Remembering Jallianwala Bagh
“Brothers and sisters,” Mohandas K. Gandhi addressed the crowd at his daily prayer meeting. Men and women of India’s diverse religions had gathered, many to listen to his lessons of peace, others to receive the darshan of the man better known as the Mahatma, or ‘great soul.’ He told the crowd, “Tomorrow is the last day of the National Week…. You must fast and observe April 13 [as Martyrs’ Day].”
It was April 12, 1947, and although no one knew it yet, India was just a few months away from independence and partition, bringing death on a scale only hinted at by the riots of the previous year. Later that night, Gandhi would board a train to the province of Bihar, where his countrymen had slaughtered each other along religious lines, and he prayed that his messages of tolerance and restorative justice would be embraced.
How had things changed so much since 1919? “The whole country was united,” Gandhi reminded the congregation, many of whom in 1947 could not remember or even conceive of such Hindu-Muslim harmony. “I had appealed to the people to fast on April 6, [1919,] and the whole nation followed my call. Who was I? But it was the voice of God…. India was awakened that day.”
If India had been awakened by the spirit of unity that day, it was further awakened by the brutality of the British on April 13 in the Punjab province. Even Winston Churchill, who as Prime Minister jocularly supervised the starvation of millions of Bengalis, denounced the wanton spilling of Indian blood in a speech in the House of Commons.
Gandhi boarded the train that evening, still thinking of the events in Amritsar nearly three decades earlier. It was unnecessary for the 77-year-old man to bring any food for the journey, since he would be fasting for 24 hours, as he had every single year since the Jallianwala Bagh Massacre, in tribute to the hundreds who had lost their lives in the worst mass shooting his country had ever seen.
World War I had ended in 1918 with the British Empire defeating Germany and her allies, thanks in part to the Indian soldiers who had fought and died across Europe. India had supported the winning side, and reasonably expected some sort of reward for their faithful service, such as a road map to independence.
Instead, the British passed a new and oppressive law, the Anarchical and Revolutionary Crime Act of 1919. Generally referred to as the Rowlatt Act, it gave the authorities broad powers to arrest and imprison anyone suspected of sedition, while removing due process and the right to appeal in such cases. Mere possession of a “seditious document” could lead to two years of incarceration without trial. This outraged Indian leaders, including Gandhi, who described the legislation as “unjust, subversive of the principle of liberty and justice, and destructive of the elementary rights of individuals.”
Gandhi circulated a pledge to commit civil disobedience against the Rowlatt Act, but since the effectiveness depended on the British response, he was dissatisfied with the passivity of the strategy. A decade later, Gandhi would turn this negative into a positive by undertaking a perfectly legal 241-mile walk while making daily announcements of his intention to break the salt laws. But in 1919, he sought an active way to protest nonviolently. Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, inspiration came to him “as if in a dream.”
India had an ancient tradition known as hartal, which was observed as a display of mourning or a protest against oppressive authority. Storekeepers would shutter their shops and people stopped work. Gandhi’s vision was that this should be observed across the entire subcontinent on Sunday, April 6, 1919, as a one-day strike, and that everyone who was able should fast for 24 hours.
Amritsar, the second largest city in the Punjab province, turned out to participate in the hartal in overwhelming numbers. While people fasted and shops were closed, Mr. Badrul Islam Khan presided over a public meeting, which passed a resolution calling for the repeal of the Rowlatt Act. He reminded them of Gandhi’s advice, that they would have to “patiently bear grief and sorrow” in their struggle, but also that “falsehood will fail and truth will win.” Having absorbed the lesson of peace, the crowd of 50,000 dispersed quietly.
A few days later, on the Hindu holiday of Ram Navami, Muslims celebrated alongside Hindus in another public and peaceful show of unity, even drinking from the same cups to demonstrate brotherhood. Among the event’s organizers were two signers of Gandhi’s pledge, Dr. Kitchlew, a Muslim, and Dr. Satyapal, a Hindu. The pair were well known in Amritsar as vocal advocates for Hindu-Muslim unity, but having been served with orders not to address the public, they only observed the festivities.
