Note to the authorities: Would Jah approve?
July 21, 2002 ~ 2:40 a.m.
To say that last night was an interesting evening would be an understatement to the nth degree.
After work, the wife and I went into Catford to meet a friend of ours. Catford is a township within the district of Lewisham, where the pilot program to legalize marijuana originated and is fast becoming a London-wide standard. Local papers in Lewisham are operating a �Shop a Yob� campaign, where delinquents are named and shamed for the vandalism and general mayhem they create. Lewisham also contains the notoriously dangerous communities of Brixton, Peckham and Camberwell within its borders � and Catford comes off looking like Beverly Hills compared to them. In short, Lewisham is one district of London where having eyes in the back of your head helps your chances of living an injury-free life � or indeed, any life at all. In all of South London, it is probably the poorest and least desired community to live in (although, it must be said, Croydon gives it a run for its money).
We hung out at her place for a while and had dinner and drinks in a local pub. Then, at 10:30, we left to fetch the #208 bus home. It was a largely peaceful ride, and the both of us were heavily engrossed in the books we were reading. In the background, I could hear a steady, pulsating beat, which I thought was the bass thump from the sound system of a car tailgating us. Then I recognized it was a pair of bongos that someone in the back of the bus was drumming. Although this was certainly unusual, it wasn�t necessarily irritating. But then, we were at the very front of the bus.
At one point, someone sitting near the back had complained about the bongos, and this prompted the man to beat them much louder. The bus driver pulled over, threw open the door to his cubicle, and muttered, �Right, now I�m good and pissed off.�
He marched up to the back of the bus and ordered the man off, but he wouldn�t budge. He asserted his right to stay, even though he had clearly violated the rights of other passengers to enjoy a peaceful ride. Buses originating from Lewisham aren�t necessarily known for peace and quiet, but clearly even a veteran of the #208 route couldn�t quite believe � or tolerate � this kind of behavior.
�Take your time,� the driver said. �I�m being paid just to sit here, so I don�t really care. It�s not me you�re inconveniencing, it�s the others on this bus.�
The man did not see this as a threat. In fact, much to the further detriment of others on the bus, he started wailing some Rastafarian soul chant, with heavy references to oppression. It was deafening.
�The only thing being oppressed here are my eardrums,� the driver quipped. The bongo-beating Rasta at the back continued to wail. The driver threatened to call the police and, seconds later, made good on that threat. One lady protested, �Oh, driver, no! Please, don�t bring the police into this!�
Now, it must be said that she was no fan of his drumming or singing either. But her objection to bringing the police into the matter was strange. At this stage, I broke my silence:
�Hey, he was told to get off the bus. He�s disturbing the peace. The driver has the right to refuse anyone passage on his bus if they are causing distress to other passengers, and that is stated on a notice at the front of this bus. He gave him a chance to leave and he didn�t take it. Now it�s time to bring in some law and order.�
My point made and my position known, I sat back in my seat, trying to concentrate on my book. But the Rasta�s incessant wailing was too much to take. I gave my wife a weary look and muttered, �I�m going outside. I can�t take this any longer, my ears are about to burst.�
It had been a reasonably warm day and most people were attired in short-sleeved clothing, including me. But on this night, temperatures had fallen significantly and it was nippy. But I�d rather have shivered than listened to the man�s screeching any longer. My wife decided that the cold was more preferable too and joined me. And, by the time the police did come, everybody had gotten off that bus.
The police arrived in 15 minutes, boarded the bus, confronted the Rasta and escorted him off the bus. He threw his bongos over his shoulder, threw a withered look at everyone, and walked off. Never in my life had I ever felt such relief at seeing someone leave.
As we walked home from the last stop, I thought about the Rasta and how typical he was of the sort of �diversity� that we are so often subjected to and all the pleasures that come with it � Hispanics who refuse to speak English and are forcing a second language (Spanish) in America, Muslims in Europe who cry and complain about the continent�s Christian heritage, and about minorities in general who break the rules and them claim oppression and lack of understanding every time they are arrested and charged for the crimes they commit. The Rasta at the back of the #208 bus hadn�t committed a crime, but he had forfeited his right to further his ride with the rest of the law-abiding folks on that bus. When told to leave, he had subjected all of us to a screaming dirge about oppression and Jah and his spiritual home in Africa � as if any white, British black, Indian, Pakistani or otherwise on that bus gave a flying fuck about his pot-induced philosophies.
I�m so fucking sick to death of people who claim that they are victims of a society that doesn�t respect their race or culture � and of society itself which is so quick to back them up. True, racism does exist. But in a perfect world, when you act like an asshole, you will be treated like an asshole � no questions about what your great-great-grandfather may have went through 200 frigging years ago asked.
I am not sympathetic. I just wish people would grow the hell up and start respecting each other�s rights.
� M.E.M.
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Copyright � 2001-2007 by M.E. Manning. All material is written by me, unless explicitly stated otherwise by use of footnotes or bylines. Do not copy or redistribute without my permission.
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