He’s here on the arms of someone we didn’t invite in the first place, and he’s somehow found a way to engage not just me but at least three other people in a “debate” about politics, which largely consists of us saying “we deserve equal rights” and him contesting it. He asks me, “Now, really, what exactly is the point of all these social justice stories?” and then chuckles around the edge of his Pabst Blue Ribbon that he stole out of my friend’s kitchen. And then he says, “Is there any real… science… involved??”
And he really shouldn’t have asked that, because this whole time I’ve been letting others be the point leaders while I just nod fervently in strong agreement. But let’s get something straight: science is my shit. Science fucks me up on a daily and I say, “thank you, science.” And my friends musta known that the little white “be nice” angel on my shoulder just held up his hands and said, “get him, girl,” because they all step back too, and suddenly neck-beard self-assured grin and I (five-two kindergarten teacher who wings her eyeliner and pets every dog she can) are directly facing off.
And I say, “Uh, first of all,” which is code for, “I’m about to fuck your shit up six ways from Sunday and I gotta numerically order my thoughts so that you can be assured it’s the worst ass-beating you ever got handed to you,” and then I say, “Disregarding anecdotal evidence as scientifically sound is a fallacy. All data is viable unless it is shown to be an outlier via testing. And in this case, it’s been tested thoroughly and been shown to be entirely reproducible and statistically relevant.”
And the guy shifts his eyes to me and raises his eyebrows in the way people have when they’re surprised that I care about more than glitter. And I say, “Secondly, the Bystander Effect.”
Here’s the thing. In 1964, a 19-year-old named Kitty Genovese was murdered. She was the eldest of five children, was a recent graduate of high school, was working hard to support herself and her girlfriend. She was murdered on the steps of a building. The people inside heard her scream and beg for help over the course of about an hour. One of them opened a window and shouted at the man assaulting her. Nothing else was done.
This is the Bystander Effect. When something happens, those who see it happen do not act to change the event. Everyone thinks someone else is going to step in and they can just sit back and allow it. The good news is that it’s negated by learning about it, so this is me, teaching you: don’t stand there, do something. Don’t wait for the person choking to ask for help. Don’t wait to give up your seat when the person in crutches boards the bus. Don’t wait. Stand up.
This is why the stories matter. This is so when Tessa comes home with a black eye, you don’t avoid looking at her face. You don’t let her keep dating him. The next day that you see him, you get him mad enough to hit you and then you take him to the police since she won’t. This is so you don’t stand over a grave later wondering why you never did anything more than tell her “get out” without handing her a rope.
This is why when Parker down the street gets shot, you blame the cop. You don’t slur her name. You don’t dig up her high school disciplinary record and say, “one time she interrupted the teacher while he was talking,” you say, “how did she deserve this? since when has resisting arrest been a capital offense?” you ask the questions her mamma wants you to ask. you don’t sit in darkness. you don’t wait until the light changes. you get up and you change the light.
this is why when Alex says he’s a guy, you let him into the locker room with you. this is why when your team of jock guys starts mocking his binder, you ask them all why it matters so much. You stand up for him even when it scares you too much to talk right. You don’t wait until the suicide note. You don’t wait for the noose to tighten around his throat. You don’t wait for the assembly in the school after about friendship and understanding and tolerance. You teach it while the people who need it are still alive to receive it.
Kitty Genovese is only known because of the crime that was acted upon her. So many people are only known because of the crimes that have been acted upon them, and none of them went to the good great earth without their share of shouting. They have been calling for help for a long time now. It’s up to you to stop standing there, watching.
We tell these stories because we are carrying the weight of another person’s spite. We tell these stories so someone might hear and stop the fist from meeting our jaw. Get out of the apartment. Come see what’s wrong. Don’t let us hurt out here on your steps, don’t let us die on the way to the hospital.
I say to him: People are evidence. Stop waiting until all this spoken word becomes corpses. The ‘point’ of these social justice stories is that one day we get to live. It’s so one day you understand we’re not just idea, we’re human. One day our world will be good enough to leave to the children. One day somebody calls the EMT’s before we’re DOA.
I say, “It’s those two words we’re holding on for: One day.”
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