Chennai sanitation workers’ historic protest

Hunger strikes, 165 days of rallies, road blockades, petitions to MLAs, staged deaths, physical immersion in filth…

That’s how long and how intensely municipal workers in Chennai agitated to get the state to hear their demands. This was not merely a protest; it was a historic struggle led by the city’s most oppressed people who refused to disappear quietly.

Speaking in December 2025, M. Mahalakshmi, a senior sanitary worker, termed the state’s lack of response as deeply caste-coded. “We have been protesting for over 130 days with no response. Temple workers were given permanent jobs without protest. Nurses’ demands were met in a week. But when Dalit sanitation workers ask for the same dignity, the state remains silent.”

She pointed out that the majority of Greater Chennai Corporation (GCC) sanitary workers belong to Dalit and Arunthathiyar communities, making the exclusion not merely bureaucratic, but structural. “This is institutionalised discrimination – both caste and class-based,” the 37-year-old worker added.

Sanitation workers have been supported by trade unions including Uzhaipor Urimai Iyakkam (UUI), Left Trade Union Centre (LTUC), and All India Central Council of Trade Unions (AICCTU), along with civil society organisations, and student groups from various universities. The protests were led by veteran trade union leaders Comrade K. Bharathi and senior trade unionist Kumaraswamy. From the outset, the movement was spearheaded by these organisations and activists. Another protest was held on November 28, 2025, under the leadership of Advocate Pulianthope Mohan and Kuttu Iyyakam. It too received quite a bit of support.

Despite the duration and intensity of the protest, the Tamil Nadu government was slow to offer a resolution. Their silence was in stark contrast to their swift response to other workers’ demands. On December 24, 2025, Health Minister Subramaniam announced that 1,000 contract nurses would be absorbed into permanent government service within a week of their protest. Earlier, 2,500 temporary workers under the Hindu Religious and Charitable Endowments (HR&CE) Department were regularised, with an additional 1,500 temple workers promised permanent employment.

These decisions only served to sharpen a deeply rooted sense of injustice.

Another worker, A. Jayaram, 31, who has been employed by the GCC for the past seven years, questioned the government’s push towards the privatisation of sanitation work. “Privatisation will not improve our lives. Whether it is the government or a private contractor, we will still be forced to work with the same equipment. Private companies will not provide modern tools like those used in foreign countries. The only real change will be a reduction in our wages.”

According to Jayaram, neither public nor private employers provide adequate safety equipment. “We still use the same broom and the same cloth gloves. Even schemes like the National Urban Livelihoods Mission have not reached us,” he added. Several other workers echoed this view, stressing that the denial of dignity in sanitation work is inseparable from caste. “This is caste-based labour. That is why dignity is denied,” Jayaram said.

Between August 1-13, 2025, I participated in the protest of GCC sanitation workers. I did not go as an observer, but as a participant in their struggle for permanent employment and dignity of labour.

For years, my academic work and personal engagement have focused on the displacement of Dalit and fisher communities and their resistance to privatisation, Smart City initiatives, and schemes such as the Blue Beach project along the Chennai coastline.

During this protest, I was introduced to photographer, M. Palani Kumar. Placing a camera in my hands, he taught me to see beyond frames and beyond sympathy — to confront the structural violence embedded in everyday life, and to understand photography not merely as documentation, but as a political act of witnessing.

From that moment, documentation became resistance. I began capturing every movement, every hunger strike, every act of repression in the ongoing struggle of Chennai’s sanitation workers.

“Roadside waste contains broken glass, sharp metal, needles, and human waste. Cloth gloves do not protect us. We are injured frequently,” said J. Geeta, 39. “We handle broken glass, human saliva, and urine with our bare hands. Masks and gloves cannot protect us from the mental agony we go through.”

She pointed out the hazardous and degrading conditions of their critical work on the one hand, and of the isolation and social exclusion on the other hand.

