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Chapter 2
Living Nonviolence: Arun Gandhi
Arun Gandhi, grandson of the late Indian spiritual and political leader Mahatma
Gandhi, is among the most respected and influential figures in the international peace
movement. He was born in South Africa where he was subject to the daily injustices of
apartheid and yet raised in a family that taught him that justice does not mean revenge
but rather transforming the other through love. Arun is the founder of the M.K. Gandhi
Institute for Nonviolence and the author of five books including World Without Violence
and Testament to Truth.
Arun Gandhi was destined to a life of activism, especially in the
promotion of peace through nonviolence. His father, Manilal, was a major figure
in the protest of apartheid in South Africa, eventually spending about 14 years in
prison for his efforts. Manilal was the second son of Mahatma Gandhi, perhaps
the most revered figure in the history of promoting peace on this planet.
When South Africa became too dangerous for the young boy, 12 year old
Arun was sent to India to live with his grandfather until Mahatma’s
assassination in 1948. Among Arun’s most prominent memories of his time
during apartheid were of the constant discrimination and oppression he
experienced because of his dark skin. He had become an angry and bitter youth,
resentful of the ways he and his people were treated, and yet mistrustful of the
overtures by his grandfather to reach out to him. Although Arun is now the
founder the M. K. Gandhi Institute for Nonviolence, a center dedicated to the
promotion of peace and an understanding of nonviolence throughout the world,

24
his transformation from anger and resentment to a life devoted to the practice of
nonviolence was not an easy one. The foundations of his spiritual transformation
were laid during the two-year period of his life that he lived with his
grandfather. It was a time of great danger and turmoil, the birth of India as a
nation. Mahatma Gandhi was assassinated for his efforts as a leader of
nonviolent political activism; his grandson has kept Mahatma’s principles alive
through his own efforts as a scholar, teacher, journalist, and spokesperson for
world peace.
Arun has patterned his life after the model set by his grandfather. He has
not only lectured and written about the importance of nonviolence but has tried
his best to live without anger. “Anger represents an attempt to control others,”
Arun explained, “but it never works in the long run. It is best to control with love
rather than fear.” For Arun Gandhi, fifth grandson of Mahatma and carrier of his
legacy, this path was forged during the last years of his childhood, a time when
his grandfather was one of the most famous and powerful figures in the world.
Escape From Prejudice
Arun Gandhi grew up in a small community in South Africa. From the
earliest age he witnessed both of his parents committed to Mahatma’s principle
of political activism through a path of total nonviolence. Yet even with such
distinguished parents and grandfather, Arun was without much interest in

25
education, learning, or much of anything for that matter. He was a
disappointment to his father who had high expectations for his son, hoping that
he might continue the family political legacy. Whereas Mahatma had restricted
his own children a formal education, Arun’s father had decided that his children
would be given opportunities that were denied to him.
It was during a visit to India, that Manilal confided to his father,
Mahatma, that he could do nothing with the boy. “He is without motivation,” he
said, shaking his head.
“Let him stay with me then,” Mahatma suggested. “I will see what I can
do with him.”
In fact, Arun never discovered the plan hatched by his father and
grandfather until some years later when he read a letter that Mahatma had
written to his home saying: “Don’t worry. Arun may seem playful right now. But
he has compassion and love in abundance. He’ll do wonderful things some day.
You need not be concerned about his education. I will do what I can to help
him.”
As disorienting as it was for the young boy to leave his country and home
to live in India, Arun was actually relieved to be away from the constant
prejudice and racism that was so pervasive throughout South Africa at the time.
For the first time in his life he was living in a place in which everyone else was

