Three Bus Trips
In which strange happenings on public transport lead to thoughts about trust and how we might seek to change our neighbourhoods and our nations.
The car had gone. Partly because it needed repairs I could not afford, but also because of my growing dislike for cars generally, and the blight they cause to our towns and cities. I can now look down smugly at drivers, especially those with 4x4’s and SUV’s!
So, I am waiting on a bus one afternoon with a couple of other folk at the stop. It is just a short hop between towns to visit friends, but then a longer journey to follow later that same day. The bus pulls up at the stop a little late. The door opens but the driver puts up his hand to hold us back from boarding. There is a drunk man on the bus harassing the driver. The driver phones the police. He gets out of the bus and the drunk man follows him. He is filming the driver on his mobile phone and challenging him to a fight. The driver, a much larger man, is still on the phone to the police. The police suggest to the driver that he boards us new passengers waiting at the stop, and try to leave the drunk man out on the pavement. The driver manages to communicate this to us in a low voice whilst the drunk man continues his rant. We pick our moment and clamber abroad. The door closes and the bus pulls away with the drunk man left behind, as planned. The wail of a police siren can be heard as we leave the town. When the bus reaches my destination, I congratulate the driver for keeping his cool in such a difficult situation. He is dismissive, but I think he’s pleased by the recognition.
Another leg of the journey and there are two drunk men at the bus stop. They are standing almost nose to nose, muttering a slurred conversation. They begin wheeling around, as if engaged in some strange waltz. It’s not clear, but it looks as if one of them may be holding a knife to the other’s ribs. There are not many people around and certainly no-one who looks capable of pulling apart two drunk men, if things get out of hand. It sounds like the two men may be cousins. A sorry tale of family struggle unfolds as they continue to wheel around in their weird dance. A bus arrives and passengers bundle abroad with a collective sigh of relief. The drunks aren’t getting on the bus.
I think about getting another car.
Now it’s the last leg of my journey, and I’m at Dundee bus station. It’s not especially late, but it’s very quiet. There are only two others there, apart from myself. One is a young woman. She is wearing a short padded jacket and grey leggings. It looks like she is wrapped in a little duvet and her legs are dangling out from underneath. There is also a young man in an enormous padded jacket. He is looking at the electronic displays at each bus stance that provide travel information. He reads them out loud, then circles away to another stance. Then he circles back again and repeats the process. He sees the young woman and walks around in a small circle before heading away to read another display of travel information.
A bus arrives and we all get on. The young woman sits just a couple of seats back from me. The young man is just across the aisle from my own seat. There are only a few others on board and they are elderly and asleep. The young man asks the young woman her name. She responds. There follows an awkward exchange of information on age, place of birth, destination, favourite colour, etc., etc. The young man gets up to sit next to the young woman. He explains that he is on the Autism spectrum and so his behaviour can be erratic. The young woman explains that her brother is in similar circumstances and she is his carer. She has left him with her father for the day, so that she can have some time to herself. Stories of care from relatives and friends now flow both ways. I risk a glance back at the two of them. Their padded jackets are pressed close together like bandages around weary souls.
When I reach home I weigh up these incidents. Two drunken fights versus two stories of care and compassion. Which is the true story of where we are as a society? Or are these all stories of people just trying to make sense of a crazy world?
It’s in the streets and amongst cars and buses and shops that we see how society is really working – or not working. Are we frightened even to set foot outside our front doors? Or do we feel safe wherever we go, knowing that people will help if there is a problem? How much do we trust other people? How much do other people trust us? Do we think the government, the police or the health service will look after us? All this is the reality of a society – the human-scale street politics rather than the rhetoric of politicians and business leaders.
I’m not old or frail or otherwise impaired myself, but even so I don’t always feel safe on the streets. Think what it’s like for the old or for children or young women. And even looking out my window to the street beyond, I see people shuffling by who look like they’re only just coping – like the walk to the local shop is about as much as they can manage – and they are only just managing that.
So for me this is where politics should begin. How do we look after those folk who are struggling? How do we keep our children safe? How can we make it safe for a woman to walk home alone at night? Small-scale is, I think, where we can really make a difference – with systems known as cellular democracy or deliberative democracy. Groups of neighbours meet up and discuss how their streets can be safer, cleaner, greener, less threatening, more welcoming. It starts with trust. We have to trust that our neighbours probably have similar needs and concerns as us. We have to trust that even although we don’t always agree, yet we are still more or less on the same page. We have to trust everyone will have a voice. We have to trust that things will change because of our efforts!
