Whose Fault?

Was it really my fault? I knew that I should have done something about it. I am not particularly sure what i should have done though…

You see this is how it begun. Last Friday I had taken a ride to downtown Minneapolis. At 9.27 pm, I was at the Hennepin Avenue and the 8th Street Bus stage waiting for a 6B to Xerxes Avenue where I live. I had not been there for long when I heard the voice of what I thought was either a drunkard or a severely depressed person. I looked out and saw a young man, probably in his mid twenties and his girl friend (or at least he was accompanied by a young girl). The young man was not only staggering but also shouting some unintelligible words. When reached the bus stop he posed before he began firing salvos at two young men of African-American decent that had been standing at the bus stop, patiently waiting for the bus. He dared the boys to fight him as he mentioned unprintable words against them. These people did not disappoint him. They immediately descended on him with kicks and blows and in no time he was on the ground bleeding profusely. Meanwhile his girlfriend had taken off only to return after the drama.

During this short ordeal that to me looked like a thousand years, my mind went through thousands of emotions. When I first heard the drunkard’s voice I ignored it like I would with any other. My mind said, he will soon become sober and repent. But as he drew nearer, I got interested in what he had to say. Unfortunately, by the time he was nearer enough an audible, he was firing salvos at the black communities, with the usual “nigger” tirades. I wondered whether to sympathize with his ignorance, envy his complacency or just ignore his noise-making and attention seeking tactics. Before I could make a decision on what emotion to employ, the other boys were on him, mercilessly rewarding him for the “kind” invitation to a bout. No doubt, it was a one sided battle as the other side was too intoxicated to tell the right hand from the left.

This was the most confusing moment for me. I certainly could not choose which side of the divide to stand. While on hand I felt that as a descendant of the continent of Africa I had been insulted and looked down upon merely because of the colour of my skin, I also had a different feeling for the poor guy. Something said to me that there was an overreaction by the two African-Americans. That it was needless fighting a poor fellow who was in the first place too cowardly to face even his own self while sober. That he had to intoxicate himself to face the world was to me the surest sign of cowardice. But again, something else came to my mind. I asked myself why in the drunken state, the only “logical” thing for the poor fellow to do was to attack the people of colour – specifically, the African Americans. Why, pray he that he did not look for another white American or a latina? Is there possibility that in the drunken state he was just expressing what has been lingering in his mind in when he is sober? I don’t know! Some of these questions almost have no answer, especially now that I am sure I may never meet the boy to ask him.

So what was suppose to be my legitimate action? Join in the “party” and “discipline” the poor man for “attacking my race?” Ask the other boys to stop beating him? Just watch and cheer in my heart? Actually, I just stared as the events unfolded as I pinched myself to confirm that I was not merely dreaming. Though I was not sure what would have been my right choice of action, I am sure I know my reason for inaction. I did not want to get into trouble with the law. I was not sure whether policemen were patrolling and that by bad luck they would find me in the mix and consequently wind me up with the rest. I did not also know whether the other boys would turn on me and beat me up as well or whether the poor fellow (receiving the beating) had a gun and was going to shoot somebody for revenge – and that I may be just this somebody. Whatever happened, I acted on the principle of my best interest first. Whether or not I did what was right still remains a subject of philosophical discussion. What is suppose to be the greater ethic? What was I suppose to do? Restated, in a larger and a more undefined context, what are the silent majority suppose to do in such circumstances, realizing that I wasn’t the only one who just stood to watch the event?”  How about his girlfriend who ran away?

Lastly, no doubt the two African Americans were offended. Was their course of action right? Legitimate? Why then did they run away? I find it disturbing though that they were responding to a drunkards tirades in the manner that Dr. Patrick Lumumba christened “using a sledge hammer to respond to a mosquito bite.” I am sure common sense would have demanded a more civil action that violence. But again who would have listened to them? They were dared and they showed their “manhood” in response. Uhm, something else… was it the fault of the poor boy that he lost control of himself or the liquor’s fault? Was it his fault that he was drunk in the first place?

My bus came at the scheduled time, 9.33 pm and I jumped in. Still this event haunts my memory to date.

Over to you, what’s your take?