Hello, 
Today I want to share with you a story that is happening in every city in the world and today I tell it to see if we can look at ourselves, question ourselves, change...
The queue for the bus got longer and longer. The buses were late. Everyone was talking about an accident at the height of the central highway. The buses of the city had been left in that bed of broken iron and leaky asphalt. People began to sweat and get restless. The lady with the big bag was looking sideways at the dark man stuck to the wall and shuddered as if the young was just looking at her and contaminating her. A well dressed young man, wearing a tie and suit, who was next to her, looked at the open bag and saw that the woman was insistently looking at the black man in the corner. Suddenly someone shouted that a bus was coming. The conglomerate of sweaty people began to struggle, push, compact. There was disorder and confusion.
It was a false alarm: there was no sign of a bus anywhere. People separated again and looked for the shadow to shelter themselves from the inclement sun. Suddenly there was a scream in the middle of the crowd. They all looked curiously at the woman in the big bag screaming at the black man leaning against the wall. They wanted to know what was going on. Why she hit him and kept screaming. Some asked others. No one knew. Everyone shrugged. The dark young man still refused. He laughed nervously. He shook his head. He said no, at the woman's screams. Then he saw that the people were meeting. He looked at the furious woman and in the background he saw all the people in the world, all those who passed every day and they look at him with contempt.
The curious increased, no one was watching the bus anymore. A great circle had formed around the dark man and the woman in the big bag. On the front sidewalk, some people had stopped and looked at those in the big circle. They wondered what was going on: What happened there? Who is this young man? Why is the lady shouting? Several drivers stopped their buses on the edge of the sidewalk and nobody got on them, so the drivers got off the buses and also asked to know. What happened? Who is that? Why is the lady shouting? One who had just arrived said that maybe they had caught a pickpocket. The other one next door said that he was not a pickpocket, that he looked like one of those thugs or hitmen who were proliferating in the city with the arrival of foreigners. One of the drivers dismissed the information and said that it was only one of those thugs they waited it at bus stops to steal from the neglected. People began to hear rumors and scream as well. The black boy began to feel fear. He tried to escape. People didn't let him.
From the agglomeration, a sweaty young came out and those who didn't decide to get into the tumult asked him what was going on. The young man told them that he was a boy who always stole from people at bus stops and that thank God he had been caught with his hands in the dough. Supposedly, first he had stolen bread from an old lady and then was following another woman to whom he opened his wallet. People noticed and were going to lynch him. The girl from the bakery, who had approached with screams, listened with sorrow to the story. Luckily, no one had seen her give the bread to that boy. She had thought that the boy was good, but apparently she had made a mistake. Her mother had always told her that her problem was that she was very naive with people: she trusted everyone. She gave bread to a delinquent, thank goodness no one had seen her, she thought and went back to work.
When we see these kinds of stories, I can only think that we are eager to judge, even if we don't realize how much harm we do by doing it. We all know that miserable and corrupt beings have nothing to do with size, profession, or color. I think the worst almsgiving is longing for the charity of ignorance.
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