Because, yes, there is always a temptation to think that it’s not worth trying – that nothing will ever change. And then of course there’s another leap of faith needed when we scale up to the neighbourhood, the town, the county. Some things just can’t get done at street level. And the efforts of the street can simply be squashed by the existing offices of government, unless that simple street politics – the bottom-up politics – can somehow be broadened out.
Challenging, for sure!
What do we do then, if we feel it’s just us? If we feel that no-one in our street or neighbourhood is ever going to even put their garbage out on the correct day (or even get their garbage to a bin!) let alone organise anything more ambitious?
Well, start where we’re at! Be the one who starts something (and always in a polite, gentle, kind, friendly, welcoming way). Don’t worry if people say you’re naïve or a do-gooder. Just get on and do! Start with positive stuff, not with gripes about how bad everything is.
In the meantime – given that it’s unlikely for any of us that constitutional change will take place to bring about a complete system of deliberative democracy – we can nonetheless call out those who hold office within the current system.
Whatever the system, there is someone who is responsible for whatever issue we may have. Start with whoever is immediately responsible, then, if necessary, work up to higher levels of authority. Letters and emails are, I’ve found, the best way, and it means you can keep a record of correspondence.
Remember these are just people mostly trying hard to do their job well (and probably struggling). So once again – be polite, gentle, kind, friendly and welcoming! That way (even if you have strong disagreements with their politics) you are nonetheless respecting the offices of government and respecting the humanity of the person you’re writing to.
I recognise this will often seem like not enough. Even when we get some responses to our efforts they can seem like we are being politely brushed aside. Or it may be that no-one who we approach actually has the power to change the thing we’re concerned about. It would have to be the president or the prime-minister!
Of course there are campaigning groups for a great many of the issues that affect us. Such groups can often have more influence than individuals as they have a stronger voice and greater access to authority.
And then we cross a threshold into protest groups, or what might be called ‘activism’. You could say that all that I’ve mentioned in the preceding paragraphs is activism, but I’ve a particular meaning for the word that I’d like to pick out.
What we’re looking for, I think, is stories about how we’d like the world to be. We started by thinking on the street-level and had a story about streets safe for children, where neighbours will look out for each other and where people will feel safe and welcomed. We could expand that out to how we’d like our neighbourhood to feel. Or our town, our county or our nation or the planet. It’s all stories – narratives of how we’d like our world to be.
So my definition of activism is simply this – start living the narrative that you believe in. As Ghandi said, be the change you’d like to see in the world.
Some of that ‘being the change’ will mostly be hidden – just stuff that’s in our own personal life. But don’t worry if that goes unseen, because it makes a difference nonetheless. You’re living your message and that affects everything you do and say. In fact, this is the bedrock, because unless we are genuinely grounded in our values then any campaigning or protest or politics we might choose to do will not be authentic. And people have a very keen eye for hypocrisy!
Remember context! Meet-ups with family and friends are not opportunities to beat them over the head with your latest political theory! Likewise, any activities at street level are at the most about a vision for the street, not a vision for world government!
Finally, with some trepidation, I mention the kind of campaigning that spills over into violent or illegal protest.
Firstly (assuming you are reading this in the US, the UK, or another Western democracy) we are very lucky to live in a nation that honours free speech and freedom of the press. But there are lines drawn, so to speak, by all nations and it’s correct, I think, that there are lines. We might mention peaceful protest – demonstrations, marches, rallies – which, though they may be disruptive, are nonetheless not breaking any laws. The lines are wavering a bit here in the UK at the moment as a result of disruption to road traffic and other transport links – mainly by various climate protest groups. We hope very much that these peaceful demonstrations will still be seen as legal. But there can be protests that really do break the law and there can be angry exchanges online. Where does that cross the line, to become abuse, violence, hate speech or incitement to riot?
Why, I often wonder, do people feel the need to resort to such extremes? Some might conclude that there are just bad people out there. But my conclusion is that (whilst there are a few genuinely bad folks) a lot of people feel they have no voice and they’re angry no-one will listen. So violence is a way to be heard. But no, it’s a mistake. Violence begets violence. Even if it’s a revolution you want then it has to start with the values you think should hold after the revolution has been achieved! And that’s not likely to include hate speech and violent insurrection! So we are instead back to stories and remember the famous slogan – if you can’t dance then it’s not my revolution!
You’ve probably guessed that I’m on the peaceful protest side of things and think that anger and threats of violence will actually diminish whatever cause people may be trying to promote.
So, yes, if we’re thinking of the big stuff we should be thinking of joy, celebration, creativity, enchantment, the sensuous, the profound, the hilarious, the places of abundant generosity, friendship and intimacy. If then, we feel the need to protest, the way we can go about it is in the spirit of these values.