This communal harmony ignited British paranoia. Sir Michael O’Dwyer, Lieutenant Governor of the Punjab province, believed it was a prelude to an armed uprising and took action. Gandhi tried to visit the province in the days after the hartal, only to be taken off the train and arrested April 9. On the morning of April 10, Dr. Kitchlew and Dr. Satyapal were arrested, despite not having violated the orders restricting their speech, and then deported. When the news spread around Amritsar, a delegation went to plead peacefully with the Deputy Commissioner for their release, only to have the military fire on the crowd.
With the voices for peace silenced and dozens lying dead under British guns, the crowd transformed into a mob. It attacked several banks, the town hall, and the post office. Five Europeans were murdered, and an English schoolteacher was attacked and left for dead. By the afternoon, the mob’s fury abated and the city became quiet again. Gandhi observed later, “All the good that had been done by the wonderful self-restraint previously exercised by the Amritsar people was undone by these wild and unworthy acts of the mob.”
The next day, as locals and Europeans buried the dead, the military ordered water and electricity cut off in the city. In anticipation of the upcoming Baisakhi (also spelled Vaisaskhi) holiday, third-class train service into the city was suspended. Tensions simmered, but the city stayed peaceful.
On Sunday, April 13, 1919, from the villages around Amritsar, India, families flowed into the city and into Jallianwala Bagh, an enclosed garden (bagh) that was used for public gatherings. Hindus, Muslims, and Sikhs gathered together for Baisakhi, a spring festival that marks the beginning of the Sikh new year. Children raced across the acres of hard-packed dirt, dancing around the few scraggly trees that dotted the fairgrounds, and by late afternoon, the crowd had swelled to over 10 thousand.
In addition to the annual celebration and cattle fair taking place that day, a mass meeting had been announced to address the current situation in Amritsar. By 4:30 p.m., the crowd, which was cheerful and unarmed except for the short daggers the Sikhs carried as part of their faith, coalesced around a wooden platform near the center of Jallianwala Bagh. A handful of community leaders stood there, listening to the speaker, who gestured passionately with his hands as he addressed the throng. Latecomers continued to trickle thorough the narrow entryway.
A little while later, a large group of 91 men arrived. They were not there to celebrate, but instead took positions on the high ground near the entrance. They unslung their Lee-Enfield bolt-action rifles, made sure their ammunition was ready, and looked over the crowd, waiting for General Dyer to give the order to fire.
Brigadier General Reginald Dyer had arrived in Amritsar late Friday night to take control of the military garrison. Dyer had been born in Simla, India a few years after the Revolt of 1857, and attended college in his ancestral home of Ireland before joining the British Army in 1885. His actions in Jallianwala Bagh would earn him the nickname “The Butcher of Amritsar.”
On the morning of April 13, 1919, General Dyer had issued a proclamation best described as “light martial law.” The city’s 150,000 inhabitants were prohibited from leaving Amritsar without obtaining a pass; an 8:00 p.m. curfew was also announced. Anyone on the street after curfew was subject to summary execution. Lastly, “any procession or gathering of four men” would be dispersed by gunfire “if necessary.” Dyer accompanied the town criers as they read the orders aloud in Urdu and Punjabi, but when the day grew hot, they returned to their base. A government inquiry later mapped out his route and estimated only 5%-6% of the city’s population heard it.
Around lunchtime, the general was informed that a mass meeting in Jallianwala Bagh was planned for 4:30 p.m. British sensibility required that the target of a fox hunt be given an opportunity to escape as it was run down and shot by men on horseback. Dyer felt that his proclamation had been the one sporting chance required by his sense of fairness, and so he did nothing further to discourage the meeting. No notices were posted at the entrance to the bagh, and no efforts were made to contact community leaders.
