Uni High Gargoyle Staff Blog

Last weekend, I was at a city mall with my mother. As we were walking from one store to another, we passed one of those slightly annoying vendor carts where some man with an accent asks you ceaselessly whether he can straighten your hair. The vendor cart we passed was selling Crocs of all colors and had a pale blonde woman working there.

As we walked by, a commotion quickly broke out. Another woman ran toward the blonde woman yelling profanities at her screaming, “Try it again next time bitch! Best recognize who you’re messing with!” But the hateful words quickly escalated into physical violence with the cursing woman pulling the hair of the blonde. At this point my mother and I quickly ducked into the closest store.

Once the blonde had fallen onto the floor, the other woman proceeded to kick her over and over. She then removed her shoe and hit the blonde on her face.

By this point, people passing by had taken notice and were attempting to calm the violent woman down. One small and mousy looking man held his hands up and said, “Now, now, let’s all take a breather.”

Mall security soon arrived to clear up the mess, and as I exited the store where my mother and I had been waiting, I saw the blonde still sitting on the floor in a humiliated heap with a large bag of ice on her face that did not cover her cuts and her hair all out of place.

What struck me about this entire situation was not so much the violence, but my reaction to it. I’ve always prided myself on standing up for what’s right. Or at least I think I do. I don’t like when people say the word “retarded” as a synonym for something being bad. I like to apologize if I’ve messed up. And I can’t unleash the Dana-giggle at a terribly offensive joke.

But somehow, when I was faced with something, I just watched. In middle school we were always told, “To stand by and watch is to participate,” whenever a hallway scuffle broke out and student spectators gathered, and even English philosopher Edmund Burke has said, “All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.”

I can’t quite say what paralyzed me to do nothing. I don’t think it was a physical fear of being hurt if I attempted to interfere, but rather, a feeling that this was not my place and it was not my business. That sentiment is true and valid because I don’t have a place in a physical assault between people I don’t know and in a location I am not familiar with.

So when is it my place? When is it my duty to help someone out? I still don’t quite know the answer to that, but I do know that leaving that woman as I and others stood by as she was physically assaulted caused me intense feelings of guilt.

Even the witness statement I was asked to give to the police in order to properly charge the fighting female and the fact that I checked on the injured woman before walking again did not make me feel any better.

Maybe I learned a lesson. Maybe I’ll do better next time. But hopefully there is no next time.

— Dana Al-Qadi