Mahatma Gandhi, page 24
The petition said those Indians who were already on the voter’s list were about one Indian to every thirty-eight Europeans—the Indian could therefore hardly threaten the white supremacy in the colony. Besides, the property requisites were beyond the competence of most Indians at that time, and would thus be so for a long time to come.
Further, you will not do this to the Indians who had by their labour brought prosperity to the colony. How could one be so ungrateful?
The petition was submitted to the Governor, and through him to the Colonial Secretary in London. The petition was now also printed (a thousand copies) and sent all over the world. Let everyone see what was happening in Africa. Both the Times of London and the Times of India (Bombay) agreed with the cause. ‘They want to put Indians,’ wrote Gandhiji to Dadabhai, ‘under such disabilities and subject them to such insults it may not be worth their while to step in the colony. Yet they would not want to dispense with Indians altogether . . . they want indentured Indians very badly; but they would require, if they could, the indentured Indian to return to India after his term of indenture. A perfectly leonine partnership!’ 15
A memorandum was also sent to Lord Ripon, Her Majesty’s Secretary of State for the colonies. So now that things had begun moving appropriately, Gandhi felt he could start thinking of going home. He must now go back to Kasturba. After all, he had promised to stay about a year. And that period was almost over now. But the Indians feeling ‘a taste of combat, would not hear of it’.
‘You yourself told us,’ they argued, ‘that the Franchise Amendment Bill was only the first step towards our ultimate extinction. Who knows whether the Colonial Secretary will return a favourable reply to our Memorial? You have witnessed our enthusiasm. We are willing and ready to work. We have funds too. But for want of a guide, what little that has been done will go for nothing. We think it is your duty to stay on.’ 16
Yes, he would, if needed. But how to stay on? On what was he going to live? ‘My work would be mainly to make you all work. And could I charge you for that?’ Further, if they paid for his stay and he would have to, sometimes, tell them unpleasant things—and truth as you know, can be unpleasant—what becomes of him then? No, if he stayed it would have to be as a professional man. If they could offer him legal work and give him retainers—and he would, according to his estimates, need 300 pounds a year—he would stay. Twenty Indian merchants gladly and forthwith accepted him as their legal adviser, and Dada Abdulla, the eldest among them having discovered a house, had it decently furnished. 17 ‘Thus I settled in Natal.’
* * *
But what is Gandhism? It is not a creed; it is a perspective on life (darshana). Its first attribute is a love for facts, a search for the precise. In human actions every gesture is an attempt to go towards reality, reality in facts, to the reality beyond facts. Through the manifested to the non-manifested, that’s the great path of man. Then, again, if this be so, there are as many paths as there are men—that is to say each man looks at his problem from his own station, his facts. Hence one must always be ready, at all moments, to try and understand the facts, and, therefore, the perspectives of others. These are as important as your own. And sometimes you may think your fellowman does not face facts—but there’s always a chink by which the truth speaks. Seek out that little emergence of truth and seek it back to its source. Thus you can always try and convince him of his own truth. For example, when the Third Reading of the Bill was taking place, the Premier, Sir John Robinson, said all Indians are not illiterate, dirty, and irresponsible—there are some who are eminently educated, men of integrity and highly civilised. Gandhiji immediately took up this thread and said how the statement ‘breathed honest sentiments of justice, morality, and what is more, Christianity’. And, he went on, ‘if only we could settle all matters in this manner we would never despair of right being done in every case.’ Later he remarked, as if it were an aside, ‘However, we beg to point out that both the Anglo-Saxon and the Indian races belong to the same stock.’ Then he added, lest it should sound just a boast, that scholars like Max Mueller, Morris, Greene, ‘and a host of other writers with one voice seem to show very clearly that both the races have sprung from the same Aryan stock, or rather the Indo-European as many call it. We have no wish whatsoever to thrust ourselves as a brother nation on a nation that would be unwilling to receive us as such, but we may be pardoned if we state real facts.’
And again, since in human affairs there are bound to be so many points of view, be ever ready to compromise not on a principle, but on details. For example, later when he was to join the Bar at Durban (which he did), the Judge of the Supreme Court asked him to remove the turban on his head. It was contrary to the rules of the Natal Bar. Once before, in Durban itself, he had refused to do so on principle. He did not belong then to the Natal Bar, he was only a visitor. But a year later things were different. One must respect, when one is going to live in a country, its ways, its laws, and now as he was going to live in Natal, at least for some time, he must respect the laws and customs of the country. ‘In Rome do as Romans do,’ he quoted to himself. His friends including Dada Abdulla were not very pleased with this concession made. But Gandhiji was convinced he was right. And so here again another point of Gandhism was made clear. ‘I pacified the friends somewhat,’ he wrote in his autobiography, ‘with these and similar arguments but I do not think I convinced them completely, in this instance, of the applicability of the principle of looking at a thing from a different stand-point in different circumstances. But all my life through the very insistence on truth has taught me the beauty of compromise . . . It has often meant endangering my life and incurring the displeasure of friends. But truth is hard as adamant and tender as a blossom.’ 18
* * *
And now to work. And Kasturba and the fierce longings for her, those would have to withdraw and wait.
