The Link #25 - I Am That Man

The following is an extract from Donald Ingram Smith’s book "The Transparent Mind – a Journey with Krishnamurti", where he describes a public discussion that K had with a communist leader in Sri Lanka, during the meetings K held there in 1949 and 1950.

During these Colombo talks and discussions, a pattern of operation was developing that would continue in the ensuing years: talks on the weekends and discussions during the week, talks for the general public and discussions for those who wanted to examine certain topics further.

While thousands attended the Sunday talks at the town hall in Cinnamon Gardens, the discussions attracted only a modest, three or four hundred dedicated persons. Most squatted on the floor; a few Europeans and some of the elderly sat on chairs at the back and along the sides of the hall.

At one Thursday evening discussion there was a change. The front row of chairs was reserved. Gordon Pearce told me that arrangements had been made for a leading member of the opposition in the Sri Lanka Parliament – Dr. N. M. Perera, a barrister and a communist recently returned from a booster course in Moscow – to occupy this vantage position. The other seats were for members of the shadow cabinet.

What had happened was that the barrister had seen in Monday morning’s paper, The Daily News, the full-page report of Krishnamurti’s Sunday evening meeting. He had been profoundly impressed by the fact that the town hall had been packed, and that amplifiers had been placed outside so that those hundreds who couldn’t get into the auditorium could sit on the lawns and hear the talk. No recent political meeting had been able to generate such numbers or such extensive newspaper coverage. He had decided that he and his political colleagues should attend a meeting to see what was so special about the man and to discover what message he had that evoked such a magnificent turnout and so much acclaim. Therefore, he rang Gordon Pearce, asked when and where the next meeting was, and the special arrangements about seating were made. Just before five-thirty, eleven parliamentarians arrived and took their seats. All eyes were on them.

Soon Krishnamurti came in quietly, took up his position on a low dais, and slwoly viewed the audience. “What would you like to discuss?” he asked. Everyone waited. Then Dr. Perera stood up. He said he would like to discuss the structure of society and social cohesion, and that such a debate must include an understanding of the basic principles of communism.

He talked for some minutes on the logic of state control as the supreme authority, and the proposition that those who do the work must directly receive the profits of their labors. When no one else proposed a subject or question for discussion, it was clear that this man was important. Not only did he know it, but every Ceylonese citizen in the hall recognized him and the importance of his challenge. Krishnamurti asked if we wanted to discuss this.

No one spoke, no other subject was proposed. It was obvious that everyone was interested in hearing what Krishnamurti’s reply would be. He smiled. “Well, let’s begin.” The barrister, who had continued to stand, took up his political theme. He spoke at length about the basic tenets of communism, of communal use and ownership of goods and property, and the role of labor. It was a clear exposition of the communist philosophy and dialectic. When he had finished and sat down, I wondered how Krishnamurti would deal with the proposition that the State was all, and the individual subservient to the allpowerful central authority.

He did not oppose what had been said. When he spoke, it was as though Krishnamurti had left his place on the dais facing the barrister and crossed over to the other’s side to view the human condition from the communist’s position and through his eyes. There was no sense of confrontation whatsoever, only a mutual probing into the reality behind the rhetoric. As the dialogue developed, it became a penetrating search into how the human mind, conditioned as it is, was to be reconditioned to accept the totalitarian doctrine, and whether reeducating the race would solve the problems that beset human beings, no matter where they live or under what social system.

There was mutual investigation into the ways in which the communist philosophy actually operated, and the means by which conflicts were handled. And basically, whether in fact reshaping, repatterning human thinking and behavior freed the individual or the collective from ego, from competition, from conflict. After half an hour or so, Dr. Perera was still claiming the necessity of totalitarian rule, asserting that everyone must go along with the decided policy, and be made to conform.

At this point, Krishnaji drew back. ”What happens,” he asked, “when I, as an individual, feel I cannot go along with the supreme command’s decision? What if I won’t conform?”
“We would try to convince you that individual dissent, perhaps valid before a decision is taken, cannot be tolerated after. All have to participate.”
“You mean obey?”
“Yes.”
“And if I still couldn’t or wouldn’t agree?”
“We would have to show you the error of your ways.”
“And how would you do that?”
“Persuade you that in practice the philosophy of the state and the law must be upheld at all times and at any cost.” “And if someone still maintains that some law or regulation is false, what then?”
“We would probably incarcerate him so that he was no longer a disruptive influence.”
With utter simplicity and directness, Krishnaji said: “I am that man.” Consternation! Suddenly, total confrontation. An electric charge had entered the room – the atmosphere was charged.
The lawyer spoke carefully, quietly: “We would jail you and keep you there as long as was necessary to change your mind. You would be treated as a political prisoner.” Krishnaji responded: “There could be others who feel and think as I do. When they discover what has happened to me, their antithesis to your authority may harden. This is what happens, and a reactionary movement has begun.” Neither Dr. Perera nor his colleagues wanted to pursue this dangerously explicit dialogue. Some were now showing nervousness.
Krishnaji continued: “I am this man. I refuse to be silenced. I will talk to anyone who will listen. What do you do with me?”
There was no escaping the question.“Put you away.” “Liquidate me?”
“Probably. You would not be permitted to contaminate others.”
“Probably?”
“You would be eliminated.”
After a long pause, Krishnamurti said: “And then, sir, you would have made a martyr of me!” There was no way of dodging the implications. “And what then?”

Krishnamurti waited, and then quietly went back through the course of the dialogue. He talked of interrelationship, of the destruction of life for a belief, for some blueprint for the future, for some five-year plan, the destructiveness of ideals, and the imposition of formulae on living beings. The need, not for environmental change, important as that is, but for inward transformation. When he finished, the meeting was over. There was really nothing more to be said. We sat in a musing communion. Then Dr. Perera rose and slowly, deliberately, wove his way through the packed crowd facing Krishnaji. Everyone moved a little to make way for him. He walked right up to Krishnaji, who had now risen and was standing, watching, waiting.

Stepping onto the low dais, the barrister opened his arms and enfolded Krishnaji. They stood there for a few moments, in each other’s arms. Then, without a word, he returned to his colleagues and the audience began to move. The meeting was over.