Simon Butcher

Malignant society

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STIB metro doorMy usual metro this morning from De Brouckère was late, which in itself isn't unusual. Despite being «La Grande Vacances», a late metro still converts the locals into pig-headed selfish morons, unable to understand that forcing themselves through a small doorway with twenty alighting passengers is not only impolite but incurs further delays for everyone.

One particular woman and her son did just this, blissfully ignorant to the obvious fact that once everyone had left the carriage there was plenty of room to embark. They hogged the open doorway arrogantly, refusing to move to let other passengers pass easily. So far this could describe any morning's journey to work, and most days I'm simply amused (or bemused) by the sheer aberrations being played out before me.

Upon arrival at the next stop, Gare Centrale, this woman's son, who must have been no more than 8-years old and no less than 6, started screaming painfully; «Maman, maman, mon bras! Il blesse! Il blesse!»

SMS sent to a colleague after the event

The metro in Brussels employs Bombardier trains with space-saving doors that open by first pushing out of the carriage, then sliding apart and folding against the walls on either side of the doorway. It's here where the boy's arm evidently got caught in the mechanism, and was subsequently sandwiched behind the door in a very awkward position.

Since this happened almost instantaneously as the door opened, you'd expect people passing through the doorway to notice and lend a hand. Apparently this is not the done thing. At least five people left the carriage and fifteen boarded, with another ten-or-so remaining on the platform watching both the drama unfold and their watches so they could groan and fidget at regular intervals.

I suppose it's a much higher priority to stand around sighing and tutting about your delayed metro, or rushing past the child in pain so you can get one of the few available seats.

After 20–30 seconds of screaming, I was unaware of what the noise was all about, but it was starting to get bothersome. I barged through the gawker's block to see what was going on. Almost simultaneously, two other gentlemen came to help, and the three of us bowed the door and the cover over the housing for door's mechanism to help slide the arm out of its vice.

I later found out that my fellow conspirators were not Belgians, but in fact a Dutchman and a German, both heading on their way to Schuman. So what were the rest of the people doing? Did they think this was some perverse form of street theatre?

Once released, the boy was whisked away quickly by his now borderline-hysterical mother with not so much as a thank you. Not even an ounce of acknowledgement. Nothing. I suppose she believed the door simply bent itself by its on volition, letting the boy go.

After the adrenaline rush started died down, I sent an SMS to my colleague Tom, who I presumed would be catching the same metro. As I was typing away, I realised that my immediate societal queues during the event were literally telling me to stay away from the problem, and to not get involved. I started to feel bad about helping, and then became furious with myself for even feeling that way in the first place.

How can you not offer assistance in a situation like this? Where's the harm? What's the risk? Have I lived in Belgium too long?

So today, I'm pissed off at society in general. As a whole, we're all demented and pathetic, ignoring our malignant society. I feel like my faith in society got squished in that metro door today. Has common sense and common decency died so quietly that nobody noticed?

In a bizarre contrast with my spoken vocabulary, I rarely swear whilst writing. Read that again; digest it, cognise it, comprehend it, acknowledge it, and then allow me to say, at the risk of sounding like John (legitimately) moaning about the Dutch, ‘What the fuck is wrong with society‽’


Categories Rambling, Belgium

Comments

  1. I don't moan about the Dutch. It's just that the ones I've met are fscking awful people vomited forth by an unforgiving earth to be a plague upon mankind. As for society, I know what you mean. It's the same with pickpockets. A standard tactic of your average scumbag is to board the same metro as the target, wait till the doors begin to beep, then snatch the wallet and dive through the doors back on to the platform. In the unlikely event the target gets off and follows said scumbag (the doors are not easy to wedge open, and he may not be quick enough) the platform is usually emptier than before, and so a quick escape can be made. However, the platform is NOT empty. There are lots of people around, on the stairs, etc... But even with a cry of "Stop Thief!" or whatever the local equivalent is... as you say, the societal cues are "Do nothing." "It's not your problem" "Do not get involved" I don't think this is a belgian thing. I think this is common in most modern cities, because for all our vaunted techno-advantages, we are animals. Tribal animals, that travel in herds and packs. In a smaller town, such as the one I grew up in, the societal cues are different. Chances are, even if you don't know someone, you'd recognise their face. You'd probably know them well enough to say hi to, or nod your head. You don't have this in the city. And it's unfortunate, but as tribal animals, our instinct is to help (and care for) first, close friends and family, second, distant friends and acquaintances, and third, members of the same tribe, who we don't know very well. And in a city, our little tribes are quite small.

