Then there’s the smartphone revolution. The old chain ran voter → worker → party → newspaper → leader. The new one runs leader → phone → voter. Reels, soundbites, memes, live videos and WhatsApp forwards reward exactly what the old elite distrusted: emotion, humour, rage, spontaneity, the language of the chowk rather than the chamber.
The traditional gatekeepers — editors, party bosses and pundits — have been bypassed. While that empowers the outsider, it also opens the floodgates to misinformation and echo chambers. The Punjabi ethos rewards authenticity.
Sikh tradition was built on sangat and pangat — in the langar, the prince and the pauper sit in the same row and eat the same dal. Punjabi culture prizes directness, anakh (self-respect), individual courage and an ingrained suspicion of hierarchy. It also has a long memory of mass mobilisation, most recently in the 2020–21 farmers’ movement, where the kisan unions pointedly kept politicians off their stages. At such a table, authenticity isn’t the garnish, it’s the main course.
Entertainment has increasingly become a form of political capital in the age of mass communication. Modern politics is no longer conducted only through speeches, manifestos and policy documents; it is also performed through stories, humour, slogans, emotional moments and catchy one-liners. Politicians who can grab attention and connect with audiences have an edge in an environment dominated by social media.
Bhagwant Mann illustrates this transformation particularly well. His background as a popular comedian and performer helped him hone his humour, storytelling, timing and audience engagement. These entertainment skills have subsequently become political communication skills, very handy in making complex political messages more accessible and memorable.
Mann the satirist, Channi the representative of the un(der)represented and Amritpal the renegade-preacher are the three contemporary Punjab politicians that stand out. Ideologically, they are far apart, but structurally they share a DNA.