Why Didn't Someone DO Something?

Earlier this week upon entering the neighborhood branch of my bank, I was annoyed by the sight of a flat panel television, mounted on the wall, appropriately tuned to CNN.  The annoyance originated with a recurring thought  that it seems we are being conditioned to expect entertainment at every turn.  Think of where monitors are found today:  grocery store aisles and checkout counters, gas pumps, offices, and more.  Have you been to a basketball game lately?  There is no moment of inactivity.  Timeouts are filled with women wearing skimpy uniforms, smiling broadly to show off their five-figure laser-bright dental work, and shaking their boobs and back sides while bouncing their bobbled heads.  Or beer-breathed bubbas race down to try to shoot a basket from half court to win whatever prize awaits.  And when all else fails, blaring music prompts many who have a sense of rhythm, and more who don't, to cut a jig at their seats or in the aisles.  It is bad enough that hard-working folks pay huge sums of money for tickets and concessions to watch grown men play a game and make more than a lifetime of the average person's income, in one season.  Yep, we get more, much more than our fair share of entertainment, so much so, that the lack of attention to detail and/or anything matter of substance, is ever increasing.

All of these thoughts were hammering away in my head, when my attention was drawn to the annoying monitor.  I was captivated by a video, and watched as people passed by a man lying on a New York sidewalk, bleeding.  At least seven people walked past this man.  Did anyone stop?  Well, a couple of folks most surely did.  One stopped, lifted the man's body, exposing the blood.  Then, he walked away.  Another man stopped, brandished his mobile phone and took a picture of the wounded man.  Did he make a phone call?  No.  He walked away.  So overcome was this writer, that she had to exit the bank and take refuge in her Jeep so as not to make a spectacle of herself in the bank.

As I sat in my vehicle, I could not help but try to imagine what the man's thoughts were as he lay on the sidewalk, dying.  His wounds were sustained in an effort to help another, who did not hang around, nor call for assistance.  I thought of some of the times I had been in distress.  Once at a Greenway Plaza office building in Houston, there was an evacuation.  I was on the 28th floor.  Having a chronic medical condition, I did not look forward to walking down so many stairs to the first floor, but there was no choice.  On my way down, I was passed by more able-bodied folks who did not always take care to avoid contact with me.  I was jostled by a crowd coming from a floor occupied by an investment firm, the median age of its employees being 21.  It was all I could do to cling to the rail while the human herd stampeded past in their descent.  When I finally reached the ground floor and walked outside, my knees buckled when I had nothing to hold onto, and I toppled over, to the amusement of some of the folks standing around.   On the other hand, I also remembered an episode at the post office in downtown Houston, when, as I turned to reach for a pen, a stabbing pain and a locked joint dared me to straighten up.   Not only postal workers, but customers offered me assistance.  

Episodes like the one in New York make us wonder what has happened to humankind in general.  Yes, there has always been evil in the world.  And this is far worse than plain old evil.  Evil is relatively easy.  You see it, recognize it for what it is, and deal with it accordingly.  However, indifference is in a zone all to itself.  Indifference can inject itself into our veins, infecting us with a that's not my problem attitude.  I am reminded of a question proffered by my pastor, Steve Wells, during a Wednesday evening Bible study:  What is the opposite of love?   Naturally, some replied hate.  No, not hate, but indifference. 

Think about it:  did the folks -- at least seven of them -- bypass the wounded man because they hate him?  Is it logical to assume that they hate him?  I think not.  There is no indication of hate.  There is, however, an indication of indifference.  How else could it be, other than no one showed any care or concern for the wounded man, except they lacked love -- that basic benevolent concern for another human being.    I cannot help but wonder if a known personality were to lay on a sidewalk, not even injured, how long it would take for scores of people -- and even more media -- to show up. 

So, what is the deal?  Simply this:  we have become desensitized to any external stimulation that does not serve our need for constant entertainment.  We are charter members of the "IT'S ALL ABOUT ME" club.  And since we care for no one but ourselves, each person has his own chapter of the IT'S ALL ABOUT ME club, with a total membership of one.  And as was told to me years ago, the one who lives by oneself, for oneself, and in oneself, is always contaminated by the company one keeps.

What about the seven or more who passed by Hugo Alfred Tale-Yax (yep, he has a name, too).  Have they given him a thought since the moment of their encounter with him?  What if the next such incident involves someone they know?  Someone they think they care about?  Will there be cries of indignation?  Will there by weeping, waling, gnashing of teeth?  An offering of a reward for such a heinous act?  Impromptu shrines?  Candlelight vigils?  Press conferences?  When it matters to them, what will be the aftermath?  Will they wonder why didn't someone DO something?  

In case you haven't noticed, we have been lulled into a false sense of "okay-ness" where fluff matters and substance is inconsequential.  We have been indoctrinated to think that everyone else's problems are just their's.  What we have failed to remember is that what happens to one happens to us all.  When all of us matter, we will all do something.