A few days after he decided to stay back in Natal, a meeting was called of the Indian community. If you want to do anything in politics you must have an organisation, ‘a public organisation of a permanent character’.
Dada Abdulla’s immense room was ‘packed to the full on that day’. What was the organisation going to be called? Of course, it must have the word Congress as part of its name. The Congress had already become a symbol of freedom in India: ‘I was a Congress devotee.’ The conservatives in England and elsewhere may think it smelt bad.
‘It savoured of cowardice to hesitate to adopt that name. Therefore with full explanation of my reasons I recommended the organisation should be called the Natal Indian Congress and on the 22nd of August 1894, the Natal Indian Congress came into being.’
It had to be able to work well and be effective, have highly demanding conditions for membership. Five shillings a month was to be paid by every one, and those who could pay more should give more. Gandhiji subscribed himself for one pound a month. ‘This was for me no small amount.’ A large number of others subscribed according to their capacity and became members. And next, what were the aims of the Congress?
To bring about a better understanding and to promote friendliness between Europeans and Indians residing in the Colony.
To spread information about India and the Indians by writing to newspapers, publishing pamphlets, lecturing, etc.
To educate Indians, especially the colonial-born Indians, about Indian history and induce them to study Indian subjects.
To ascertain the various grievances the Indians were labouring under and to agitate by resorting to all constitutional methods for removing them.
To enquire into the conditions of the indentured Indians and to help them out of special hardships.
To help the poor and needy in all reasonable ways, and
Generally to do everything that would tend to put Indians on better footing morally, socially, intellectually, and politically.
The Congress was not only born. It was going to work. It already had three hundred members, Muslims, Hindus, Parsis, and Natal-born Christians. And from its very foundation it was run on very severe discipline. If you did not attend six meetings consecutively, you were not a member any more. You could not come late either. ‘Late comers had to pay a fine of five shillings for each offence.’ 19 And nobody was allowed to smoke at the committee meetings. Further, ‘every member shall use Mr. in addressing one another at a committee meeting’. Questions were asked freely at these gatherings and anybody could rise and say anything he wanted. People who had never learnt to speak in public became accustomed to share their experiences with others. Non-Indians also could become members. ‘The Hon. Secretary,’ so ran one of the rules of the Congress ‘shall if he chooses invite a European who takes interest in the welfare of the Congress to be a Vice-President.’
And to make the Congress known all over Natal and for gathering membership, volunteers were asked to go from door to door, explain the nature of the new organisation, and to collect the subscription. Even the rich merchants started canvassing for membership. Gandhi himself thus came into contact with Indians all over the colony. There’s a beautiful story told how one Indian who was to have paid £6 refused to give it when Gandhi and some others came to see him. The day became night, and yet the man would not pay. He would only give £3. So there was only one solution to the problem. Be patient and try to convince him of the wrong he was doing. ‘If we had accepted that amount from him, others would have followed suit, and our collections would have been spoiled.’ Gandhiji and his companions were hungry. But they would not leave. Other Indian merchants came to persuade the wrong-doing merchant. But he would hear no one. They spent all of the night hungry and patient. ‘Most of my co-workers were burning with rage,’ continued Gandhiji, ‘but they contained themselves. At last when the day was already breaking the host yielded, paid down 6 pounds and feasted us. This happened at Tongaat but the repercussion of the incident was felt as afar as Stanger on the North Coast and Charlestown in the interior. It also hastened our work of collection.’
‘But collecting funds was not the only thing to do. In fact I had long learnt the principle of never having more money at one’s disposal than necessary.’
And every penny was to be accounted for. In fact, there is a famous anecdote of a six pence that was missing in the annual budgeting. How did these extra six pence come into our coffers? Gandhi had no sleep the whole night through. Finally the cause was discovered. The discrepancy came because ‘one member had paid two-and-six once and three at another time. The 3/- could not well be represented on the list . . . Without properly kept accounts it is impossible to maintain Truth in its pristine purity.’
The most important object of the Congress was not merely to educate the Indians with regard to outward activities but to make them think, to make them understand each other and all. And you can only understand others if you understand yourself first. Hence, ‘attempts were always made to draw attention to their own shortcomings. Whatever force there was in the arguments of the Europeans was duly acknowledged. Every occasion, when it was possible to cooperate with the Europeans on terms of equality and consistent with self-respect, was heartily availed of.’ 20
Thus win the hearts of the adversary—one of the principal propositions of the Gandhian law.
