On a miserable day in Dublin recently, we stepped out of the Light House Cinema and into the wind and rain of Smithfield. The rain had driven everyone out of the centre of the square except for a man lying face down in the middle of it.
When we got close, we asked him if he was all right but he did not respond. A passerby advised us to put him in the recovery position and then called out, “You okay, bud?” The man made an incoherent response. He lifted his head enough for us to see he had blood on his face.
A man with a phone to his ear emerged from where he had been sheltering. “I’m on to the emergency services,” he said. He then spent, by my estimate, at least 10 minutes answering questions, growing exasperated, shaking his head and raising his eyes to heaven: “Yes he is breathing, no his face hasn’t changed colour, I’m just a passerby”, etc.
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I remembered going through such a questioning a few years previously when I got involved in helping a woman displaying signs of distress. At the end of all that, I was told there were no ambulances available in Dublin at all. The woman asked me for €5 and hopped on to a bus despite the protestations of the angry driver who seemed to know her by name – then I understood why every ambulance in Dublin had gone off the radar.
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This man, though, was definitely not about to jump on a bus and I shared the frustration of the man on the phone.
Finally he told us, “They’re sending an ambulance.” He returned to shelter and to wait for the ambulance. We went to get the Luas home.
If you think the fact that the man was left lying in the rain all on his own in the middle of Smithfield for at least a time indicates the callousness of people these days, think again.
In the end, I have no satisfying explanation for why places change our behaviour. I can only conclude that who I am depends, to a greater extent than I’d like, on where I am
A colleague who collapsed outside the GPO on O’Connell Street lay on the pavement while people passed by. It was the morning rush hour. He was wearing a suit, so quite respectable. Had I been there, and had I not known him, would I have walked past as well? Would you? I like to think I would have stopped to help but I know, on the other hand, that I am no good Samaritan. Finally a good Samaritan did appear, in the form of a taxi driver who helped him into his car and brought him to hospital.
That was in 1969. So it has nothing to do with generations or “people these days”.
Perhaps it has something to do with cities, this capacity to walk on by. Had the man in Smithfield been lying in the square of any town in the country, he would probably have been helped much more quickly.
Indeed, 5km from the GPO, when I tripped over a slightly raised paving slab in Crumlin, several people, including a woman in a passing car, stopped to help. Why should a few kilometres make a difference to our readiness to help? Yet they do.
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I mentioned above that a taxi driver had rescued my colleague from outside the GPO. It’s not the first time I’ve heard of taxi drivers as good Samaritans. In a more recent example I know of from a couple of years ago, a taxi driver stopped when he spotted a woman who had been wandering the streets in distress for some hours and took her to a place of safety. Many another – ordinary people – would have driven by.
In the end, I have no satisfying explanation for why places change our behaviour. I can only conclude that who I am depends, to a greater extent than I’d like, on where I am.
And I don’t complain about taxi drivers anymore. Some day when I am the one who needs a good Samaritan, he or she might arrive with a taxi sign on the roof.
- Pádraig O’Morain (Instagram, Twitter: @padraigomorain) is accredited by the Irish Association for Counselling and Psychotherapy. His books include Acceptance - create change and move forward; his daily mindfulness reminder is available free by email (pomorain@yahoo.com).