and its full force would be devastating for India. The left exists to resist that.”
According to Krishnan, the left must function not merely as an electoral force but as “an organised instrument of struggle” rooted in extra-parliamentary movements. The past decade has transformed how the left is perceived in regions where it once had little influence, largely through issue-based mobilisations and farmers’ struggles. “Before 2014, most of these organisations had no meaningful alignment with the left,” he said. “The shift began only after 2014, when we started building issue-based unity.” Krishnan said the left was now a key force within the Samyukta Kisan Morcha and was also working to bring farmers’ organisations and trade unions on to common platforms.
Notably, among the country’s 11 central trade unions—unions with over eight lakh members, a presence in eight states, and representation across eight major industries—seven are either affiliated with left parties or broadly left-oriented. Yet, leaders such as G. Devarajan pointed out what they see as a deeper organisational weakness—the inability to convert influence in trade unions and mass movements into consistent electoral power.
Baby could not agree more. “Workers can fight employers on economic demands and still vote for bourgeois parties if class consciousness is not deepened through sustained political work,” he said. “The answer is not to blame workers, but to strengthen ideological and political engagement, where we are still lacking.”
A major obstacle to expanding grassroots struggles is the left’s growing resource crunch. “Even political and ideological training requires resources,” said Krishnan, recalling work in remote parts of Uttarakhand. “We have comrades in mountain regions like Dharali, and just reaching them itself is a huge effort. Meanwhile, leaders of resource-rich parties like the BJP and the Congress can simply fly in by helicopter.”
The situation could become worse with the left losing Kerala. Tripura’s leader of opposition Jitendra Chaudhury said that while the left did not rely on money power like larger parties, even routine political work required funds. “Earlier, Kerala supported not just Tripura, but left movements across the country. Losing that support will certainly affect resources,” he said.
Human resources are another issue that the left parties should worry about. Kolkata-based independent photographer Swapan Nayak, who travelled across India tracing the fading geographies of the CPI was struck by the change in the communist movement. “One thing I noticed everywhere was the contrast between the old-generation communists and the newer generation,” he said. Among the younger generation, he said, there is a visible shift in ethics, attitude and political culture. What struck him most was the fading of what older communists once called ‘comradeship’—a culture of political fraternity and collective responsibility that extended beyond formal party work.
Over the past decade, the CPI(M) has repeatedly flagged concerns over the declining quality of party membership and cadre activity. According to the party’s 2024 membership review, a majority of the 33,252 new members enrolled during the period came from Kerala, where the party-led government was in power at the time. “Political schooling has reached only 50 per cent of the total membership, indicating the need for greater efforts in political education and organisational consolidation,” reads the review.
In states like Kerala, the Students Federation of India, the CPI(M)’s student wing, remains the dominant force on campuses and is seen as a pipeline for future leaders. But Yadu Krishna, state secretary of the ABVP, said the “the so-called left” on campuses are not “part of the genuine ideological left”. The SFI, he said, sustained its dominance through a wider ecosystem of support—from sympathetic teachers to influential figures in administration. “Many SFI activists do not remain within the larger left ecosystem after campus life,” he said.
The CPI(M)’s own review pointed to this trend of attrition and poor political education. In the last membership review, Telangana recorded a 35.5 per cent dropout rate, while Kerala reported 22.8 per cent. In many states, the party found that members were barely active in mass organisations or grassroots campaigns.
Political observers argue that the crisis is not confined to the cadre alone but extends to different levels of leadership itself. Ahead of the assembly elections in Kerala, Baby told THE WEEK that parliamentary delusions—the excessive desire to occupy parliamentary positions—and the belief that social transformation can be achieved solely through electoral means are both considered “deviations” within communist political practice.
Yet, following the LDF’s heavy defeat, the contradictions within that critique became harder to ignore. The party once again announced a rectification drive but simultaneously appeared careful to shield Pinarayi Vijayan, 81, who was the face of the LDF campaign. The leadership also largely avoided publicly addressing criticisms that anti-incumbency, the growing personality cult around Vijayan, and accusations of political arrogance had contributed significantly to the LDF’s defeat. Sebastian Paul, who had been elected to the Lok Sabha and the assembly as LDF candidate, said there was little introspection within the CPI(M) following the massive defeat.
According to Paul, the decision to appoint Vijayan as leader of the opposition ultimately reflected the absence of any deeper corrective impulse within the CPI(M) and broader left. “There is nothing inherently wrong in appointing him,” he said. “But if this was truly a moment of rectification, it should also have been the moment for a generational transition—an opportunity to groom and elevate a new layer of leadership. That opportunity has not been used.”
In many ways, Vijayan’s reappointment captures the larger predicament of the parliamentary left itself: a movement that still carries immense historical memory, but struggles to imagine a political future beyond its ageing centres of power. It continues to speak of some future revolution, even as it remains trapped within familiar faces, old bastions, and inherited comfort zones—yearning for renewal while hopelessly clinging to the past.
