I would like to introduce to the reader one out of the several leading Indians who constituted the first batch of prisoners, Shri Thambi Naidoo. Thambi Naidoo was a Tamilian born in Mauritius where his parents had migra¬ ted from Madras State. He was an ordinary trader. He had practically received no scholastic education what¬ ever. But a wide experience had been his schoolmaster.
He spoke and wrote English very well, although his gramm¬ ar was not perhaps free from faults. In the same way he had acquired a knowledge of Tamil. He understood and spoke Hindustani fairly well and he had some knowledge of Telugu too, though he did not know the alphabets of these languages. Again, he had a very good knowledge of the Creole dialect current in Mauritius which is a sort of corrupt French, and he knew of course the language of the Negroes. A working knowledge of so many languages was not a rare accomplishment among the Indians of South Africa, hundreds of whom could claim -a general s acquain¬ tance with all these languages. These men become such good linguists almost without effort. And that is because their brains are not fatigued by education received through the medium of a foreign tongue, their memory is sharp, and they acquire these different languages simply by talk¬ ing with people who speak them and by observation. This does not involve any considerable strain on their brains but on the other hand the easy mental exercise leads to a natural development of their intellect. Such was the case with Thambi Naidoo. He had a very keen intelligence and could grasp new subjects very quickly. His ever-ready wit was astonishing. He had never seen India. Yet his love for the homeland knew no bounds. Patriotism ran through his very veins. His firmness was pictured on his face. He was very strongly built and he possessed tireless energy. He shone equally whether he had to take the chair at meetings and lead them, or whether he had to do porter’s work. He would not be ashamed of carrying a load on the public roads.
Night and day were the same to him when he set to work. And none was more ready than he to sacrifice his all for the sake of the community. If Thambi Naidoo had not been rash and if he had been free from anger, this brave man could easily have assumed the leadership of the com¬ munity in the Transvaal in the absence of Kachhalia. His irritability had not still worked for evil while the Trans¬ vaal struggle lasted, and his invaluable qualities had shone forth like jewels. But, later on, I heard that his anger and his rashness had proved to be his worst enemies, and eclipsed his good qualities. However that may be, the name of Thambi Naidoo must ever remain as one of the front rank in the history of Satyagraha in South Africa.
The Magistrate conducted each case separately, and ordered all the accused to leave the Transvaal within forty-eight hours in some cases and seven or fourteen days in others.
The time limit expired on January 10, 1908 and the same day we were called upon to attend court for sentence.
None of us had to offer any defence. All were to plead guilty to the charge of disobeying the order to leave the Transvaal within the stated period, issued by the Magist¬ rate on failure to satisfy him that they were lawful holders of certificates of registration.
I asked leave to make a short statement, and on its being granted, I said I thought there should be a distinc¬ tion made between my case and those that were to follow. I had just heard from Pretoria that my compatriots there had been sentenced to three months’ imprisonment with hard labour, and had been fined a heavy amount, in lieu of payment of which they would receive a further period of three months’ hard labour. If these men had committed an offence, I had committed a greater offence and I there¬ fore asked the Magistrate to impose upon me the heaviest penalty. The Magistrate, however, did not agree to my request and sentenced me to two months’ simple imprison¬ ment. I had some slight feeling of awkwardness due to the fact that I was standing as an accused in the very Court where I had often appeared as counsel. But I well remember that I considered the former role as far more honourable than the latter, and did not ‘feel the slightest hesitation in entering the prisoner’s box.
In the court there were hundreds of Indians as well as brother members of the Bar in front of me. On the sentence being pronounced I was at once removed in custody and was then quite alone. The policeman asked me to sit on a bench kept there for prisoners, shut the door on me and went away. I was somewhat agitated and fell into deep thought. Home, the Courts where I prac¬ tised, the public meeting, — all these passed away like a dream, and I was now a prisoner. What would happen in two months? Would I have to serve the full term? If the people courted imprisonment in large numbers, as they had promised, there would be no question of serving the full sentence. But if they failed to fill the prisons, two months would be as tedious as an age. These thoughts passed through my mind in less than one hundredth of the time that it has taken me to dictate them. And they filled me with shame. How vain I was! I, who had asked the people to consider the prisons as His Majesty’s hotels, the suffering consequent upon disobeying the Black Act as perfect bliss, and the sacrifice of one’s all and of life itself in resisting it as supreme enjoyment! Where had all this knowledge vanished today? This second train of thought acted upon me as a bracing tonic, and I began to laugh at my own folly. I began to think what kind of imprisonment would be awarded to the others and whe¬ ther they would be kept with me in the prison. But I was disturbed by the police officer who opened the gate and asked me to follow him, which I did. He then made me go before him, following me himself, took me to the prison¬ ers’ closed van and asked me to take my seat in it. I was driven to Johannesburg jail.
