I Am Ashamed

Tonight in Prague, I became one of the things that I hate: I became part of the problem.

I witnessed assault and I did nothing to stop it.

Tonight, while walking to the train station with a couple of people from my Remote Year group (one male and one female), we entered a side street with a few other people on it. The three of us were chatting away when we heard some yelling and a loud WHAP! We looked up and saw a man who appeared to be in a fight with another man across the street. The first man was sizable. I would guess he was somewhere around my size and weight (I’m 6’4”/193cm 220 lbs) but perhaps a bit more muscular. He was enraged- screaming in a language I didn’t speak and swinging what looked like a switch or baton at a second man. After a couple more swings and a fierce verbal exchange, the other man backed away and I assumed the fight had ended.

We took a few more steps.

WHAP!

I looked over and the man had now turned his anger and attention towards a woman that seemed to be with the other man. I couldn’t tell if he had hit her or hit the wall next to her to scare her off, but my initial impression was that this man might have been defending himself against some sort of shady deal. Perhaps this couple had tried to steal from him and he was trying to scare them off. He began to walk off, screaming over his shoulder at the woman. She would occasionally shout back at him, stirring him up to the point where he would walk back and start screaming in her face. That’s when it began to register; she’s not in a shady couple with the other guy. This is the couple.

At about this time, we walked past a pair of young men standing on our side of the street who seemed to be standing and watching this encounter, making sure that it didn’t get out of hand. I would guess they were in their mid-twenties and both were also around my size. So seeing this, I breathed a mental sigh of relief.

“OK, good,” I told myself. “If anything happens these guys will step in. They don’t need me.”

Our trio kept walking, at a slow pace, eyes all fixated on the scene across the street. We got about ten more steps when it happened. He finally was set off and he grabbed her by the hair and began thrashing her head about. We all stopped. I looked at the two guys behind us who started to walk across the street, and one sheepishly let out a, “Hey man…” I began walking back toward them, but stayed silent. The man let go of the girl’s head and began to walk away agin, never once stopping his roaring tirade. It was clear that he knew we were all looking at him because as he continued to yell while walking off, he refused to make eye contact with any of us.

Then, to I think the shock of the entire group, the woman followed behind him.

They paused.
He berated her.
She wept.
They walked.
This cycle continued as they worked their way down the street (minus any further physical violence).

We all stood, frozen- all five of us. There was a tension of uncertainty in the air. What was our role? It felt like we were supposed to do something, but were we really? I mean, she was following him. None of us spoke the language they were speaking. What would we even do if we were able to get them apart? So many questions lingered in my mind, yet even in all of that uncertainty, one thing was clear: we had failed this woman. This was obviously an abusive relationship, and none of us stepped in. We didn’t even try. I didn’t even try. Sure, I walked alongside them, staring at the man from across the street until the end of the block, “daring” him to try something again. Because if he did…ooh, man. That’s when I’d really jump in! …But he didn’t. And then at the end of the block, they turned left. Our train station was to the right. We watched them walk for about 30 more seconds and then we just….went to our train.

I did nothing. The biggest guy in the area, and I didn’t do a goddamned thing.

I felt queasy. The entire walk to the train station I stared at the sidewalk and replayed the moment over and over in my head. Why didn’t I yell? Why didn’t I do anything? I’m certain if I stepped in and the man attacked me, the other four people would’ve backed me up. So why did I just stand there? I could’ve yelled. I could’ve charged him. I could’ve done SOMETHING. For Christ’s sake, I’m a 6'4" former college athlete. I may not be “buff,” but I can still be imposing if the situation calls for it. What the hell was I so afraid of??

And as we walked in uncomfortable silence…as we waited for our train while making awkward attempts to break the tension…as we rode the train staring at the ground, not wanting to look each other in the eyes…there was only one question that repeated in my mind: How must that have felt for the girl that was walking with me? To be standing there in a moment where four large men, all plenty capable of intervening and helping out this other woman, stood idly by and just let it happen. How that must’ve shattered her hopes for good people doing the right thing. How that surely tarnished her image of the character I have. How terrifying it must have been for her to think that if she was in a similar situation that four guys might just stand and watch it happen to her.

I hear her sniffling, and I know why.

…Fuck.

Why didn’t I do anything?

I have nieces. I have sisters. I have friends. And beyond that, I have a moral obligation to the other human beings on this planet — regardless of gender — to stand up for people who can’t do it for themselves. And tonight, I fucked it all up. I squandered the gifts that I’ve been given and let down those I care about most — even if they/you don’t know it. I failed you all by failing my own character.

Now, to be clear, I didn’t write this as an apology. Don’t get me wrong, I want nothing more than to take that moment of inaction back. Tonight I found out the ugly truth about myself: The stories I’ve told myself for years about how I’m some sort of “valiant knight in waiting” were just wishful thinking. And the selfish, most prideful parts of my brain wish that I could un-know that. But I can’t un-know it any more than I can undo it. And even yet, this article is not an “I’m sorry” letter. An apology in this format would only seek to serve me and make me feel better about myself; it does nothing for the girl from the street. So, instead, this essay is part-confession and part-promise.

1- The confession is admission of my failure — A failure in one of the most significantly shitty ways that you can fail: I ethically failed someone else.

2- The promise is that it will never happen again. I’m sure I will mess up, let myself down, and fall short in the future — that’s guaranteed. But I will never fail in this way ever again. I will never not show up for you out of fear. This is my commitment to you, even if I don’t know you.

And I don’t say this to impress anyone or sound like a better person, or get comments on the article like, “Thanks so much for sharing.” I came clean and made this promise to get one thing: accountability. I am speaking this reality into existence. And I want you (yes YOU) to know that.