In a candid conversation with South First, Aleena speaks with sharp clarity and emotional depth, unapologetically addressing caste, discrimination, and the lived and forgotten histories of Dalit Christians in Kerala.
Published Apr 13, 2025 | 9:00 AM ⚊ Updated Apr 23, 2025 | 8:46 PM
Known first for her searing Malayalam poetry, her award-winning collection Silk Route published in 2021, she now commands a different kind of attention on Instagram.
Synopsis: Through her poetry and social media presence, Dalit Christian poet Aleena has been helping reclaim erased histories and amplify voices silenced by caste and religious hierarchies. In an interview with South First, she critiques the persistent, though often hidden, caste discrimination within Kerala’s Christian communities, calling out institutional practices, endogamy, and lack of representation. Her insights shed light on the subtle yet powerful ways caste continues to shape Christian life in the state, despite claims of egalitarianism.
In a digital age overflowing with curated aesthetics and fleeting trends, the real challenge is not accessing information, it is filtering meaning from the noise. Amid the social media din of lifestyle influencers and wellness gurus, only a rare few use their platforms to confront power, unearth history, and give voice to the silenced.
Aleena, 29, is one such rare presence. Known first for her searing Malayalam poetry, her award-winning collection Silk Route published in 2021, she now commands a different kind of attention on Instagram.
In a space not always kind to women, and even less so to those who question dominant narratives, Aleena’s voice is both defiant and necessary.
Her timeline is not just a personal archive, it is a reclamation of stories long erased from mainstream discourse.
In a candid conversation with South First, Aleena speaks with sharp clarity and emotional depth, unapologetically addressing caste, discrimination, and the lived and forgotten histories of Dalit Christians in Kerala.
Excerpts follow.
Q. In Munambam, a political shift is visible as the Latin Christian community shows growing support for Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) leaders after the Waqf Amendment Bill. How do you see this?
A. The right wing has systematically portrayed Muslims as the enemy, a narrative rooted in the Partition and now reinforced through propaganda, like branding the Waqf Board as a land mafia. Sadly, this fearmongering has influenced not just dominant-caste Christians like the Syrian Catholics, who bought into “love jihad” rhetoric early on, but now even Bahujan Christian communities like the Latin Christians are leaning toward the right.
This is deeply unfortunate. These communities once stood firmly against Hindutva politics, especially in places like Trivandrum. I come from the Sabarimala region, where even the BJP’s top leader, K Surendran lost in past elections.
But the shift in Munambam shows how effective the right wing’s divisive strategy has become, even among the marginalised who once resisted them.
Q. A few days ago, you shared a Dalit folk song on your Instagram story and claimed that Vidyasagar copied its tune for a song in Chandramukhi. What is the story behind it?
A. I first came across this issue through a friend’s Facebook post. He mentioned that a particular song, which later inspired a popular track in Chandramukhi, actually has its roots in a Dalit folk tradition from Kerala.
The original version was collected and preserved by Mariyamma Chettathi, a renowned folk singer and cultural historian known for her deep knowledge of traditional arts. Importantly, the song was originally sung by a Dalit artist.
According to reports, music director Vidyasagar had initially promised to include this original version, featuring the original Dalit artist, in the film. However, the song was originally sung by SP Balasubrahmanyam instead. This sparked controversy at the time, though it was reportedly resolved later.
Still, the incident raises serious questions about cultural appropriation, particularly the repeated pattern of mainstream composers borrowing from Dalit folk traditions without offering due credit.
This is not an isolated case. In the film Kaduva, another Dalit song, originally part of the kooliyoot tradition, a ritualistic song associated with funeral ceremonies in the Pulaya community of northern Kerala, was allegedly used without proper acknowledgment.
Such acts of uncredited appropriation contribute to the erosion of marginalised cultures, stripping these traditions of their context and meaning while denying rightful recognition to their creators.
Q. Caste discrimination is often said to be less in the Christian community compared to the Hindu community. But how does caste discrimination actually work within the Christian community?
A. Within the Christian community, caste discrimination plays out in very subtle, yet powerful ways. Even in 2025, in churches like the Mar Thoma Church, Dalits and Syrian Christians often have separate churches. And when we question it, the justification is shocking,
“We’re giving them a separate church so they can have leadership opportunities.” The claim is that if everyone shares the same space, Syrian Christians will dominate all key roles and Dalits will be sidelined. So instead of addressing discrimination, they institutionalise it.
Everyone shares the same Holy Communion, attends the same events, but that is where equality ends. Inter-marriage? Still a taboo.
Syrian Christians rarely allow their children to marry Latin or Dalit Christians, even within the same church. I have seen so many love stories end because of caste. As teenagers, we fell in love without thinking of caste. But the system made the decision for us, silently. It was understood. These couples had no future.
Endogamy is casteism, plain and simple. My mother tells me that some church members will not even eat food from Dalit homes. During home prayers, when everyone is supposed to gather and share meals, some still refuse to eat.
Churches in Kerala run schools, colleges, hospitals. They are everywhere. But how many Dalit Christians are in leadership or faculty positions? The college with the highest number of Dalit Christian professors is CMS College in Kottayam, and they have just seven. That says everything.
Q. You mentioned the idea of purity that some Christian groups believe in. Can you explain what caste or racial purity means? And why do some people still believe in it so strongly?
A. Belief in racial or caste purity among some Christian groups stems from deep-rooted caste hierarchies. By claiming foreign origins, like Jewish or Brahmin ancestry, they try to distance themselves from Dalit or Bahujan identities, seeking social superiority.
Historically, such claims helped resist Latinisation during Portuguese rule, but today they mostly serve to maintain caste distinctions.
Communities like Syrian Christians often cite descent from Brahmins or Jewish settlers. Even if there is some historical truth, centuries of mixing make such purity claims irrelevant, and harmful. They lead to separate churches, unequal treatment, and internal conflicts.
What is baffling is the pride in such identities. Being born into a group is not an achievement, clinging to it only perpetuates discrimination.
Q. What has been the most heartbreaking chapter in the history of Christians in Kerala, and how has their situation evolved since then?
A. One of the most heartbreaking realities for Dalit Christians is the persistent lack of adequate reservation. In a country where caste continues to shape access to opportunity, reservation is not a privilege, it is a basic necessity for historically marginalised communities.
For Dalit Christians, the current system offers almost nothing. We are barely granted 1 percent reservation in educational institutions, a figure so small it feels symbolic at best. And even that percentage is based on outdated and incomplete data. There has not been any serious effort to document our numbers accurately, which means the policies that exist are built on flawed assumptions.
The consequences are painfully visible. Very few Dalit Christian students in higher education, minimal representation in government jobs, and almost no political voice. In the entire post-independence history of Kerala, only one Dalit Christian has ever become an MLA, P Chacko from Thiruvalla.
This absence of recognition and representation is more than just a policy failure, it is a wound. How can any community progress when it is not even seen? Without structural support and equal opportunities, we are left struggling at the margins, unheard and unseen.
(Edited by Dese Gowda)