In jail I was asked to put off my own private clothing. I knew that convicts were made naked in jail. We had all decided as Satyagrahis voluntarily to obey all jail regulations so long as they were not inconsistent with our self-respect or with our religious convictions. The clothes which were given to me to wear were very dirty. I did not like putting them on at all. It was not without pain that I reconciled myself to them from an idea that I must put up with some dirt. After the officers had recorded my name and address, I was taken to a large cell, and in a short time was joined by my compatriots who came laugh¬ ing and told me how they had received the same sentence as myself, and what took place after I had been removed.
I understood from them that when my case was over, the Indians, some of whom were excited, took out a procession with black flags in their hands. The police disturbed the procession and flogged some of its members. We were all happy at the thought that we were kept in the same jail and in the same cell.
The cell door was locked at 6 o’clock. The door was not made of bars but was quite solid, there being high up in the wall a small aperture for ventilation, so that we felt as if we had been locked up in a safe.
No wonder the jail authorities did not accord us the good treatment which they had meted out to Rama Sundara. As Rama Sundara was the first Satyagrahi prisoner, the authorities had no idea how he should be treated. Our batch was fairly large and further arrests were in con¬ templation. We were therefore kept in the Negro ward. In Soth Africa only two classes of convicts are recogniz¬ ed, namely Whites and Blacks, i.e. the Negroes, and the Indians were classed with Negroes.
The next morning we found that prisoners without hard labour had the right to keep on their own private clothing, and if they would not exercise this right, they were given special jail clothing assigned to that class of prisoners. We decided that it was not right to put on our own clothing and that it was appropriate to take the jail uniform, and we informed the authorities accordingly. We were therefore given the clothes assigned to Negro convicts not punished with hard labour. But Negro prison¬ ers sentenced to simple imprisonment are never numerous, and hence there was a shortage of simple imprisonment prisoners’ clothing as soon as other Indians sentenced to simple imprisonment began to arrive. As the Indians did not wish to stand upon ceremony in this matter, they readily accepted clothing assigned to hard labour prisoners.
Some of those who came in later preferred to keep on their own clothing rather than put on the uniform of the hard labour convicts. I thought this improper, but did not care to insist upon their following the correct procedure in the matter.
From the second or third day Satyagrahi prisoners began to arrive in large numbers. They had all courted arrest and were most of them hawkers. In South Africa every hawker, Black or White, has to take out a licence, always to carry it with him and show it to the police when asked to do so. Nearly every day some policeman would ask to see the licences and arrest those who had none to show. The community had resolved to fill up the jail after our arrests. In this the hawkers took the lead. It was easy for them to be arrested. They only had to refuse to show their licences and that was enough to ensure their arrest.
In this way the number of Satyagrahi prisoners swelled to more than a hundred in one week. And as a few were sure to arrive every day, we received the daily budget of news without a newspaper. When Satyagrahis began to be arrest¬ ed in large numbers, they were sentenced to imprisonment with hard labour, either because the magistrates lost patien¬ ce, or because, as we thought, they received some such instructions from the Government. Even today, I think we were right in our conjecture, as, if we leave out the first few cases in which simple imprisonment was awarded, never afterwards throughout the long drawn out struggle was there pronounced a sentence of simple imprisonment, even ladies having been punished with hard labour. If all the magistrates had not received the same orders or instruc¬ tions, and if yet by mere coincidence they sentenced all men and women at all times to hard labour, that must be held to be almost a miracle.