  2. (Author)

    I think your right. I get pick-pocketed about once every three months. Of course, the usual tactics that "work" on me are when I'm waiting to alight, holding a pole for stability as the driver brakes like a thicko, and someone picks the pocket of my jacket. Every single time I feel it, and I look through the window into the reflection made possible by the blackness of the tunnel. I watch them "carefully" pick out the only item I ever put in those _easy_ pockets: *a tissue*. Quite often, they score the tissue complete with snot. I once had this happen on a bus out to Maes, and the guy tried to put it back while I was watching him! _Umm, no thanks, you keep it._ Another time was on a tram, and I'm quite chuffed that I had enough time to put my other hand through the inner pocket of the jacket and crunch the little prick's fingers. He did one of those silent scream faces and backed off pretty quickly, but since he was with his buddies it may not have been the best idea. I've always been careful about pickpockets, and I think the fact that it's difficult for _me_ to get my own phone or wallet out of my pocket says that nobody would be able to grab it without me knowing. That's not an invitation though, in case you were wondering. I was on a tram once where someone stole something from a woman in the way you describe. She pressed the emergency button and started yelling immediately about a thief. The kid managed to _walk_ down the platform, weaving through about thirty people with this woman chasing after him, screaming "stop him, he's a thief." The tram driver was stunned, and called STIB-central to ask for help. The pleb from mission control told him that the procedure was to lock the doors and call for police, then wait until they arrive. The driver locked the doors, called the police, and made us all wait 20-minutes for the police to casually rock-up, despite at this point the woman and the assailant being long gone. While I don't doubt this is simply a syndrome of cities, I still cannot comprehend it myself. I live down-town, and I know people on nodding, and even "hey" terms. There's even a guy who clicks his finger, points at me, arm outstretched, and says "yo," to whom I only ever reply to with a modest "hi". I have no idea who these people are, but they must live or work around here somewhere, and that's good enough to qualify for a polite greeting in my book. I will admit, it's taken a long time to educate some of these people to acknowledge you beyond a blank look. Starting with a smile and a nod for six months finally pays off when you first get that muffled _hello_. What's wrong with saying _hello_ to someone you pass on the street several times a week? Yes, I'm saying _hello_ because I'm going to stab you and steal all your money. "Hi, my name is Bob, I'll be your robber." (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0102250/quotes#qt0211149) I better stop before this becomes a post of its own, and I sound like a crazy old man. You are right though John, we do still subconsciously think in "packs" or "tribes", and we're probably either too paranoid (as a society) or so overwhelmed by large population centres that we shrink our immediate tribe down and become rigid about who and what we accept.

  3. That is just plain bizarre. I think the reaction people have in these situations is largely dependent on the culture of their tribe in which they were raised. I was recently eating lunch at my usual haunt in Richmond, Melbourne, Australia. A quite large lady went a bit 'wobbly' in the street, before I even completed the defacto Australian culture thought 'S&*t. I should help.' Three strangers had already vacated the cafe to render assistance, while another two strangers had already caught her fall. Still, getting a hello out of a stranger is rather difficult in an Australian city. At the end of the day, I think this 'fear of the unknown' behavior is inherent in all pack animals and is something as a civilized society we should be working to overcome. Instead we are promoting a world were people isolate themselves with technology.

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