26
pretty much just like him. The country was still under British rule, but India
afforded many more opportunities that were not possible back home. Besides, he
was tired of being beaten up all the time—given the convictions of his parents, it
was totally unacceptable for him to defend himself with physical violence.
Lessons From Grandfather
One of the first lessons that Mahatma Gandhi taught his grandson was
about understanding anger and being able to use that energy more
constructively. Mahatma saw that one of the biggest obstacles to world peace,
and one of the main impediments to creating a world of nonviolence, was that
most people did not understand anger.
“Of course,” Arun recalled, “Grandfather would never just give a lecture
to me about anger. Instead he had a unique way of teaching. I remember one
time I’d had a tiff with a fellow. We had been playing with some other kids in the
community and we had some sort of disagreement. I was absolutely furious for
having been singled out. I already had enough of that in my life back in South
Africa so I wasn’t going to take it in India as well.”
A gang of kids had picked on Arun because he spoke with a different
accent. He was new in the neighborhood and so an easy target. He stormed into
his grandfather’s study where he was busy writing something. Arun was in a
rage, with tears steaming down his face.

27
“What’s happened to you?” Mahatma said with concern, putting down
his pen to study the boy trembling in fury.”
A torrent of anger and frustration boiled out of Arun as he described how
he had been bullied. He wasn’t going to take this kind of thing all over again. It
wasn’t fair. And he was tired of always being the one who was picked on.
“Please sit down,” Mahatma said a voice that was both commanding and
soothing. Grandfather never raised his voice, never spoke above a conversational
whisper.
Arun shifted from one foot to the other, then lowered his eyes and sat
down with exasperation. He crossed his arms and studied the floor, waiting for
the scolding he knew was coming his way.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you, son. Your parents told me a bit about
what you suffered back in South Africa. I was raised there as well so I know
something about what you experienced there.”
Arun scowled, thinking to himself that Grandfather—or anyone else for
that matter—couldn’t possibly understand what he’d been through.
“I notice you have a lot of anger in you,” Mahatma continued. Then, he
said the most unexpected thing: “You know, anger can be a very good thing
sometimes.”
Arun looked up and met his grandfather’s gaze for the first time.

28
“But only if it is used positively and for good purposes. But if we abuse
anger, then we can destroy ourselves and ruin everything around us. It is very
important that you learn this.”
Mahatma realized he had the boy’s attention but he still looked skeptical,
just as one would expect from someone who had been filled with anger for so
long. “Anger is like electricity in some ways,” Mahatma said as he pointed to the
light. “Electricity can be very useful if we use it intelligently. But it can be just as
deadly if we abuse it. So it is a matter of channeling electricity intelligently so
that it makes life better. It is the same with your anger.”
Arun realized he was indeed being chastised in a way, but with
compassion and understanding. He wasn’t sure he understood everything that
Grandfather was saying about this electricity stuff, and he was still pretty
doubtful about the benefits of surrendering his anger—the main emotion that
defined his being—but there was something awfully compelling about what he
heard.
“I want you to do something for me, boy. Will you do something I ask that
might be helpful to you?”
Arun shrugged noncommittally. There was no way he was going to agree
to something, especially with his grandfather who was so persuasive he could
defeat the mighty British Empire with his stubborn will and silky words.

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“What I want you to do is to write down some of your feelings just as you
see me doing here at my desk. I will give you a journal. For you it will be an
anger journal. I want you to write down the way you feel every time that anger
takes you over. But rather than just spilling out your emotions I want you to find
an alternative solution to the problem you face. Do you understand what I’m
asking you to do?”
Arun nodded his understanding, but then realized that could be
interpreted as an agreement what appeared at the time like a silly thing.
“When you go back and read what you’ve written,” Mahatma said, “I
want you to be able to find an equitable solution rather than getting angry all
over again. The anger journal must become a textbook of your emotions that will
teach you how to deal with situations in the future.”
Arun didn’t know what to think. He had come in to see his grandfather,
hoping for a little sympathy. Instead he got a homework assignment, and one
that seemed extremely difficult at that.
During the next few months, Mahatma met with his grandson every day
to review the anger journal and discuss alternative ways that Arun might use his
anger more constructively instead of lashing out at others and letting the feelings
of hate eat him up inside. “A lot of the violence in the world today,” Mahatma
summarized for his grandson, “is the result of the kind of anger you have been