In Johannesburg jail prisoners not condemned to hard labour got ‘mealie pap5 in the morning. There was no salt in it, but each prisoner was given some salt sepa¬ rately. At noon the prisoners were given four ounces of rice, four ounces of bread, one ounce of ghi and a little salt, and in the evening ‘mealie pap5 and some vegetable,, chiefly potatoes of which two were given if they were small and only one if they were big in size. None of us were satis¬ fied with this diet. The rice was cooked soft. We asked the prison medical officer for some condiments, and told him that condiments were allowed in the jails in India. ‘This is not India’, was the stern answer. ‘There is no question of taste about prison diet and condiments therefore can not be allowed.’ We asked for pulse on the ground that the regulation diet was lacking in muscle-building properties. ‘Prisoners must not indulge in arguments on medical groun¬ ds,’ replied the doctor. ‘You do get muscle-building food, as twice a week you are served boiled beans instead of maize.’ The doctor’s argument was sound if the human sto¬ mach was capable of extracting the various elements out of various foods taken at various times in a week or fort¬ night. As a matter of fact he had no intention whatever of looking to our convenience. The Superintendent permitted us to cook our food ourselves. We elected Thambi Naidoo as our chef, and as such he had to fight many a battle on our behalf. If the vegetable ration issued was short in weight, he would insist on getting full weight. On vegetable days which were two in a week we cooked twice and on other days only once, as we were allowed to cook other things for ourselves only for the noon-day meal. We were some¬ what better off after we began to cook our own food.
But whether or not we succeeded in obtaining these conveniences, every one of us was firm in his resolution of passing his term in jail in perfect happiness and peace. The number of Satyagrahi prisoners gradually rose to over 150. As we were all simple imprisonment convicts, we had no work to do except keeping the cells etc. clean. We asked the Superintendent for work, and he replied: T am sorry I cannot give you work, as, if I did, I should be held to have committed an offence. But you can devote as much time as you please to keeping the place clean.’ We asked for some such exercise as drill, as we had observed even the Negro prisoners with hard labour being drilled in addition to their usual work. The Superintendent replied, ‘If your warder has time and if he gives you drill, I will not object to it; nor will I require him to do it, as he is hard worked as it is, and your arrival in unexpectedly large numbers has made his work harder still.’ The warder was a good man and this qualified permission was quite enough for him. He began to drill us every morning with great interest. This drill must be performed in the small yard before our cells and was therefore in the nature of a merry-go-round. When the warder finished the drill and went away, it was continued by a Pathan compatriot of ours named Nawabkhan, who made us all laugh with his quaint pronunciation of English words of command. He rendered ‘Stand at ease5 as ‘sundlies.5 We could not for the life of us understand what Hindustani word it was, but afterwards it dawned upon us that it was no Hindustani but only Nawabkhani English.
CHAPTER XXI THE FIRST SETTLEMENT We had thus been in jail for a fortnight, when fresh arrivals brought the news that there were going on some negotiations about a compromise with the Government. After two or three days Mr Albert Cartwright, editor of The Transvaal Leader, a Johannesburg daily, came to see me.
All the daily papers then conducted in Johannesburg were the property of one or the other of the European owners of the gold mines, but except in cases where the interests of these magnates were at stake, the editors were unfettered in the expression of their own views on all public questions. Only very able and well-known men were selected as editors. For instance the editor of The Daily Star had formerly been Private Secretary to Lord Milner, and later went to England to take Mr Buckle’s place as editor of The Times. Mr Albert Cartwright of The Transvaal Leader was as broad-minded as he was able. He had almost always supported the Indian cause in his columns. He and I had become good friends. He saw General Smuts after I was sent to jail. General Smuts welcomed his mediation. Mr Cartwright thereupon met the Indian leaders, who said, ‘We know nothing about THE FIRST SETTLEMENT legal technicalities, and cannot possibly talk about com¬ promise so long as Gandhi is in prison. We desire settle¬ ment, but if Government wants it while our men are in jail, you should see Gandhi. We will ratify any arrange¬ ment which he accepts.’
Mr Cartwright thus came to see me and brought with him terms of settlement drafted or approved of by General Smuts. I did not like the vague language of the document, but was all the same prepared myself to put my signa¬ ture to it with one alteration. However, I informed Mr Cartwright, that I could not sign it without consulting my fellow-prisoners, even if I took the consent of the Indians outside prison for granted.
