Doing the “right” thing as a bystander to cruelty

I credit my fifth grade English teacher for a key, life altering experience. Throughout my childhood I was never particularly popular; in fact, I made for an easy target since my interests were so out of step with my peers. (Remember the early ’90s when Green Day and the like were popular youth bands? I preferred Bette Midler and Richard Marx.) I mastered self-imposed isolationism as the cornerstone of my defense strategy.

One incident in English class changed my perspective dramatically. My class included somewhere between 20-25 fifth graders, mostly from upper middle class backgrounds. One kid, we’ll call Steve, recently experienced a bout with lice. His mother decided the best way of dealing with the little buggers, literally, was to shave his head. Bald did not suit Steve.

My English teacher received a phone call that she needed to take outside the classroom, leaving us to our own devices while she talked in the hallway. The instant she was gone, my classmates turned on Steve. I no longer remember what was said, but Steve was reduced to tears pretty quickly.

I sat quietly at my desk, not sure what to do; for the first time in what felt like a long time, the mockery was directed at someone other than me. Did I really want to get involved and ultimately redireect attention to myself? I made the bad and expected decision most 11- year olds would make: I kept my mouth shut.

By now Steve is practically sobbing and my English teacher returns. She demanded to know what happened; it’s amazing how fast 11-year olds clam up. Once she was able to put two and two together, she was furious. She went off on a rant about how you’re supposed to treat your fellow human beings — the only part of her diatribe I remember clearly was when told us we were all “little monsters” for turning on a peer like that.

I was crushed; I felt I had failed as a human being. I knew what the right thing to do was, but I didn’t do it because of the social consequences to myself. From that day forward, I vowed to speak up and speak out when no one else would.

As I get older, I’m increasingly disturbed by the lack of humanity in our interactions with others. We hear about commuters stuck in traffic on a bridge, encouraging the suicidal to just jump already. Groups of teen boys have set fire to homeless men in NYC and Japan, while another group of teens beat a homeless man to death over a three hour period in Florida. One of the attackers commented:

The main thing that I can’t keep out of my head. That I keep thinking about 24/7 is Michael asking for help, and asking us stop, and screaming for help (CBS News 10/1/06)

Last week a group of teenage boys in Montclair, NJ allegedly forced a mentally disabled girl to fellate them and then sexually assaulted her with a broom stick, while at least seven classmates played video games in another room and ignored her screams.

Are we as a society, collectively failing to teach the next generation about ethics and personal responsibility? It’s clearly not an issue specific to American culture because these incidents take place all over the world. In India, some brides are still set fire to by their husbands and inlaws if the dowry isn’t deemed adequate, despite dowries being outlawed in 1961.

One of the earliest instances of this bystander effect is the tale of Kitty Genovese who was murdered in an alleyway in 1964 while the 12 neighbors looked on from their windows and doors, watching aspects of the murder and sexual assault unfold. The police were called too late to save her life. Is Genovese syndrome spreading and becoming common place?

Is the failing with parents who aren’t teaching their children the difference between right and wrong? Are educators expected to teach children ethics and tolerance, as well as their ABCs? Who is responsible for teaching young people to respect the lives of their peers, the downtrodden and everyone else in between?