At the appointed hour, Dyer climbed aboard an armored car outfitted with a machine gun and headed to Jallianwala Bagh. He was followed by 90 Gurkha and Baluchi troops, 50 of which carried rifles, and a second machine gun-laden armored car. With these, he planned to slice through the crowd “like a knife and terrif[y] it with the spectacle of armored strength, leaving the Gurkhas and Baluchis to mop up.” Fortunately, the general’s limited knowledge of the city he controlled worked in favor of the civilian population; the thin alleyway leading into Jallianwala Bagh was too slight for the armored cars to pass. Dismounting, Dyer led his men through the narrow entryway and ordered the riflemen to take up positions on the high ground to the left and right of the entrance.
As the unsuspecting and unarmed civilians milled below, Dyer gave the order to fire as soon as his men were in position. He would later admit under questioning, “I think it quite possible that I could have dispersed them perhaps without even firing,” but “I had made up my mind that I would do all the men to death if they were going to continue the meeting.” At the first shots, the crowd tried to disperse, but there was nowhere to run.
The 25 Gurkha and 25 Baluchi riflemen were keen shots; the few hundred feet between them and their targets was easily bridged by their highly accurate Lee-Enfield rifles. Each man had been given 33 rounds, and repeated the same routine several times a minute: Fire. Work the bolt action and reload. Aim carefully. Fire. With 50 men simultaneously engaged, the hailstorm of bullets struck the crowd two to three times per second for nearly 10 full minutes. From time to time, the general would interrupt the shooting and redirect it to where the multitude was thickest.
The masses were in full panic from the barrage of rifle fire that had fallen upon them without warning. With General Dyer’s men stationed uphill on both sides of the main entrance, their options for escape were limited. Most of the bagh was surrounded by the backs of houses, and access gates were usually locked. A section of wall just five feet high offered a chance to scramble to safety, but since it was less than 100 yards from the soldiers, those who tried were easy pickings, and bodies piled up at the base.
Children screamed and scrambled for their lives; the British would later list dozens killed, including several under the age of 10. Those who fell to the ground in hopes of being passed over by the shooters’ sights ran the risk of being trampled. In sheer desperation, men and women jumped into an open well just to escape the bullets, only to be suffocated when others continued to land on top of them. A memorial plaque today at Martyrs’ Well informs visitors that 120 bodies were recovered from its depths. And still, the general’s men continued to fire. Gandhi biographer Erik Erikson sums it up this way:
All of this is well known as the “Massacre of Jallianwala Bagh.” But the word massacre suggests the hot carnage of a multitude by a rampant soldiery or mob. It does not convey the cold-bloodedness of this event, which was rather in the nature of mechanized slaughter.
General Dyer surveyed the bloody landscape. As the supply of ammunition dwindled, the cries of the wounded broke through during the pauses in gunfire. If the general possessed any inclination to alleviate the suffering of the wounded, he tamped it down with the thought that “if they disobeyed my orders it showed that… these were rebels, and I must not treat them with gloves on. They had come to fight if they defied me, and I was going to give them a lesson.” Ordering that nothing should be done for the wounded, Dyer led his troops back to the base, arriving at about 6:00 p.m.
The general was later questioned about this decision, but he seemed almost offended by the idea that he bore any responsibility to those who had survived his barrage. “No, certainly not,” he would reply. “It was not my job. But the hospitals were open and the medical officers were there. The wounded had only to apply for help.” Perhaps he had forgotten that only hours earlier, he had promised that any resident found in the streets past 8:00 p.m. was “liable to be shot.”
On April 14, as the people of Amritsar buried the innocent victims of gun violence, Mohandas Gandhi spoke out against the violence at his ashram in Ahmedabad, where news of his brief arrest had also set off an angry and destructive mob.