The substance of the proposed settlement was that the Indians should register voluntarily, and not under any law; that the details to be entered in the new certificates of registration should be settled by Government in con¬ sultation with the Indian community, and, that if the majority of the Indians underwent voluntary registration. Government should repeal the Black Act, and take steps with a view to legalize the voluntary registration. The draft did not make quite clear the condition which requ¬ ired Government to repeal the Black Act. I therefore suggest¬ ed a change calculated to place this beyond all doubt from my own standpoint.
Mr Cartwright did not like even this little addition and said, ‘General Smuts considers this draft to be final. I have approved of it myself, and I can assure you that if you all undergo re-registration, the Black Act is bound to be repealed.’
I replied, ‘Whether or not there is a settlement, we shall always be grateful to you for your kindness and help. I should not like to suggest a single unnecessary altera¬ tion in the draft. I do not object to such language as would uphold the prestige of Government. But where I myself am doubtful about the meaning, I must certainly suggest a change of language, and if there is to be a settlement after all, both the parties must have the right to alter the draft. General Smuts need not confront us with an ultima¬ tum, saying that these terms are final. He has already aimed one pistol in the shape of the Black Act at the Indians. What can he hope to gain by aiming a second?’
Mr Cartwright had nothing to say against this argu¬ ment, and he promised to place my suggestion for the change before General Smuts.
I consulted my fellow-prisoners. They too did not like the language, but agreed to the settlement if General Smuts would accept the draft with my amendment. New-comers to jail had brought a message from the leaders outside, that I should accept any suitable compromise without waiting for their consent. I got Messers Leuing Quinn and Thambi Naidoo to sign the draft along with myself and handed it to Mr Cartwright.
The second or third day, on January 30, 1908, Mr Vernon, the Superintendent of Police, Johannesburg, took me to Pretoria to meet General Smuts, with whom I had a good deal of talk. He told me what had passed between him and Mr Cartwright. He congratulated me on the Indian community having remained firm even after my imprisonment, and said, T could never entertain a dislike for your people. You know I too am a barrister.
I had some Indian fellow students in my time. But I must do my duty. The Europeans want this law, and you will agree with me, that these are mostly not Boers, but English¬ men. I accept the alteration you have suggested in the draft. I have consulted General Botha also, and I assure you that I will repeal the Asiatic Act as soon as most of you have undergone voluntary registration. When the bill legalizing such registration is drafted, I will send you a copy for your criticism. I do not wish there should be any recurrence of the trouble, and I wish to respect the feelings of your people.’
So saying General Smuts rose. I asked him, ‘Where am I to go? And what about the other prisoners?’
The General laughed and said, ‘You are free this very moment. I am ‘phoning to the prison officials to release the other prisoners tomorrow morning. But I must advise you not to go in for many meetings or demonstrations, as in that case Government will find itself in an awkward position.’
I replied, ‘You may rest assured, that there will not be a single meeting simply for the sake of it. But I will certainly have to hold meetings in order to explain to the community how the settlement was effected, what is its nature and scope, and how it has added to our responsi¬ bilities.5 cOf such meetings,5 said General Smuts, you may have as many as you please. It is sufficient that you have under¬ stood what I desire in the matter.5 It was then seven o’clock in the evening. I had not a single farthing in my pocket. The secretary of General Smuts gave me the railway fare to Johannesburg. There was no need to stop at Pretoria and announce the settle¬ ment to the Indians there. The leaders were all in Johan¬ nesburg, which was our headquarters. There was now only one more train for Johannesburg, and I was able to catch it.
CHAPTER XXII CHAPTER XXII I reached Johannesburg at about 9 p.m. and went direct to the Chairman, Sheth Yusuf Mian. He knew that I had been taken to Pretoria, and was hence rather expecting me. Still it was a pleasant surprise for him and others to find me unaccompanied by a warder. I suggested that a meeting should be called at once with such attendance as was possible at a very short notice. The Chairman and other friends agreed with me. As most of the Indians lived in the same quarter, it was not difficult to send round notice of the proposed meeting. The Chairman’s house was near the mosque, and meetings were usually held on the grounds of the mosque. There was hence not much to be done by way of arrangement for the meeting. It was enough to have one light on the platform. The meeting was held that very night at about 11 or 12 p.m. The audie¬ nce numbered nearly a thousand, in spite of the shortness of the notice and the late hour.
