Stepping into Harm's Way

“If it is to be, it is up to me.”

Stephen King wrote four dramatic novellas collected into a book titled Different Seasons. Three of them have been made into movies, two of which were excellent. If you’ve seen The Shawshank Redemption and/or Stand by Me, this book is where they came from.

The story for Stand by Me was titled “The Body.” In both, one of the main characters, Chris, is killed while trying to be a peacemaker. He was in a fast-food restaurant and an argument broke out between two men in line. Chris stepped in between them to prevent violence, was stabbed in the throat, and died.

That scene was playing through my head as I walked toward the two men who were about to fight.

It was a night market in Maui, at the north end of Kihei. I had to pee and was lined up waiting for one of the three porta-potties. One of the potties had the green “VACANT” showing, but right next to the door was a man who kept opening it periodically to look inside. Anyone with a brain could tell he was a dad checking in on his kid who was in some form of evacuatory distress.

Unless that brain was severely intoxicated.

The drunk man was big. He walked straight for the door proclaiming its vacancy, oblivious to the line of people or the dad standing guard. The drunk man reached for the door handle and the dad held up a palm in the universal “stop right there” hand signal and said, “Whoa. Hold on. My son is in there.”

I couldn’t make out what the drunk man said but judging by what happened next it was not “Oh, my mistake. I apologize and will wait my turn.”

What happened next was that the situation rapidly turned to feces.

Whatever it was the drunk man said, the dad replied with, “I will knock you the fuck down.”

Everyone in line froze. There was about to be a fight. I’d seen this sort of thing unravel before. It usually takes a few more seconds of harsh words and perhaps a bit of shoving, but then it gets ugly.

A much younger James might have said, “Oh, this is gonna be good.” I was a teen in the 80s, and peacemakers were often frowned upon. Rather, I had witnessed reluctant combatants shoved toward each other. We wanted to see some blood!

And this drunken jackass posed a threat to the man’s son. The dad was justified, dammit. Knock that fucker down. Teach him a lesson. Be the brave and protective father-hero. Few will deny the righteousness of such valiant violence.

But I did not want to see blood, because I’ve gained knowledge and understanding since my youth. There were many scenarios that could play out in the next few seconds, few of them good.

Because people can die from a single punch.

Go ahead and google “death from a single punch.” There are countless examples. Often, the puncher goes to prison. More than one life can be ruined from a solitary fist to the head.

Or maybe dad breaks his hand. Have fun playing with your kids in the ocean on that expensive Maui vacation with a cast on. Probably comes with a hefty hospital bill too.

Or maybe drunk guy is good at drunk fighting, and dad gets taken down.

Or perhaps the cops show up and everyone gets arrested and jr. with the bum issues is traumatized by the whole scene.

Or. Or. Or.

Or maybe nothing. In those multiple scenarios, nothing is a great option. Probably the best option.

I walked toward the two men, hoping to do something that would result in such a nothing.

I approached slowly and took a position between them, but off to the side. I focused on the drunk guy, because he was the instigator and the one most in need of being talked down. I said a number of things about how there was no need to fight / It would be better for everyone if we resolved this peacefully / This is a family event and there are lots of kids here / There are cops all over the place and no one wants to go to jail.

In truth, I’d seen only two cops about half an hour earlier on the other side of the market, but I think it was the word “cops” that did it. The image of police and handcuffs got through the drunken haze, and he huffed, then walked away.

Go me.

I said to the dad, “Sorry that happened.” He was still seething and didn’t say much. I walked back to my place in line and one woman said, “That was really cool what you did.” Later that evening I told my wife and daughter about it. My wife said, “Did you use that same condescending voice when you were talking him down?” My daughter added, “Oh, I hate that voice!”

Ouch.

As a writer, I live inside my own head quite often, telling myself stories, even imaging things that may happen and what I might do. You could call it a skill. As I walked toward the impending fight, I thought of Chris getting stabbed in the throat and therefore was prepared to leap back. It’s why I didn’t position myself directly between the two men. Being it’s the United States, I also thought about guns, but calculated the risk as low since it was Maui, and I figured this guy wasn’t packing on a beach vacation. Nevertheless, I was ready to grab the gun and his forearm, twist hard and fast, and hope for the best.

I don’t like violence, but I know a bit about how to do it.

There was no charging in without thought. There was plenty of thought. The “reward” for the risk was that I was certain there was about to be a fight, and if such combat resulted in devastation, I’d feel responsible for not trying to prevent it.

