indifferent to the material interests and prospects
of the services to which they belonged, if not to
their own personal interests and prospects. But
apart from any such considerations, the attitude of
both parties was governed by the firm belief, not
in itself discreditable to either, that it possessed
the better knowledge of the needs and interests and
wishes of the vast populations of India, still too
ignorant and inarticulate to give expression of their
own to them. The lamentable effects of the estrangement
between British administrators and the very class of
Indians whose co-operation it had been one of the main
objects of British policy ever since the Act of 1833
to promote, never stood clearly revealed till the
sudden wave of unrest that followed the Partition
of Bengal, and it is upon future co-operation between
them that the success of the great constitutional
experiment now being made must ultimately depend.
It is therefore well to try to understand the conflicting
sentiments and opinions which drove asunder the moderate
but progressive Western-educated Indian and the earnest
but conservative British administrator, and ended
by bringing them almost into open conflict. The
Western-educated Indian claimed recognition at our
hands first and foremost because he was the product
of the educational system we ourselves imposed upon
India. His limitations, intellectual and moral,
were largely due to the defects of that system, just
as his political immaturity was largely due to our
failure to provide him with opportunities of acquiring
experience in administrative work and public life.
Where careers had been opened up to him in the liberal
professions he had often achieved great distinction—at
the Bar, on the Bench, in literature—and
he had proved himself quite competent to fill all the
posts accessible to him in the public services.
Without his assistance in the many subordinate branches
the everyday work of administration could not have
been carried on for a day. He contended that he
must intuitively be a better judge than aliens, who
were, after all, birds of passage, of the needs and
interests and wishes of his own fellow-countrymen,
and a better interpreter to them of so much of Western
thought and Western civilisation as they could safely
absorb without becoming denationalised. His complaint
was that his own best efforts and best intentions
were constantly thwarted by the rigid conservatism
and aloofness of the European, official and unofficial,
wrapped up in his racial and bureaucratic superiority.
He admitted that he might not yet be able to discharge
with the European’s efficiency the legislative
or administrative responsibilities for which he had
hitherto been denied the necessary training, but he
protested against being kept altogether out of the
water until he had learnt to swim, especially when
there was so little disposition ever to teach him to
swim. What he lacked in the way of efficiency
he alone, he argued, could supply in the way of sympathy