30
feeling. People lose control of themselves when they are angry. They do and say
things that are hurtful toward others. This changes the course of their lives in
many unforeseen ways.
It wasn’t so much what his grandfather was saying to him, as the way he
said it, that so impressed the 12 year old boy. Mahatma radiated an aura of peace
not only when he was addressing a crowd but even when alone with his
grandson. “The moment I entered the room with Grandfather, I felt my anger go
away. I felt really happy for the first time. And I felt encouraged that I had other
options for the ways I could lead my life.”
Testing Grandfather’s Beliefs
Although it might sound like Arun’s spiritual and psychological
transformation took place within a matter of weeks, or even months, it was
actually two challenging years before the lessons began to really sink in. Arun
was, after all, a difficult, obstinate child and even the great Mahatma Gandhi
could not work miracles right away.
During these last two years of Mahatma’s life, before he was murdered, he
was involved in so many important activities. He was not only fighting for
India’s independence from Britain. He was advocating for the emancipation of
women in India. Perhaps most groundbreaking of all, he was fighting for greater
equality among the castes so that the so-called “untouchables” would be given

31
greater economic and educational opportunities. He was launching programs left
and right to fight poverty and prejudice. And yet one of his most challenging
programs of all was the mentoring of his wayward grandson.
Gandhi had to operate only with funds he could raise himself; the official
British-controlled government refused to support the efforts of their most
notorious, rabble rousing citizen. Since people journeyed from all over the
region, from all parts of the world, to gain an audience with Mahatma Gandhi,
he decided to charge a fee of 5 rupees for those who wished his autograph.
Petitioners began lining up outside his home early in the morning, hundreds
strong, hoping to obtain his signature on a bit of paper. They would assemble for
an interdenominational prayer service led by the great leader. Some would
return day after day because they just wanted to contribute money to Gandhi’s
efforts on behalf of the poor.
It was one of Arun’s responsibilities that he was to greet the people each
day, collect their contributions and materials they wanted autographed. He
would then bring them to his grandfather sign.
“One day, I decided that it was time I got an autograph of my own from
my illustrious grandfather. Surely I deserved one too since I was his grandson.”
Arun bought himself a little autograph book and slipped it into the pile he

32
had collected that day. There were stacks of books, journals, notebooks, slips of
paper, so surely his would not be noticed.
As Mahatma made his way through the stack, signing his name to the
various materials, he noticed that the one little autograph book had no money
attached to it. Since the purpose of this whole enterprise was to raise money to
feed the poor, he was careful to keep accurate accounts. “What is this one for?”
he asked his grandson.
“It is my book,” Arun said defiantly. “I want your autograph like all the
others.”
Mahatma smiled gently but shook his head. “I am sorry, boy, but if you
want my signature you shall have to pay 5 rupees for it like everyone else. This
cannot be money from your parents but must be the result of your own labor.”
“No way!” Arun said, the whole proposition seeming absolutely
ridiculous. “You are my grandfather. You must give me the autograph for free.”
Mahatma laughed. “Alright, then. Let’s see who wins this dispute.”
Obviously, Arun had not stopped to consider that he challenged the single
most strong-minded person on the planet to a duel of wills. This was the man
who brought the British government to its knees by going on a hunger strike. Yet
in his youthful arrogance, Arun was determined to win this battle. During the
previous years he had been doing most of what he had been told. He had even

33
applied the lessons he learned about anger. Yet Arun retained some of his
previous mischievousness and stubbornness. He was tired of always having to
be obedient and do what he was told. He was entitled to some reward and
asking for five seconds of his grandfather’s time to sign his autograph book did
not seem like asking too much. He knew there was supposed to be some lesson
in this, as there was in most of Grandfather’s actions, but he couldn’t figure out
what it was.
Arun had heard his grandfather’s sermons and lessons about converting
anger into productive action but he couldn’t recall a single time that he had ever
seen him angry, or even lose his unflappable calm. Arun would watch his
grandfather greet high level British and Indian officials, generals of the army,
foreign diplomats—all of them maneuvering for some leverage, and yet
Mahatma would remain unfailingly polite and calm. Arun decided to make it his
personal mission in life to get his grandfather angry.
The next day, Mahatma was closeted in the study with several high-
ranking officials from the British government, negotiating for India’s
independence. They were all sitting around a table, the stuffy politicians in their
proper suits, speaking in the careful, tedious language of diplomacy. All of a
sudden, in the middle of the debate about some arcane nuance of negotiations,
Arun barged into the room.

