The cost of No! #2
The cost of No! #2
From The Education of a Christian Prince by Desiderius Erasmus (Connecticut: Cambridge University Press, 1997), pp. 65:
No one can cure the body unless he understands it; nobody farms a field properly which he does not know. It is true that the tyrant also studies these things very closely, but it is in the motive rather than the action that the good prince differs: a doctor investigates the workings of the body in order that he may the more readily come to its aid; a poisoner also studies them, but so as to be more certain to kill.
A few months ago, I went to get some things printed at a shop, which I won’t name, and while I was waiting, a woman walked in and started shouting at a worker there for not completing her order immediately. She yelled at this guy for a little over five minutes. It even reached a point where the guy quietly said, ‘Please don't talk to me that way.’ I, along with everyone else in the shop, just watched as this played out. Eventually, the manager came out from his office, and the woman calmly explained to him what had happened, but in a softer tone. Let me add more context: She was Asian, the manager was White, and the employee was Black. When I replay that event in my head, I am baffled by my own reaction to situation. Whatever happened there involved power dynamics at play, among other things that I can’t really figure out at the moment. Someone else might have seen the same event and probably said I was exaggerating, but when she lowered her tone with the manager, it was like a two-factor verification confirming that I wasn’t hallucinating. When I replay it in my head, it hits me that I could have said something—I could have told her to lower her tone or not to speak to him that way. I could have afforded to do that, and nothing would have really happened to me. If she hadn’t stopped after I told her to, I could have done other things, too. I might have whipped out my phone to either pretend to record the incident or actually record it, or I could have taken other actions that I’d consider less benign. But I just stood there, watching the whole thing unfold. Even as I write this, I still haven’t forgiven myself for that. I’d like to think I was suffering from the bystander effect. According to Wikipedia, the bystander effect states that individuals are less likely to offer help to a victim when other people are present. 🧨
Looking back, the cost of my intervening was almost negligible. I say ‘almost’ because I can’t really imagine what either the shop owner or the woman would have actually done to me. Maybe I lack imagination, but I still don’t see it. I understand why the other employees didn’t speak up; their livelihoods were on the line, or perhaps they were also affected by the bystander effect. So, for my own sake, let’s assume it was the bystander effect and not just plain cowardice. I might go out on a limb and assume that other people were thinking what I was thinking, but nobody took the initiative that would serve as the impetus for others to join in and confront her. Now that I think about it, there’s an implicit cowardice in that and a form of subdued agency—a willingness to blend into the crowd and not stand out. Because if you do stand out, you can’t predict the outcome. If I had escalated the situation, then it could have opened the floodgates, and there’s no telling how far that escalation might have gone. Am I willing to take on that responsibility? Or I could just shirk that responsibility, saving myself a lot of time and energy. Besides, our societies are becoming increasingly individualistic, especially in cities, with the prevailing attitude being ‘mind your own business; another person’s problems are their own.’ I remember that there was a time in Nigeria when, if you took someone who had been shot to a hospital, you’d be asked to write a statement and so on. I don’t know if that’s still the case. Now, the first question you’d probably ask yourself before helping a stranger in that situation would be, ‘Am I ready for that kind of administrative hassle?’ Perhaps I should just let someone else deal with that admin. When you read the story of the Good Samaritan, one is tempted to cast shame on the priest and Levite who saw a man robbed and yet walked past without helping. We like to imagine that we would have been the hero in the story, the Samaritan who helps the stranger. 🪢
I think it takes a conscious decision, made way before any such events occur, to act or speak up. Inaction can stem from self-preservation, collective cowardice, or just plain indifference. As I write this, I believe I acted cowardly by not intervening. Perhaps that’s why I haven’t fully forgiven myself yet. On the other hand, it was valuable to evaluate my behavior and realize I fell short of the values I assumed I held. Evaluating your own behavior is not all fun and games. To escape the bystander effect, you must first be able to recognise when it’s at play, or train yourself to respond promptly to certain situations, especially when they concern others. If some random person raised their voice at me, the outcome would likely have been different. But as an employee of an organization, if a customer came in and yelled at me for over five minutes, my response would depend on the circumstances in my life at that time. Imagine having a family to feed and other pressing concerns; I would probably have to mellow out and endure whatever verbal bashing she dished out. With high unemployment rates, where would I find another job in this economy? These and many other factors could make people tolerate the worst forms of indignity. So, what then is charity? It’s paying the cost to allow those who can’t afford it to retain their dignity. Because what the woman did was strip that company’s employee of his dignity, and I could have actively prevented that. People often wonder why multiple women come forward after one woman publicly accuses a powerful man of rape. The question arises: Why didn’t the other women report the rape earlier? It’s more about the space created when one person steps forward to say, ‘No, you cannot do this without facing consequences.’ She paves the way for other women to speak out. Someone has to bear that initial cost to make it easier for others to share instances where they were violated. I’m not advocating that we believe all accusations; rather, I’m suggesting that this could be one explanation among many for why there’s a surge of voices when one victim steps forward. 🧧
The question then becomes, how do you become the person who can, without any hesitation, be the first to prompt others to act when everything is stacked against taking action? You have to pave the way and make it safer for other people to either speak up or keep injustices at bay. What’s the worst that can happen? You start and people either join you or they don’t. But at least you’ll be able to sleep well at night. You are only responsible for yourself, but sometimes you have to be willing to extend that responsibility to cover others and also bear the possible outcomes of that extension. There might be other reasons why I didn’t act in that instance, but the ones written here are currently top of mind, and I will continue to explore them. I’m not seeking a resolution but rather a mental reminder, a recognition that should similar situations arise, I must be ready to act. Interestingly, this was not the intended direction for the second instalment of this post, but here we are. Writing is a confessional, an exorcism, and even a balm. Anyway, I listened to just two albums on repeat while I wrote this: Thick as a Brick by Jethro Tull and Concerto Suite for Electric Guitar by Yngwie Malmsteen. There’s something about Yngwie’s guitar playing and the orchestra that just soothes. The audience, too, added so much flavour to the whole recording. 🪆
Thanks for reading. If there’s anything you’d like to chat about, or if you have any questions, feel free to shoot me an email. I’d love to hear from you. 🍿
