Pigeon beyond caring

I saw a pigeon today that looked exactly how I felt. I was struck by its utterly miserable expression and decided to take a photograph. Not wanting to frighten it, I edged slowly closer for a better shot. But this pigeon was beyond caring. It sat in a state of complete dejection, not even blinking. It reminded me of Michael McIntyre’s joke about suicidal city pigeons.

After taking the picture, I continued my walk, pondering the peculiar traits of modern life.

We had visitors staying with us last week, and on one of the buses back from Valletta there was an accident right in front of us. A middle-aged woman had been struck on the head, either by the bus itself or by its wing mirror. The driver immediately got out to call the police and an ambulance while we sat helplessly on the crowded bus.

What shocked me most was not the accident itself but the reaction of so many passengers. They instinctively reached for their mobile phones and hurried to the front window to photograph the injured woman. There was pushing and shoving as people jostled to get the best view. It made me wonder how many dying victims spend their last conscious moments staring into a forest of mobile phones pointed in their direction as they bleed on the pavement. Too often, onlookers seem more interested in capturing the drama than in staying out of the way of those trying to help.

I cannot pretend complete innocence. My own weakness is different. I sometimes watch those social experiment videos on YouTube where someone pretends to assault someone to see whether passers-by intervene. It is depressing to discover how few do. Of course, some of those videos may themselves be staged, with actors playing the roles of rescuers and bystanders. Yet not all are fake, and occasionally such experiments have gone badly wrong, with real injuries and genuine danger.

Perhaps the common thread is that we have become spectators and recorders rather than active participants. Often there are perfectly understandable reasons for hesitating. We ask ourselves: Have I misunderstood the situation? Is someone else already dealing with it? If nobody else is acting, perhaps I shouldn't either.

It reminds me of a famous psychology experiment. A waiting room is full of people while, in an adjoining office, a secretary is typing. Suddenly there is the sound of someone climbing a stepladder, followed by a loud crash and the cries of a woman calling for help.

When the waiting room is crowded, remarkably few people get up to investigate. Most look uncomfortable, glance nervously at one another, and wait to see how everyone else reacts.

Yet repeat exactly the same experiment with only one person in the waiting room, and that individual almost always rushes to the office door to offer assistance.

Our humanity is still there. Somehow, though, when responsibility is shared among many people, it seems to evaporate. Psychologists call it the bystander effect. Responsibility becomes diluted until, collectively, no one feels responsible at all.

No wonder that pigeon looked so miserable. It probably realised that if it collapsed on a crowded pavement, the one thing it could rely on was not compassion, but becoming another photo opportunity for some passing idiot.