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“Grandfather, Grandfather,” Arun announced breathlessly, running up to
Mahatma. “Will you sign my book now so I don’t bother you? I promise I’ll go
away and leave you in peace and not interrupt you any more. All you have to do
is just sign my book and I’ll. . .”
Mahatma reached over to his grandson, smiling apologetically toward the
assemblage of officials in attendance. He gently placed a single finger vertically
across Arun’s lips, quieting him for the moment. Then he gently pulled his
grandson’s head towards his chest and held it there while he continued the
conversation with the diplomats.
This ritual continued day after day. Arun would burst into the room
unannounced, run over to his grandfather trying to make a nuisance of himself at
the most inopportune moments. And each time, Mahatma would smile
indulgently and bring his grandson’s head to his heart, holding it there until the
boy capitulated.
“He just went on talking politics, negotiating with the ministers, keeping
his focus on the discussion, all the while holding me in his strong, loving arms.
The really strange thing is that I can’t recall a single time when he ever lost his
temper, appeared annoyed, or impatient with me. He never even asked me to
leave the room—I did that of my own accord after I became bored.

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“Never, in all the dozens of times I burst in on him, interrupted his
important meetings, did he ever do anything other than to hold me until my
boisterous energy dissipated. He never did become angry, at least in any way I
could detect. And he never gave me his autograph.”
Common Threads
Arun Gandhi’s introduction to nonviolent practice at the feet of his
grandfather formed the foundation for his spiritual mission in life, that is, to
continue Mahatma Gandhi’s work. In their home they practiced a very different
kind of prayer, one that incorporated the hymns of all the major religions of the
world. “We would sing Christian hymns, as well as those of Hinduism,
Buddhism, Judaism, and Islam. There were no religious symbols present in our
religious services except candles. This way everyone who visited us, whatever
their beliefs and backgrounds, could feel comfortable and welcome. This was an
amazing experience for me as a boy to see how it was possible for so many
different people to join hands and pray together. There is only one God but
he/she has many different images.”
In his own writing, Arun has talked about the common threads that run
throughout all religions—love, compassion, understanding, commitment, respect
for all things and people. “We believed in our family that all religious practices
should take us closer and closer to nonviolence. Religion, in whatever form,

36
should help banish hate and anger and prejudice and discrimination toward
others. True religion is based on love and compassion. This was the kind of
religion practiced by my grandfather.”
Arun is still bewildered by the way that different religions have become
so competitive with one another, seeing opposing beliefs as a threat. “That is
why we have so much violence in today’s world. Everyone is competing to prove
that their religion in better than everyone else’s. This dispute is not only
diminishing all religious practice but destroying ourselves in the process.”
There are many people today who consider themselves profoundly
religious. They attend services regularly. They practice the rituals to the letter of
the law. They donate money to their temple, church, mosque, or synagogue.
They purport to follow the most strict tenets of the Bible, Koran, Torah, or
scriptures. Yet in their behavior they continue to manifest strong anger, abuse,
disrespect, and violence toward others. Apart from terrorists who commit acts of
murder in the name of their religious faith, every day we witness acts of cruelty,
madness, and abuse in our daily lives. We see people losing their tempers over
the most insignificant things. They become enraged if someone inadvertently
cuts them off on the freeway, screaming obscenities and threatening violence
toward the offender—all the while sporting a bumper sticker advertising their
strong religious convictions.

