Initiation and initiative : an exploration of the life and ideas of Dimitrije Mitrinović

THE SENATE INITIATIVE 165

than one occasion Thomson was the victim of one of MitrinoviC’s rages. If one was not awed by his mind, then there was a good chance you would be cowed by his storms of fury. One occasion a group of people had gathered together at 55 Gower Street to discuss the organisation and constitution of one of the four movements that emerged, on paper at least, from the ashes of the New Britain Movement. Mitrinovic broke up the proceedings by kicking over a coffee table, laden with glasses, and haranguing the shocked people for half an hour on their passivity and lack of independent initiative. Another time a formal dinner had been arranged by Mitrinovic in honour of some visiting Yugoslavs. One of the after dinner speeches was delivered by Watson Thomson who had drunk a little too much wine, was ill at ease, and his speech was an abject failure. After the dinner a number retired to the Regent’s Park home of Rex Campbell. Watson went upstairs to sleep, only to be woken by shouting and heavy footsteps on the stairs. It was Mitrinovieé who cursed everything about him, what his mother had made of him and what he had become, for despoiling the evening “with your miserable bit of unconsciousness.” The confrontation was concluded by Mitrinovic smashing his walking cane, decorated with ivory and silver, down onto the bannister with such a force that the stick splintered into pieces.

Yet, despite the fury which he would vent, there was occasionally a glimpse that he was never totally immersed in his passion. At the end of one explosion when he directed his wrath at one of the women in the group, he held out his wrist to one of those sitting next to him after the woman had left the room. The pulse was apparently perfectly calm and steady. He rarely if ever did anything without there being some purpose to it—even losing his temper. According to one of his associates, “He would get tremendously cross with a person who was afraid of anger. Somebody who wasn’t particularly afraid of anger, it wouldn’t have had any effect on them.” Very often his anger was directed against those who, he claimed, were too deferential towards him. “Be equal with me” he would plead. He bemoaned the dependence of group members upon him, referring to the miserable throne upon which they had elevated him which prevented him from becoming a mere comrade amongst comrades, one amongst equals. Only by facing up to each other, and him, in full honesty and frankness, including losing one’s temper, could they really learn to know and love each other as individuals. He was invariably disappointed. Few of those around him had the courage to be as frank and spontaneous as he was, either to him or to one another.

There was, indeed, little that was predictable about Mitrinovi¢c. His waking day might start in the late morning. Afternoons might be spent browsing