The politics of being 'non-political'

In West Bengal, the journey from the film set or cricket field to the campaign stage has become quite familiar. Actors, singers, directors and sportspersons have crossed into electoral politics in significant numbers over the past decade, almost making it trendy. Though flourishing under the Trinamool Congress, other parties have increasingly seen a common way in. Celebrity candidature is no longer an exception—it has become part of Bengal's political grammar today.

Their reasons for entering politics are equally familiar. They speak of public service, development, giving back to society or responding to a leader's call. Rarely, however, do they highlight any ideological aspects or inclinations. The language is one of service rather than politics, of people rather than parties.

Yet this raises a question.

Can one occupy elected office while remaining non-political? Or has the idea of being above politics itself culminated into a political identity?

These questions matter because celebrity politics is not merely about famous faces contesting elections. It reflects a larger shift in how politics is imagined, marketed and consumed. How the popular face of a family television show, banks on the character for a victory margin. It all waters down to electoral numbers.

Political parties understand the value of visibility. A popular actor or cricketer enters an election with a public image already built over years of cinema, television or sport. Unlike grassroots workers who spend decades building organisational networks, celebrities arrive with recognition, adding instant value to an already existing emotional connection with voters. Fame itself becomes political capital to bank on.

For the Trinamool Congress, the strategy has been particularly visible since the party came to power in 2011. Actors, directors and musicians have repeatedly been fielded in parliamentary and Assembly elections. The BJP, especially during the 2021 Assembly elections, followed a similar playbook by inducting several Tollywood personalities, turning the film industry itself into a politically divided space. The question, therefore, is no longer why parties recruit celebrities. The electoral logic is evident.

The more difficult question is what happens after the votes get casted and results get declared?

Do celebrity politicians continue to engage with their constituencies with the same visibility they displayed during campaigns? Or the visibility that helped them garner votes in their favour? Do they participate consistently in parliamentary or legislative work? Do they intervene during moments of crisis within constituencies? Or does the public attention that helped them secure electoral victory gradually return to film promotions, television appearances and cultural events and premiere parties.

The answers vary. Some have attempted to build sustained political careers, while others have maintained a noticeably lower political profile after entering public office. That uneven approach deserves closer examination rather than broad generalisation of all such personalities.

It also prompts another uncomfortable question.

Has electoral politics, for some public figures, become less of a commitment to governance than a parallel career, a retirement plan or a route to renewed public relevance?

The claim cannot be made universally. Many artists have remained politically active long after elections. Others have entered politics after years of public engagement. Reasons shall vary, but, there are instances where celebrity candidates have been subjected to scrutiny over their political presence, legislative participation or responses during moments of public crisis. Those cases have repeatedly fuelled public debate over whether celebrity status alone can be a ticket to active institutional politics and public representation.

Former Indian cricketer and Baharampur MP Yusuf Pathan perhaps found himself in the middle of such a contradiction at the heart of Bengal's celebrity politics. Introduced by the Trinamool Congress as a nationally recognised sporting icon, Pathan repeatedly described himself during the 2024 campaign as a cricketer first but also emphasising on public service over political identity and admitting that he was still learning the language and political landscape of Bengal. His electoral victory over veteran Congress leader Adhir Ranjan Chowdhury reinforced the belief that celebrity recall could outweigh decades of organisational politics. But within two years, questions shifted. During the communal violence in Murshidabad, Pathan faced sustained criticism from the Opposition and sections of civil society over his perceived silence and delayed political response, forcing the debate beyond celebrity appeal to the expectations attached to elected office and public engagement. This itself captures the larger dilemma surrounding celebrity politicians: does electoral legitimacy derived from public fame eventually translate into visible political accountability, or does the distance between symbolic representation and active leadership become more pronounced once the campaign ends?

Representation is symbolic. A familiar face can embody a lot of aspirations, regional pride or cultural identity. However, leadership demands something different. It requires accountability, public engagement and the willingness to take political decisions particularly during difficult times. That difference often disappears during election campaigns, where visibility itself becomes a measure of political value and legitimacy.

There is another shift worth noticing.

West Bengal has long carried the reputation of being an ideologically driven political society. For decades, public intellectuals, theatre practitioners, writers and artists openly articulated their political beliefs. Their ideological positions were often inseparable from their public identities and most of the times with their art.

Today's times frequently witness adoption of a different vocabulary. Development, service and welfare dominate public discourse while explicit ideological commitments are invisible.

Is Bengal gradually moving from ideology-centred politics towards personality-centred politics?

Or is ideology simply being communicated wrapped in a sheet of commitment to service?

The answer may lie in how contemporary politics rewards public image. In an age of television debates, social media campaigns and digital branding, recognisable personalities often travel faster than political arguments. Celebrity offers immediate visibility. Ideological stand demands sustained engagement, that is often taxing.

Perhaps this explains why 'I'm not interested in politics; I'm here to serve people' has become such a familiar refrain among public figures entering electoral politics.

Yet public service itself cannot be separated from politics. Decisions on public spending, law and order, welfare, education, employment or communal harmony are inherently political. Once a candidate contests an election, campaigns under a party symbol and occupies elected office, neutrality becomes difficult to sustain. The trajectory of actor-singer and former Trinamool MLA Aditi Munshi illustrates this. Entering electoral politics with considerable cultural recognition, Munshi became one of several artists whose public identities were repurposed into political capital. Yet celebrity status has not insulated such figures from institutional scrutiny. The recent arrest of her husband, former TMC councillor Debraj Chakraborty, in a disproportionate assets case, alongside continuing investigations into alleged financial irregularities, has once again shifted public attention from celebrity appeal to questions of political accountability and ethical conduct. While the allegations remain under investigation, Munshi has been granted anticipatory bail with directions to cooperate with investigators.

Which again brings the discussion back to its original contradiction.

If political power is accepted, can political responsibility be selectively declined?

The growing presence of celebrities in Bengal's electoral landscape is therefore not simply a story about actors or cricketers entering politics. It is a story about changing expectations from public representatives, about the value political parties place on visibility, and about how politics increasingly presents itself through personalities rather than ideological commitments.

Whether this transformation strengthens democratic representation or weakens political accountability remains an open question. It is one that cannot be answered by campaign slogans or celebrity appeal alone, but by examining what elected representatives do long after the applause has faded and the election posters have come down.