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“It is unfortunate that this passes off for religion today. People sometimes
fail to understand there is a difference between practicing religion and living it.
True spirituality involves infusing one’s beliefs and attitudes into relationships
with others. Religion has been reduced to mere rituals. We think that just
practicing particular ceremonies, saying certain prayers or incantations, is all it
takes to bring us blessings in life. But this is not true. They are meaningless
words unless people behave in ways that are consistent with their espoused
beliefs.”
This was Mahatma Gandhi’s lesson to his grandson. He did not explain
himself. He did not lecture or give advice. He lived his life according to his most
cherished beliefs and hoped that his example might inspire others to do the
same. And yet he did this with perfect humility.
Perfect Host
Through his work at the Gandhi Institute for Nonviolence, as well as the
ways he now leads his life, Arun has been furthering the work of his grandfather
to help others cope with their anger and hostility. He does this, first and
foremost, by being as humble and free of anger as he can. Secondly, he helps
people see the difference between physical violence and passive violence, that is,
the times when people are hurt through neglect or the ways we speak or behave.

38
“It is passive violence that many people commit all the time, every day,
consciously and unconsciously. This generates anger in others who, in turn, seek
redress or justice through further acts of violence. It is passive justice that fuels
the fire.
“I would ask each of the people reading this to consider the ways that
they commit passive violence in their lives, showing disrespect for others,
displaying anger, hurting others through their words or actions. It is only
through such introspection that it is possible to change this pattern.”
This is a battle that Arun still wages within himself every day, constantly
monitoring the earliest seeds of anger and stopping them from growing. There
was a turning point in this struggle that occurred twenty years after his
grandfather died and almost forty years ago.
After spending his early adult years in South Africa, Arun visited India to
meet relatives and friends after his father’s death. He met his wife and they
decided to get married only to learn that the South African government would
not allow her to accompany him to South Africa. Arun was forced to live in India
away from his mother and two sisters.
Some years later Arun went to the harbor in Mumbai to meet an Indian
friend arriving by ship from South Africa. When the ship docked, and Arun went
on board, he was accosted by a strange white man whom he did not recognize at

39
first. The man shook Arun’s hand and introduced himself as a Member of
Parliament. It was then that it dawned on Arun that this gentleman was the
personification of all the hate and prejudice that he had suffered at home. Even
after two decades working on himself to purge all anger, he could feel the
familiar feelings of indignation welling up inside him again just as they had
when he was a boy.
“I came face to face with my tormenter. This man represented all the hate
and oppression and discrimination that I had experienced in my life. He was a
representative of all that I most despised and had worked tirelessly to defeat. Yet
in that split second I could feel my anger rising, I desperately wanted to insult
this man. I felt disgusted to even shake his hand.”
It was then that Arun heard his grandfather’s voice. “I remembered all
that my parents and my grandfather had taught me. I took a deep breath and
calmed myself. Then I told him that I recognized him and that I was a victim of
Apartheid, forced to live as an exile because my government would not allow me
to return home because I was brown-skinned. But I told him I was not going to
hold this against him. I would be a good host and show him my city.”
True to his promise, Arun spent the better part of the next week
entertaining his nemesis, showing him around Bombay, having him and his wife
for dinner at his home. During that time they became friends, even as they held

40
opposite positions on so many political and social issues. “During our
conversations I was curious how he could justify his racist beliefs and he was
doing his best to make me understand his beliefs. When things became tense, we
would just back off and talk about other things. What surprised my wife most of
all was that when it came time to say farewell, we both embraced the couple and
they wept tears of remorse. They told us that in those few days with us their eyes
had been opened to the evils of Apartheid.”
Arun smiled wistfully at the memory. “That was quite a tremendous
thing,” he said modestly. “I often think about it. If I had acted instinctively and
expressed my anger and insulted him, he would have gone back with the same
prejudices and same anger and hate; nothing would have changed. Yet through
this caring and loving response to him, I was able to help him to see points of
view that both of us could never imagined were possible.”