As I was rounding the corner in my neighborhood, I saw a teenage girl and her father in an argument. She appeared to be about 15 and was wearing a hoodie, with dyed hair; she generally looked the part of a rebellious, sullen teen. Walking behind him, the daughter kicked at her father’s heels. He responded by whipping around and throwing his full cup of coffee in her face. She responded with a number of expletives, but seemed unfazed and unhurt.
Living in a large city, I sometimes observe behavior that I find dangerous and/or abusive on the street, but as a young woman I hesitate to intervene, afraid of putting myself in harm’s way. In this case, the father was clearly angry, and quite a bit larger than me. I doubt he would have touched me (it was broad daylight), but I still feared getting involved.
Should I have helped this girl — let her know, at the very least, that her father’s behavior was unacceptable? What is the best way to help someone when you yourself feel relatively helpless?
Hall R., New York
First, do no harm. It’s called the principle of nonmaleficence, and it’s an important constraint on intervening in a volatile situation. (I know it’s associated with Hippocrates, but it doesn’t appear exactly this way in his surviving works, and gained currency in medical ethics only in the 19th century.) If you don’t consider the consequences of your intervention, you’re not behaving morally, however noble your sentiments.
A moment of embarrassment in the face of a stranger might — I say might — have made this man think twice about lashing out at his child in public again. But he sounds like a person with, as they say, anger issues. So whatever combination of anger and humiliation your intervention would produce could have made things worse for his daughter. For that matter, you might have become the target of his aggression: There could have been a basis for your fear. And what do you know of their relationship? You describe a daughter, sullen but not scared, who was apparently trying to provoke her father by a physical action and was uncowed by the results, as if what happened was neither out of the ordinary nor grounds for great concern. And, from your account, the daughter does not appear to have been physically harmed. Yes, you witnessed terrible parenting, but you’d need to know much more to assess the situation properly.
It’s hard, of course, to judge the likelihood of a whole range of possible outcomes. But the do-no-harm principle suggests giving special weight to the downside risks. It’s not enough to think that there’s a chance that an intervention will make things better; you have to be pretty sure it won’t make things worse. Indeed, the same issue of nonmaleficence arises on a larger scale when we hear about human rights abuses in other countries, and we say, “We must do something.” In truth, when the only feasible intervention is very likely to worsen the situation, “doing something” is just moral narcissism.
Some people would tell you that this wasn’t your business. That’s not at all what I’m saying. Had you known of an option that a) wouldn’t have been unreasonably costly to you, b) would have risked little for the teenager and c) let her know that her father’s behavior was wrong, you would have had the moral standing, perhaps even the duty, to intervene — especially if it d) might have reformed her father. But the situation, as you describe it, didn’t afford you such knowledge.
Recently I witnessed a mother harshly berating her young son, who looked to be about 9. The setting was a large public garden. She had pulled him into a secluded spot and was gripping him by the shoulders, pinning him against a wall. Her face inches from his, she lashed into him, in a language other than English that I also happen to speak. As her anger increased, he wriggled and squealed fearfully; his face was stained with tears. She shook him roughly, though she delivered no blows. Her words shocked me: “I will destroy you,” she said. I chose not to intervene. But should I have? Though neither life nor limb was, at that moment, at stake, I wish now that I had. What, if anything, would have been the right thing to say or do?
Name Withheld
Once again, the difficulty in circumstances like these is not only that you can’t be sure about the significance of what you’ve seen, but also that you can’t easily decide what the effect of intervening will be. Perhaps this woman had blown up after a day of annoyances, had never done this before and was going to apologize to her son later and resolve not to do it again. Perhaps she’s a troubled woman who loves her son but is prone to short-lived wrathful outbursts that she can’t control. Perhaps what you saw is par for the course and this boy is living in an abusive home.
Saying to her, in her own language, that she shouldn’t be treating her son that way might have led her to realize that she was doing something wrong — or it might have enraged her further and led her to punish the boy out of your view. Bear in mind, too, that people from many cultures think that strangers have no business involving themselves in the relationship between parents and their children. Even if a response from you shamed her, then, her main feeling might well have been, “Who is this strange person, who knows nothing about us, to tell me how to treat my son?”
To be sure, you have a fuller picture of what happened than I do, and you wish you had intervened. The situation you describe is certainly different from the one involving the teenage girl: This child expressed fear, not anger. Nor do you say you experienced any physical trepidation. If a thoughtful assessment led you to think that saying something would not have made things worse and might have made things better, you would have been justified in speaking up and conveying to the mother that her behavior crossed a line. (This can take the form of reproach, but it can also be an expression of concern: “Are you all right, ma’am?”)
To go further — to enlist the police or child-protective services — could trigger an invasive and possibly traumatizing series of events, perhaps separating child from parent. Sometimes that’s necessary. But you must be very confident that such recourse is justified. The principle of nonmaleficence again stakes its claim: A call to a child-abuse hotline that’s based on good intentions and poor information can devastate a struggling family.
I am fortunate to live with my paternal grandmother. She rotates between staying with my family and living with one of my aunts, her daughter. Both my family and my aunt are willing to house her as long as she wishes; my grandma brings no economic or social burden to either party. However, she always spends more of the year with us. My grandma enjoys the interactions she has with me and my siblings; at my aunt’s house, my cousins are already in college.
Recently, I’ve noticed that my grandma’s health declines when she lives with us, and improves when she stays with my aunt. In my home, she wants to be involved in cooking, cleaning and taking care of me and my siblings, but this can tire her out. With my aunt, she doesn’t feel the urge to take care of any kids, so she spends more time resting. I’ve tried to tell her that she should stay with my aunt more often, but she says that she’s a lot happier living with us. Keeping in mind that it’s up to my grandma, does it make sense for her to sacrifice her health for her happiness?
J.L., New York
First, let me say that your grandmother is lucky to have such a thoughtful grandchild; I can see why she enjoys your company. Second, let me say that the situation you describe is a little surprising: Experts are always telling us that people tend to stay healthier when they’re more active. But everyone is different. And you’re not wrong to ponder the trade-off you see. If I were forced to choose, I’d plump for a shorter, more rewarding old age over a longer and more tedious one. But those needn’t be the choices here. Maybe you should sit down as a family and tell her that you’re delighted to have her around and engaged with the household, but that you’re worried that she’s doing too much. You can then try to negotiate her activities down to a level that’s less strenuous.