When you look around and no one else is helping, you face a difficult decision. You must ask yourself if it will be you. Throughout history people have been faced with such decisions, and a lot of people say fuck no. Not me.

And yet, there are others—people whose stories I’ve told in my book—who take the words of William Johnsen to heart: “If it is to be, it is up to me.”

Finding Friendship in the Blues
Blues musician Daryl Davis is the epitome of stepping up and stepping into harm’s way to help others move in a positive direction. In an NPR interview, Davis, a Black man, tells of a chance encounter in a bar and how he began a friendly relationship with a white man by discussing the roots of rock and roll.

The man, it turned out, was a card-carrying member of the KKK.

The experience gave Davis a mission. In subsequent years, by forming relationships with Klan members based on the premise of “How can you hate me when you don’t even know me?” Davis has convinced over 200 KKK members to leave the group, hanging up their robes for good.

It’s an amazing story that must come with a caveat that we cannot request such emotional labor from most people. Davis is obviously an exceptional human being to take on such a task, but we can’t ask the victims of racism—or any form of bigotry—to be responsible for changing the minds of their oppressors. The onus is on the bigot.

Novelist and activist James Baldwin said, “We can disagree and still love each other unless your disagreement is rooted in my oppression and denial of my humanity and right to exist.”

I won’t tell anyone to do anything, but will instead ask them to consider what they’re capable of doing, where and when they are able to step up, to help others discover their own innate positive path.

And it doesn’t have to be the Daryl Davis approach. Rosa Parks put herself in harm’s way with the Montgomery, Alabama bus incident. Referred to as “the mother of the freedom movement,” Parks was arrested for refusing to give up her seat on a segregated bus in 1955. She didn’t try to make friends with the bus driver. She didn’t get chummy with the police officer who hauled her to prison. She fought for her rights as a human being.

In so doing she became a beacon. She drew attention to injustice, and many came to realize that such segregationist policies should not be allowed to stand. They were won over by her defiance and came to support the Civil Rights Movement.  

The two men in the Maui night market were white. I’m white, and I know nothing of what it’s like to be Black. I have heard of this thing called “The Talk” that Black parents have with their children about dealing with police, but know nothing of what it’s like to give or receive such a talk. My friend Ryane Chatman explained to me that, “It’s not ‘The Talk’ in the same way as reviewing and explaining sexual health and practices. It’s an ongoing conversation. It is explaining what to do, what to say, and how to behave. In some cases, it’s about where not to go because the citizenry in some areas is prejudice.”

I never had to have those conversations with my kids.

I have also read stories of where a Black person tried to help and was taken as a perpetrator by police and arrested or killed. I’ve read that story again and again. If I may dare to imagine myself in such shoes, were I Black man faced with the prospect of getting in between two white men about to fight, my reaction would be, “Let the white dudes punch it out.” Because the risk seems untenable.

But for me, being white, the risk of intervening was reasonable. It was reasonable because I have privilege. And because I have privilege, I have power. And because I have power, I have responsibility. (Credit: Uncle Ben.)

A Beacon of Freedom
Rosa was seated at the front of the “Colored Section” of the bus. But when more whites got on the bus than were seats available in the “White Section,” the bus driver moved the sign for the Colored Section further back and told her and three other Black people to move to the re-designated Colored Section. The others complied, Rosa did not.

Years later Rosa said in an interview, “When that white driver stepped back toward us, when he waved his hand and ordered us up and out of our seats, I felt a determination cover my body like a quilt on a winter night.” Such a comforting cover of rightness comes from being authentic, emanating from a true sense of self. This is the sensation that drives people to do good, even though they may face a personal cost.

In refusing to get up, Rosa stepped up, and changed the world for the better.

But there is something you likely don’t understand about this story. I didn’t, until Ryane explained it to me. She said of Black women, “We shoulder the brunt of the emotional, financial, and physical labor when it comes to civil activism. We step up regardless of the cost, the harm, the danger. This has been the way in the U.S. particularly, since, well, slavery.”

For too long people have looked to others to shoulder the burdens of change. The privileged benefit from the status quo and see little reason to make efforts at altering it. Throughout history, it is the mass of millions of acts both great and small that changes the world for the better. And so, if you have privilege, use it for good. If there is a wrong in need of righting, right it. If there is aid in need of being given, give it.

Because who will it be if not you?

Who will it be?

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