Bianca and the courage to care

Bianca and the courage to care Had a lesson yesterday in courage and compassion. I took a bus on my good citizen’s way to Camden Town Hall to testify in a licence hearing.

In front of me a young black woman was singing quietly but audibly to herself. She was drawing some glares for it. I leaned forward and said “You have a strong voice.” She turned, ready to defend herself, then saw she’d been complimented. We talked for a while about teaching ourselves to sing, the value I’d had from voice coaching, and her aspirations as an entertainer. Her first name is Bianca, family name unknown, listen out for her. Three teenage girls got on the bus and shortly afterwards Bianca smelled dope.

Are you smoking? she yelled. You don’t do that on this bus; not around me, you don’t! How old are you? Twelve? And you two? Eighteen? What are you doing teaching a 12-year old to smoke? No, don’t you talk back to me. You have nothing to say. Any right you had to quiet, you blew it off when you came on this bus smoking and dissing all these people. This lady here, she’s pregnant. You’re smoking round her? So she has to breathe all your smoke? And what are you doing, hanging with these older girls? You’re beautiful, you. Isn’t there anyone looking after you?

The youngest girls started to cry quietly. It was an uncomfortable harangue, both for the girls receiving it and for the rest of us listening, confronted with how little courage supports our convictions. Bianca, if you’re reading this, get in touch.