From Crowd to Community

The incident lasts barely a minute. A woman is harassed in public. Heads turn, eyes notice, feet hesitate. Someone reaches for a phone; another walks away. “Don’t get involved,” someone mutters. The crowd becomes a wall of silent faces. Then it ends. She carries the memory home. The perpetrator disappears. The witnesses resume their lives. But did the crowd witness an injustice, or merely watch one?

Citizen journalist Meera Vijayann’s own experiences, shared in her TED Talk, provide a sobering backdrop to this question. From being sexually abused as a child to facing sexual harassment and physical violence at different stages of her life, she describes experiences that many women endure but seldom discuss. Her account becomes particularly disturbing because, at several points, the problem was not merely the act itself, but the silence and helplessness surrounding it.

We are accustomed to asking what happened to the victim, why the perpetrator committed the offence and whether the law is strong enough. How often we asked what happened to everyone else who was there? Why nobody intervened? Were they frightened, confused or unsure about what was happening? Did each person assume that somebody else would act? Or had the crowd quietly decided that somebody else’s problem was not worth becoming its problem? 

Silent Witnesses

We are remarkably good at watching. We watch accidents, arguments, videos of violence, people being humiliated. Sometimes, we even record someone being rescued while standing safely behind a smartphone.

The smartphone has become the modern eye in the sky. It sees everything, remembers everything and can transmit an incident to thousands within minutes. Yet there is an uncomfortable irony. We have never possessed so many witnesses, but we cannot assume that we have therefore created a more courageous society.

The camera can become a convenient substitute for conscience.  Of course, recording evidence can be valuable. A video may help establish what happened and expose wrongdoing that might otherwise remain hidden. Citizen journalism can also give ordinary people a platform that traditional media once controlled. Vijayann experienced that transformation when she used a citizen journalism platform to document her frustrations and discovered that her voice mattered.

But there is a line between documenting injustice and outsourcing responsibility to a camera.  If someone is being harassed, recording the incident may preserve evidence. But who stands beside the victim?

Civic Courage

Perhaps what we need is not more heroes, but more responsible citizens.  Agreed, nobody is expected to physically confront a violent perpetrator. That may be neither practical nor safe. But there is a considerable distance between reckless heroism and complete indifference.

A bystander can call the police, alert security personnel, seek help from others, stay with the victim, offer to become a witness or simply ask, “Are you, all right?” At times, a simple question can break through the wall of silence and isolation surrounding the victim.  Why, then, are these responses not instinctive?

One explanation lies in the psychology of crowds. When one person sees an emergency, responsibility can feel immediate. When fifty people see it, responsibility can mysteriously evaporate. Each person assumes that someone else will act. The crowd becomes a fog in which individual accountability disappears.

But there is another problem. We are gradually becoming a society of spectators.  The distinction between witnessing and watching is important. A witness recognises that something has happened and accepts some responsibility for responding appropriately. A spectator merely observes.

Vijayann’s larger journey from personal experience to citizen journalism is relevant here. Her larger message was that when individuals stand up, they may also be standing up for their communities, friends and peers.

We should not place the burden of solving public violence on bystanders, just as we should not place it on victims. The primary responsibility belongs to the perpetrator and to the institutions charged with preventing and responding to crime. Yet between the individual offender and the formal machinery of justice lies a vast social space occupied by ordinary citizens.

Schools teach children mathematics, science and languages. Workplaces teach rules and compliance procedures. But where do we learn the ethics of intervention?

Perhaps civic education needs another chapter. Not merely knowing our rights, but understanding what we can safely do when someone else’s rights are being violated. True citizenship begins when we refuse to look away.

(The writer is a retired banker and author. He can be reached at krs1957@hotmail.com. Views personal.)