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According to the Liberals-Democrats, a “scourge” affects the “quiet majority” of travelers on British public transport. It is the reckless behavior of other passengers who watch videos and play music without using headphones, inflicting their tastes of vision and listening on everyone.
Before the local elections next week in some parts of England, Libs Dems promised to repress these “dodgers for helmets”. Fines up to £ 1,000 are threatened. The silent majority, bubbling internally while influencers babble on Tiktok or the commentary on football, rat-with smartphone speakers, will be saved from the selfish minority.
At least that's the idea. In practice, the battle between the bruiseers and their reluctant listeners never ends. The recent suspension of the busking on Place Leicester in London – “psychological torture” for nearby office employees, judged a judge – echoes a parliamentary act in 1864 imposing fines of up to 40 shillings on street musicians (around £ 215 in money today). This follows a letter signed by writers and artists, including Charles Dickens and John Everett Millais, a protesting against that they had been “pushed almost crazy” by “drum drummers, organ banders, bangers of banjos …
There is a wonderful engraving by William Hogarth from 1741 fully showing this cacophony. “The Enredudd Musician” depicts a violinist faced with his window with hands joined to the ears, unable to play due to the tumult of the life of the rue de London. To add the insult to the injury, just below him comes the cup of a little boy who pee against the railings of his building.
For urban romantics, the dynamism of a city is measured by its Bruyance. If we are thinking of New York in the 1970s and 1980s, a soundtrack came to my mind. The sirens moan and the horns release. Hip-hop, punk, nightclub and salsa pour out each block. Voices are raised. On the other hand, silence is suburban boredom, or perhaps even worse. “The silent majority” was an understatement for the dead.
But there is a double standard here. Most urban romantics do not really want to live in the middle of the clamor they ideally ideal. The sirens and horns sound better in the films of Martin Scorsese than in reality. Strong music is less dynamic at 3 am and that you cannot sleep.
I am ambivalent about Dodgers of helmets on buses and trains. Short journeys, good; Longs, absolutely not. But I can be hypersensitive to a certain noise pollution. The music played by Sunbathers on the beaches is a hatred for pets, idem that speaks during concerts. Then, the open -minded sophistication that I imagined to be is replaced by a character closer to mind with disgust of Tunbridge Wells. Except, unlike this legendary writer of letters angry with newspapers, I do nothing.
In a survey commissioned by Lib Dems, 54% of respondents expressed their discomfort to ask someone to refuse music on public transport. I sympathize. Like the other silencer, I look forward with my stomach tied and tight teeth when it is confronted with bruiseurs. The inner torment is positively Dostyevskyan. Hot Fury is aggravated by the calculation that I have to do with my cowardice.
Are the oscillating fines the answer? I don't think. They would only add to prohibitive messaging strewn daily life, the irritating ambient buzzing of the administration. No ball games. £ 100 for the detritus. See it. Say it. Sorted.
There is a simpler remedy. The quiet majority must find their voice. They should be gave and tell the person through the aisle watch Knives who is the murderer. Or inform the individual playing Drake's last song that his first tricks were the best. In a judo style flip, anti -social behavior will thus become the catalyst for boring social interaction. And as the British public transport taboo is broken – a conversation with foreigners – the delinquent promises to wear headphones next time.