On November 17, 2025, Geeta alongwith three other women sanitation workers – 50-year-old P. Jenova, G. Vasanthi, 39, and S. Bharathi, 36, launched an indefinite hunger strike at Ambattur Thozhar Kudam. They declared they would fast until death to demand permanent employment, job security, and dignity of labour.

As the hunger strike continued, their health deteriorated rapidly and all four women were hospitalised, their lives at serious risk. On the same day, a second phase of the hunger strike was launched by M. Sarawathi, E. Sarawathi (both 40 years old), K. Kalpana, 35, and V. Velankanni, 43. However, both the Sarawathis were hospitalised shortly thereafter due to rapidly deteriorating health. Kalpana and Velankanni continued the strike for more than 20 days. All the women now suffer debilitating ulcers which require frequent hospital visits.

The prolonged unemployment has devastated workers’ families as most women sanitation workers are the sole breadwinners in their households. Their debts have been increasing steadily. Vasanthi said, “because I couldn’t pay the fees, my daughter stopped speaking to me.” Mahalakshmi was struggling with unpaid rent, unpaid school fees, and days without proper meals.

For many workers, their family is their only source of emotional support. That is now fracturing: “No festivals have been celebrated for the past three months. Diwali felt like a funeral. Christmas passed the same way. Now Pongal is coming,” they told me.

The mental exhaustion caused by prolonged hunger, debt, and uncertainty has become overwhelming. “Sometimes death feels like the only option. That is the agony we are living with,” said workers who have served the city for 10 to 15 years.

On December 19, T. Ravikumar, a 48-year-old sanitation worker took his life near RSRM Hospital, Royapuram. His mother, Tikabai blamed the government saying that even when her son had suffered a serious leg injury during work, he continued to report for duty, but the government illegally removed him from his job.

“Because there was no justice and no hope left, he lost his life. The government must be held responsible for this,” she said.

Ravikumar’s death was not an isolated incident. Two other sanitation workers had died earlier due to health complications linked to unemployment and distress. B. Udhaya Kumar, 48, from Zone 6 suffered from jaundice and severe mental distress following job loss. According to his family, he was unable to afford timely medical treatment due to prolonged unemployment.

Another worker, 49-year-old Ashok Kumar from Zone 5, reportedly suffered from diabetes and extreme stress caused by unpaid rent and educational expenses. He later died of a cardiac arrest on September 5, 2025.

While attending the funeral of T. Ravikumar, many workers said, “we are all going to die like this. This seems to be the only solution; there is no other way.”

Their words left me sleepless for nights. Yet I realised that this anguish was not momentary—they themselves had been living without sleep for more than 130 days, burdened by uncertainty, hunger, and fear.

On January 3, 2026, marking the 16th day after the death of Ravikumar, hundreds of workers assembled at a cemetery near Mint, Chennai, and staged a deeply symbolic protest. Two workers lay on the ground like dead bodies, declaring that they had been pushed to the very edge by prolonged governmental and institutional neglect.

On January 5, 2026, the workers returned with yet another form of resistance. Near the Egmore Museum, they entered the Cooum River. “This is nothing new to us. We have always been sent into sewers like this.”

Usually, the police intervene immediately. But this time, no action was taken for over two hours. Workers stood inside the polluted river for hours. Many vomited and suffered severe nausea. Vasanthi fainted and struggled to breathe for several hours. For years, these workers have been forced into sewers without safety measures or modern equipment.

This protest exposed the brutal reality of a caste-based society hidden beneath the language of development. Eventually, fire service personnel and police entered the river and forcefully dispersed the protest.

The Hindu Religious and Charitable Endowments (HR&CE) Minister, P.K. Sekar Babu met the protesters and promised that all workers from Zone 5 and Zone 6 would be absorbed into the Greater Chennai Corporation.

This was the outcome of an extraordinary struggle by sanitation workers who stood firm in defense of their rights, occupying roads, streets, cemeteries, rivers, and public spaces across Chennai.