“Brothers,” he told the crowd of 10,000, “the events that have happened in the course of the last few days have been most disgraceful… I am ashamed of them, and those who have been responsible for them. … we burnt down buildings, forcibly captured weapons, extorted money, stopped trains, cut off telegraph wires, killed innocent people, and plundered shops and private houses.” Even if it hadn’t been by his own hand, Gandhi’s use of the royal “we” demonstrated that he was willing to share responsibility for the damage. He outlined four duties to advance restorative justice.
First, he said, those who had weapons should surrender them. The reference was to “forcibly captured” weapons, for although it had been more than six decades since the armed Revolt of 1857, the British were still very cautious about permitting the natives to own firearms, lest they should find themselves on the receiving end again.
Second, all should donate something — no less than one-half rupee — to the families of the victims. “I hope and pray that no one will evade this contribution on the plea that he has had no part in those wicked acts,” he told them. “Having done little to stop the violence, we have been all participators in the sins that have been committed.”
Third, all those who were able should “observe a twenty-four hours’ fast in slight expiation of these sins.” Gandhi, as usual, was willing to lead by example. “My responsibility is a million times greater than yours,” he told them, so he had “decided to fast for three days, i.e., 72 hours.”
The fourth duty they shared was to the country’s rulers. “They are our brethren and it is our duty to inspire them,” he said. Change wouldn’t come through force or violent protests; it would come through the softening of their hearts.
Gandhi’s efforts did not have the hoped-for effect in 1919; even before his fast was over, the British declared martial law in the Punjab and sent airplanes to bomb and strafe the people of the province. Patiently, Gandhi headed a committee that collected data and statements from hundreds of witnesses across the Punjab, and one year later, the Indian National Congress released the report he had written.
He concluded that Lieutenant Governor Michael O’Dwyer, General Dyer, and others were “guilty of such illegalities” that they deserved criminal charges. Demonstrating his firm belief in forgiveness, he “purposely refrain[ed]” from such a demand, for “we believe that India can only gain by waiving the right.” Both men were dismissed from the service, and returned to England in disgrace. Reginald Dyer suffered from a series of strokes and died in 1927; Michael O’Dwyer lived until 1940, when he was assassinated by a survivor of Jallianwala Bagh. Gandhi did not approve.
After his train arrived in Bihar on April 13, 1947, Gandhi broke his fast. It was the final time he would commemorate Jallianwala Bagh. His fast for peace in January 1948 enraged a Hindu extremist, and he too became a victim of gun violence on January 30, 1948.
April 13, 2019, marks the 100th anniversary of the Jallianwala Bagh massacre, and in the Gandhian tradition of trying to reform a culture of violence, I will be fasting for 72 hours with others around the world. If you’re able and willing, you’re invited to join a 24-hour fast for peace on the third day, April 15, which will mark one month since the mass shooting in Christchurch, New Zealand, which left 50 men, women, and children dead. Please donate the money you save on food to help families hurt by gun violence. #fastforpeace
Sources used and quoted in this article:
The Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi (CWMG)
- The Satyagraha Pledge — February 24, 1919
- Summary of the Rowlatt Bills — March 9, 1919
- Speech at Mass Meeting, Ahmedabad — April 14, 1919
- Congress Report on the Punjab Disorders — March 25, 1920
- An Insane Act — March 14, 1940
- Speech at Prayer Meeting — April 12, 1947
http://www.discoversikhism.com/sikh_genocide/1919_jallianwalla_bagh_massacre.html (retrieved 3/25/2019)
Autobiography, Part V, Chapter XXX: That Wonderful Spectacle! (M.K. Gandhi, 1929)
Punjab Disturbances 1919–20, Volume 2, pp. 35–38, 42, 43, 50, 186–187
The Life of Mahatma Gandhi (Fisher, 1997 paperback) p. 230.
The Life and Death of Mahatma Gandhi (Payne, 1969) p. 338.
Gandhi’s Truth: On the Origin of Militant Nonviolence (Erikson, 1969) p. 390.