Meanwhile, Gandhiji having enrolled himself as a barrister, not only did he fight for the merchants but even more so for the common Indian who had everything to lose. Of course in such cases he would accept no payment for his legal services. For the laws of Natal were strange; no coolie should ever be found on any public highway without a proper pass. This pass should be given to him by his employer otherwise the coolie would go straight to jail. And some coolies spent years in jail because they did not want to go back to their harsh masters. Some even hanged themselves while in prison. Even were you not a ‘coolie’ but a ‘free’ Indian, you should have a pass, especially after nine o’clock at night. These passes had to be issued by the proper government authority. And little by little funny little incidents came into one’s knowledge, which either the press reported or the Indians themselves came to complain of, and each case was a story all by itself. For example, two Indians excellently dressed and speaking ‘faultless English’—and so of no suspicion ever to be taken for a coolie—were one night coming home slightly after nine from a party. They were immediately molested and arrested by a policeman under the Vagrant Law and thrown into custody. They had no passes. One was a school master and the other a civil servant. One of them was called Samuel Richards and the other John Lutchman Roberts, both of them sons of Indian indentured labourers and both lately converted to Christianity. Hence their names.
Superintendent of Police: How long have you had that name?
Defendant: Eighteen months. Since I was converted.
Superintendent of Police: What were your parents?
Defendant: Indentured Indians; father’s a dhobi.
Superintendent: Since your family name was not good enough for you, did you inform the police that you had taken an English name that would excuse you from Indian laws?
Defendant: No.
Superintendent (to the other man, Roberts): Who were your parents?
Defendant: Indentured Indians.
Superintendent: Why should a constable pass you anymore than your parents?
Defendant: My face is sufficient. 21
The Magistrate dismissed the case. And this made a great impression on local public opinion. The Natal Advertiser said it was ‘a departure in the administration of law as applied to Indians’. It was a ‘test case’ said the Natal Mercury a government organ. ‘Everyone will admit this law presses harshly on many people.’
Gandhi defended the two young men before the courts (of course he would never charge a fee) and also wrote a letter to the Natal Mercury explaining the case and its implications.
‘I humbly think theirs was a very hard case and the police erred in arresting them and afterwards in harassing them. I said in the court, and I repeat, that the Vagrant Law would cease to be oppressive if the police showed some consideration for the Indians and used discretion in arresting them. The fact that both are sons of indentured Indians should not go against them, especially in an English community, where a man’s worth, not birth, is taken into account in judging him. If that were not so a butcher’s son should not have been honoured as the greatest poet . . .
‘The Magistrate (in regard to the first defendant) made no order, but he, in his fatherly and kind manner, suggested that I should advise him to get the Mayor’s pass. I submitted that such was not necessary but said in deference to his suggestion I would do so.’ 22
The Superintendent naturally came to the rescue of his constables. He wrote to the same paper and showed how difficult was the task. Gandhi admitted anybody could make a mistake: ‘Whether a man is an honest Christian or a Satan . . . in Christian garb.’ And he went on. ‘I appeal to him and entreat him to consider well whether he himself would have arrested these two boys. I say in his own words: ‘If his whole force were as considerate and amiable as himself there would be no difficulty’.’
Superintendent Alexander, for that was his name, and Gandhi ultimately became very good friends. And also Superintendent Alexander became his staunch supporter ‘and one of the best friends of the Indian community’. 23
For example there’s another story, the story of Mrs. Vinden—an Indian school mistress in Ladysmith (wife to Mr. David Vinden, a clerk at the court) who, when she was returning home one night, was mishandled and beaten by a Kaffir policeman. Her only offence was she had, as a coloured person, no pass on her. And when she arrived at the police station a policeman threw her with such violence into the prison that she lost consciousness. When discovered by the white officer on duty and taken home still in an unconscious state, much was the ire of the community—an innocent and educated woman, going her way—was this human, civilised? But what could one do. Of course, the case was brought up before the courts.
Q. (addressed to William Macdonald, Chief Constable): Did you take any steps to ascertain whether these policemen who made arrests had behaved in a proper manner?
A.: Nothing beyond asking them if they had done so.
Q.: Did you report Vinden to the Government as you threatened?
A.: No, not yet.
Q.: I suppose if he loses this case there will be no need to do so.
A.: I don’t know so much about that.
Sir Walter Wragg: Did you tell your constable the arrest was a mistake?
A.: I did not tell them then but I have told them since.
Sir Walter Wragg: We have been in the habit of arresting Indians and natives for being out after hours.
Q.: Do you arrest Arabs?
A.: No.
Q.: Why?
A.: There seems to be an understanding in the Colony not to arrest them.
Q.: An Arab is a person of colour—why do you not arrest him?
A.: For the same reason that we do not arrest Vinden.
Q.: Why?
A.: I do not consider he is a coolie.
Sir Walter: Coolie has nothing to do with colour. Why is not an Arab arrested?
Witness: Because I don’t think he comes within that meaning of the law.
Q.: Why?
A.: I will leave that to your Lordship to decide . . . (Laughter).
Mr. Justice Mason: I suppose you don’t deal with people of recognised positions, and whom you know, even although they are of colour?
