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It's a Public Service to be Brave
By Dr. Carol Fleming

We are often reminded that we should be living finer lives. We hear much good advice. We read inspirational passages that help us approximate a better self. We try to communicate (to share, to make common) values that make life easier for us all. Moralities are enacted before us on our theatrical stages. I will tell you of one such enactment but on the 'stage' of a San Francisco Municipal Bus.

The San Francisco Muni bus going to the Civic Center was getting fairly full. Most of the riders were aware of a rather loud and very grimy, "dirty-blonde" woman sitting in the middle of one of the benches at the front of the bus.. She shouted out commentaries with surly reproach and to no apparent companion. She was eager to debate anyone who innocently met her eyes. We quickly learned to keep our eyes down whenever she surveyed the rest of the riders. Here was a loose cannon, and no one felt safe around a loose cannon.

At Geary Street, a group of three young men got on the bus and stood in the front aisle holding onto the overhead straps. One of them was black, and, of course, he just had to stand in front of the woman. Before long as the bus became more crowded, we all heard one more yell from the woman, "Get Your Black Ass Out of My Face!".

My, my, didn't the bus get quiet, people froze with their eyes wide open. I swear we all stopped breathing because I heard all conversations stop. The bus rolled down Van Ness with a load of people looking straight ahead and strangely silent.

I was able to see the young man from my seat. He didn't move except to glance at his companions briefly. Then, with his head hanging down, I saw him shake his head briefly, look up at the ceiling, and turn toward the woman. He slipped into the empty seat beside her, put his arm around her shoulders, and said, "Now Sugar, how come you to talk so mean to me?"

(Take a moment or two to let this scene become pregnant with possibilities.)

She responded immediately, as if to an old friend, " I don't know, I just been so cranky all day. I think I got this flu comin' on and ain't been sleepin' so good." And so they chatted. While the rest of us made profound commentary with our eyes, widening and rolling, a nonverbal Greek chorus of amazement and relief. Perhaps they were old friends! At some point the woman must have gotten off the bus and the space beside the young man was empty. When my stop was coming up, I stood in the stairwell in the front of the bus, waiting for the doors to open. . I was still profoundly moved by what I had witnessed. Staring straight at the door, I said, "Blessed are the peace makers". He dropped his face into his hands and whispered, "Lady, you have no idea what that cost me". I stepped off the bus.

Here was a generous, transcendent act that displayed the right - the elegant- response to human "orneriness". "Now, Sugar," he had said. "Now Sugar" (we have a long standing loving relationship, see. And I know you are really a sweet person).

"Why you talk so mean to me?" This with an arm around her shoulder, looking straight into her eyes. And witnessed by a whole busload of people. What started as an assault on him was instantly transformed into a confession of personal difficulty. This very public act of forgiveness and kindliness - the physical risk the young man took, made transcendent love real, observed, right in our face, on a Muni bus.

Don't you think you are changed by such public acts of courage? When our angels fly above the gritty meanness of our lives and do something simply splendid, don't we consider our own possibilities for being just a teensy more generous or tolerant? No, I don't know what it cost him. My imagination is not as great as his was, nor is my courage. Whatever the cost, a busload of citizens got an unforgettable lesson in love. Perhaps next time I can come up with a classier response to threat; perhaps I can be a larger person. For my own sake, heaven knows, and for the sake of that other person, too. And for the sake of us all - to share, to make common, to communicate a kindlier response to life's rough edges.

In the words of Nelson Mandela:

"Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to manifest the glory of God that is within us. And as we let our light shine we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

What does this have to do with communication? Everything.

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