What Would You Do? Part 2

In my previous posting, I talked about a situation in Downtown Boston where I witnessed a man being belittled by another. I stepped in to help him. It ended like a Jack London story where a man in the crowd, for defending the wrong man, now chastised me; I asked you, what would you do?

Here’s what I did. I was really shaken up for realizing what had just transpired and for calling 911. The fight part of the flight-or-fight response was dissipating, and I was literally shaken. I tried to listen to this new man’s account. We’ll call him Bert. I say “tried” because it’s very hard to absorb everything a person says when you’re coming out of that response mode.

I apologized to him. I agreed that I didn’t have the all the facts, but I did what I could with what I knew, and what I knew was that the dignity of a person was being injured. Bert went on to say that he works with developmentally injured people (I’m not really sure why except maybe to say he knows how to best handle these situations because one of the two involved has a cognitive disability). I came back with “I work for the church” (not to be outdone in the perceived battle over who does more good for people – I do regret that I let my pride get the best of me in this comment).

I wasn’t angry, but there was an uncomfortable feeling inside of me. How could he chastise me for doing the wrong thing when he “knew” the right thing and still did nothing? He had all the facts and did not act. It bothered me. He did not deny a wrongdoing had occurred; I just sided with the wrong person. I commented on this saying, “I did something with what I knew; what did you do?”

His comment back was fired immediately, “Is it better to do the wrong thing than nothing at all?” I have been thinking about this comment ever since he uttered it. Is doing nothing a 3rd way – the first two being doing the right thing or the wrong thing? Can doing nothing actually be connected to right or wrong? I asked him how many times I would have to apologize before he was satisfied in my sincerity. What would/could I do that would satisfy his need in this matter? He said he didn’t need my apology; I needed to give it to the [white] guy. He was defending a person who was no longer there, and it was a person I could not find if I tried now. In other words, I could not make amends in his eyes.

My parting comment to him was, “I hope this inspires you to do the right thing before someone else does the wrong one.” I admit it – it was a quip. My pride was injured, and I was now plagued by doubt at my actions. I watched so many people roll their eyes, walk a little faster or mutter under their breath about what they saw, but no one stepped in. Even people who watched the whole thing did nothing. I did something, and I paid a price.

Perhaps I did have it all wrong. I’ll never know now. I don’t know if I’d do it again if I could, and I hate that I hesitate. I hate that people can look at injustice and look away with a clear conscience. I could not look the other way for some reason.

In a sermon given at BUSTH, by a dear friend, we were asked what it would take for us to get involved – at what point are we willing to take action? Does it have to threaten our own sense of safety and/or security before we react? I took a risk today, and it may have been ill timed, but I risked helping someone else when it would never benefited me. While one person went away injured, another felt compassion – that someone who didn’t have to care did. I’d like to feel sorry for the man I didn’t defend, who was supposedly in the “right,” but it’s hard to feel sorry for a man who throws verbal daggers at another with the sole intention of wounding; and it’s hard not to feel compassion for the man who takes those daggers with grace. I will hang on to that vision as my inspiration and try to do better next time.