Before the meeting was held, I had explained the terms of the settlement to the leaders present. A few op¬ posed the settlement. But all of them understood the situ¬ ation after they had heard me. Every one of them, how¬ ever, was troubled by one doubt, ‘What if General Smuts broke faith with us? The Black Act might not be enforced but it would always hang over our heads like Damocles’ sword. If in the meanwhile we registered voluntarily, we would have knowingly played in the adversary’s hands, and surrendered the most powerful weapon in our possess¬ ion for resisting the Act. The right order for the settlement was, that the Act should be repealed first and then we should be called upon to register voluntarily.5 I liked this argument. I felt proud of the keen commonsense and high courage of those who advanced it, and saw that such was the stuff of which Satyagrahis were made. In answer to that argument I observed: ‘It is an excellent argument and deserves serious consideration. There would be nothing like it, if we registered voluntarily only after the Act was repealed. But then it would not be in the nature of a compromise. Compromise means that both the parties make large concessions on all points except where a principle is involved. Our principle is, that we would not submit to the Black Act, and therefore, would not, in virtue of it, do even such things as were otherwise unobjectionable; and to this principle we must adhere at all costs. The principle with the Government is, that in order to prevent the illegal entry of Indians into the Transvaal, it must get many Indians to take out nontransferable permits with marks of identification and thus set the suspicions of the Europeans at rest and allay all their fears; and the Government can never give it up on their part. We have admitted this principle of the Govern¬ ment by our conduct up to date, and therefore even if we feel like resisting it we may not do so until we find fresh grounds for such a departure. Our struggle aimed not at the abrogation of this principle but at removing the stigma which the Black Act sought to attach to the community.
If, therefore, we now utilize the new and powerful force which has sprung up in the community for gaining a fresh point, it would ill become us, who claim to be Satyagrahis. Consequently, we cannot justly object to the present settlement. As for the argument that we must not sur¬ render our weapons before the Act is repealed, it is easily answered. A Satyagrahi bids __good-bye to fear. He is there- v opponent plays him false twenty times” the Satyagrahi is ready to trust him for the twenty-first time, for an impli¬ cit trust in human nature is the very essence of his creed.
Again to say that in trusting the Government we play into their hands is to betray an ignorance of the principles of Satyagraha. Suppose we register voluntarily, but the Govern¬ ment commits a breach of faith and fails to redeem its promise to repeal the Act. Could we not then resort to Satyagraha? If we refused to show at the proper time the certificates of registration we take out, our registration would count for nothing, and Government could not distin¬ guish between ourselves and the Indians who might enter the Transvaal surreptitiously. Therefore, whether there is or there is not any law in force, the Government cannot exercise control over us without our co-operation. The existence of a law means, that if we refuse to accept the restriction sought to be imposed through it by the Govern¬ ment, we are liable to punishment, and generally it so happens, that the fear of punishment leads men to submit to the restriction. But a Satyagrahi differs from the genera¬ lity of men in this, that if he submits to a restriction, he submits voluntarily, not because he is afraid of punish¬ ment, but because he thinks that such submission is essential to the common weal. And such is precisely our position regarding registration, which cannot be affected by any breach of faith, however flagrant, on the part of the Govern¬ ment. We are the creators of this position of ours, and we alone can change it. We are fearless and free, so long as we have the weapon of Satyagraha in our hands. And if any thinks that the community may not be as strong after¬ wards as it is today, I should say that he is not a Satya¬ grahi nor has he any understanding of Satyagraha. That would mean that the present strength of the community is not real strength but is in the nature of a momentary effervescence or intoxication, and if that is so, we do not deserve to win, and the fruits of victory will slip out of our hands even if we win. Suppose the Government first abrogates the Act and we then register voluntarily. Sup¬ pose further that the Government afterwards enacts the same obnoxious law and compels the Indians to register. What can then prevent the Government from pursuing such a course of action? And if we are doubtful about our strength today, then too shall we be in an equally bad case. From whatever standpoint, therefore, we examine the settlement, it may be said that the community not only will not lose but will on the other hand gain by the compromise. And I am also of opinion, that when our opponents recognize our humility and sense of justice, they would give up or at least mitigate their opposition.5 I was thus able fully to satisfy the one or two of the small company who struck a discordant note, but I did not then even dream of the storm which was to break out at the midnight meeting. I explained all the terms of the settlement to the meeting and said: