Another train ride

June 4, 2023

Although he’d been warned it was impossible for Indians to ride first class on trains in Boer-controlled South Africa, by the morning of June 4, 1893, Gandhi had worked out a strategy. He sent a letter to the station master, explaining that he was a barrister who needed to reach Pretoria quickly, and that he always traveled first class. He requested no written reply, ostensibly because of the urgency, but tactically to defer any decision until he could make his case in person.

Gandhi arrived at the station neatly dressed in a frock-coat and necktie, and he addressed the station master in faultless English. Not trusting his appearance and speech to carry the day, Gandhi also placed a gold sovereign on the counter as he requested his ticket.

The station master was willing to issue Gandhi a first-class ticket on one condition. If it caused any trouble on the train, he must leave the railroad company out of it. After agreeing, Gandhi displayed his prize to his local guide, who, while impressed, predicted the guard and passengers would not let Gandhi ride in peace.

This nearly came true. A few miles down the line, the guard discovered Gandhi in first class and ordered him back to third. Once again, a public injustice aroused sympathy from a bystander. The Englishman sharing his compartment berated the guard for his racist demand, and insisted Gandhi make himself comfortable. He did so, and around 8:00 p.m., they arrived in Pretoria, the capital of Transvaal.

Once again, there was no one there to greet him. Gandhi had practically resigned himself to sleeping at the station when a visiting African-American offered to show him a small hotel where he might be able to stay. Although skeptical, Gandhi agreed to follow the man.

Johnston’s Family Hotel was a much simpler establishment than the Grand National Hotel. His guide spoke privately to Mr. Johnston, another American, who conditionally offered him lodging. Gandhi could stay the night, if he agreed to eat his dinner in his room. He accepted.

When the knock on the door of his room finally came, Gandhi was surprised to find the owner himself standing there, bearing an apology instead of food. “I was ashamed of having asked you to have your dinner here,” he said. He’d checked, and the other guests had no objection to his joining them. Gandhi accompanied him gratefully. Things were looking up.

That night, perhaps he reflected on what a long, strange trip his journey had been. There had been hardships; unrepentant racists had pushed him around, even physically assaulted him. It had tested him, but he had emerged stronger, and more importantly, victorious. Gandhi had completed his journey safely, even arriving in Pretoria in a first-class compartment, something that locals had told him was impossible. But that success would not have occurred without the help of both friends and strangers.

When have you achieved something otherwise impossible with the help of friends or strangers?