To lead with meaning is to lead by example. Gandhi took Thoreau's "civil nonviolent disobedience" and translated it into reality. He brought together a nation and two peoples and along the way Gandhi taught the world to listen - without weapons!

Grandfather Gandhi: Peace Was His Way

by Arun Gandhi

Fifty years ago, as a ten-year-old, I was growing up on a hundred-acre farm amid a sea of sugar cane fields in South Africa. Apartheid, the government policy of racial discrimination, had already burned its ugly brand across this fertile land. We lived on Phoenix, established by my grandfather who his followers insisted on calling Mahatma (Great Soul) Gandhi. He set up Phoenix in 1903 as the first Institute for Nonviolence. Now he was locked up in an Indian palace, where my grandmother died while in prison. Phoenix was the only island of sanity in a color-crazed South Africa. All prejudices, hate, anger, and discrimination were left outside its borders. Fifteen miles away in Durban, all these feelings were unleashed in gale force. On this Saturday afternoon in Durban, while others enjoyed a siesta, I walked to a little Ma and Pa store to spend the sixpence Dad had given me for candy, I ventured around another block. Behind me someone was whistling a lilting tune. It was a young Zulu, probably domestic help in a nearby home. Despite grinding prejudices and poverty, he was in a gay mood. Up ahead three white men, probably university students, loitered on the curbside. As I drew even with them, they decided to have some fun and excitement. They blocked my way and one garbed my collar. How dare you whistle in a white neighborhood, you m'kule," a derogatory corruption of coolie they called Indians, one shouted. Still whistling the Zulu passed us by. He seemed to derive some satisfaction out of my predicament. "I didn't whistle," I sputtered, "You lying m'kule," one spat out as he smashed his fist into my nose. All three pounced on me. Blows came from all sides. When I fell they kicked me in the ribs. Suddenly they stopped, looked around, and ran. I struggled up and ran in the opposite direction. Blood covered my face and shirt. I was bruised and my clothes were torn. This was my first encounter with the physical violence of apartheid. It filled me with tremendous rage. To suffer discrimination because one is considered black is bad enough. Suffering a beating for something I didn't do was another.

A few months later in another part of the city, I was stopped by several Zulus on a street corner. As I tried to pass, one of them tripped me. When I stumbled and fell, he kicked me in the ribs. Everyone was laughing. The wounds of humiliation from both blacks and whites would not heal. I joined a health club, subscribed to Charles Atlas' body-building program, and worked to become big and strong. My anger manifested itself in other ways. I became an introvert and collected stones and a brass "knuckle-buster" to protect myself. By then Grandfather was out of prison. It had been a long time since we visited the family in India, and my parents decided it was time to go. Although he was world famous, he lived simply in a place called Seva Gram (Service Village). All the homes were made of mud and bamboo, with thatched roofs. Many well-known political figures of the day, including Lord Mount Batten and Jawaharlal Nehru, who was to become India's first prime minister, traveled nearly five hundred miles from Bombay to confer with him.

In August 1947 his dream of a free India came to pass. He was deeply troubled by the violence between Hindus and Moslems which accompanied setting up the new nations of India and Pakistan. He had just ended a five-day fast dramatizing the need for friendship between these religious groups when he was shot to death by a Hindu assassin.

Grandfather was very much alive when we arrived from South Africa. One of the first things he did was to ask me to describe the circumstances of the beatings I had suffered. He listened intently as he put his arms around me in a gesture of love and comfort. "I can understand your anger," he said. "But do you know they acted out of ignorance? They do not know what they are doing." "Do you know," he went on, "that anger is like electricity?"When I asked what he meant, he told me, "Anger can be as powerful and destructive as electricity. Do you know what happens if a bolt of lightening falls somewhere or if you touch a live wire?" "Yes," I said. "It destroys or kills." "Well, anger is the same. If you don't harness your anger as we harness electricity then anger, too, will destroy and kill. Anger should be used the same way we use electricity," He encouraged me to write an anger diary. He said every time you feel the surge of anger, write your feeling in a diary. Writing will give you an outlet for your anger. and will also be a record of your feelings. When you are calm, you can read the diary and decided how you should have used the anger positively rather than negatively. At the end of my eighteen months visit with Grandfather, I understood much of the concept of peace that he taught and lived. He reserved an hour each day for me, irregardless of other events in his life.

Grandfather was convinced relationships must be built on unconditional love beginning at home. Those who believed and followed him practiced this nonviolent approach to life. In our home when we misbehaved, my parents took the punishment upon themselves. I remember on several occasions my mother or father, or sometimes both, skipped a meal because I had misbehaved. This punishment was so effective I would never do it again. At age sixteen, while living in South Africa, Dad asked me to drive him to Durban so he could attend a day-long conference. I had to do a few chores and get the car serviced before picking him up at a prearranged intersection. Being an avid fan of Hollywood films, I spent the afternoon in a theater. I was so absorbed in the movie that I did not realize it was past five. When I got out it was almost 5:30. I ran to the garage and drove as quickly as I could to where Dad was waiting. He was worried. I could see the relief on his face when he saw me drive up. "What happened?" he asked in a concerned tone. I felt ashamed to say I was watching a movie and so I lied. "The car was not ready." Father looked at me with hurt in his eyes. "That is not true," he said."I called them and they said the car was ready long ago." "Please stop here," Father said and when I did, he added in a voice of anguish, "There has to be something wrong in me that you felt you had to lie to me. There must be some fault in the way I brought you up. As penance for this, I am going to walk home." Father got out and started walking. I did not know what to do. I cursed myself for having lied. I could not leave Father behind and drive home. Most of the way Father would have to walk through farm lands at night. I crept along behind him for four and a half hours. After that experience, I was determined never to lie again.

My father had learned this from the man the world knew as Mahatma Gandhi. I learned many important lessons from this man, too. He called himself a Universalist (respecting all religions of the world). He spent hours studying the Bible and the life of Christ. He particularly liked the philosophy Christ expounded in his Sermon on the Mount. He had many Christian friends. When they asked him why he didn't become a Christian since he admired the Sermon on the Mount so much, he answered, "When you can convince me that Christians live by it, I will be the first to become a Christian." On one occasion Grandfather said to me, "There is only one God. We human beings have given God different names and found different ways of worship. If we are all going to the dinning room, does it matter which direction we come from?" Later he said we must learn to respect the right of every individual to seek God in the way he or she feels comfortable.

To show the oneness of all human endeavors to seek salvation, we should learn about each other's ways and respect them. He believed, as I am trying to teach through the M.K. Gandhi Institute for Nonviolence at Christian Brothers University in Memphis, that it is worthless to study the scriptures if we cannot use them in our daily living.

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