I only hope the following text is descriptive enough to describe what I saw today:
I believe I had a life-changing moment today, and I'd like to share it with all of you. On my way back from the National Bank of Venezuela, on what was meant to be a non-descript 3 minute cab ride through downtown, I got up close and personal with the other half of this country when my taxi was rushed by a screaming teenage boy drenched in blood.
To begin with: I wanted to walk back from the bank instead of taking a cab. I even suggested the bus when no cabs rolled by, because I take the bus or walk along a street 3 blocks away from that spot on my way to work every day. You might recall I take the bus more often ever since I was almost knocked down by a man who had no legs or midsection passing through the filthy streets by propelling his torso face down on a skateboard. My coworker would not consider the bus, and instead flagged down a beat up old 70's American auto to take us the few blocks back to work.
The cab headed towards the main street from the bank, not taking any strange side-streets or anything like that. Everything seemed normal, including the traffic in front of us. All of a sudden, a young teenage boy appeared on the right side of the cab where I was sitting.
He was absolutely covered in blood. His entire arm was drenched in bright red blood. His face was also covered. It was pouring off of him, which leads me to believe he was very injured, and wasn't just covered in someone else's blood from a robery or something. He was almost dancing as he moved, turning around, and screaming at the top of his lungs: "Help me! Help! Help!" He started to lunge towards our cab, and the driver and my coworker rapidly locked their doors. I followed suit when my coworker nervously motioned that I do so. Meanwhile, the kid continued screaming for help, and seemed like he was almost laughing as he spilled blood all over the street and the walls he was bouncing off of. His face was almost obscured by the amount of blood that was on it. I couldn't tell exactly where he was injured, but I can only assume it was very bad.
If you've seen the movie 28 days later, and seen the taxi scene, this was very similar except that it happened in broad daylight. Also, the actors in the movie were a bit preoccupied with the Zombies, while my coworker seemed barely moved by this experience. I was moved, and I still am. I don't know what happened to that kid - did he get help, did some car finally stop and pick him up, did he make it to a hospital, or did he just bleed to death in the street?
Niether my coworker nor my taxi driver made any attempt to stop, or call an ambulance. As we spirited ourselves away, the excuse for not helping him was that the kid was on drugs. Even if he was, I'm not sure how that absolves us of the moral responsibility to at least try to help. In fact, I might argue that to be bleeding so profusely can cause people to laugh or dance, as a way to deal with the immense trauma of such an injury - especially children. If I were bleeding like he was, I would be doing the same thing.
In the film 28 Days Later, we're meant to learn that 'infected humans' represent hatred and racism, and that we must transcend these boundaries to become anything more than 'infected' ourselves (or at least that's my take on it - thanks, Danny Boyle). Those who don't learn the lesson, and see the infected as the other, are doomed to be infected themselves. My coworker and taxi driver decided amongst themselves that this child was on drugs. Then, later on while explaining this story to friends, the possibility of getting aids from touching blood was brought up. Although these are both possibilities, they obscure the more obvious fact: the belief that this kid is different from us, and therefore does not deserve our help. I think its important to note that my coworker, who is from the upper middle class, and the taxi driver, who is from the lower middle class, were both in agreeance on how to handle this situation - leave and don't look back. I should also note that I saw the same reaction from the car in front of us, and a traffic official on the street jumped out of the way of the kid.
Finally, I do not absolve myself. I saw something terrible happen today and did nothing about it. My mind was racing when it happened, trying to think of some words in Spanish to express myself, while my thoughts in English were changing a mile-a-minute. I think I ended up saying nothing at all, and just covering my mouth in horror. I was horrified at the blood, the kid, the reaction of the people around me, everything. Unfortunately, I was also stumped - I didn't know what to say in English, let alone Spanish, and let alone in Venezuela (no 911, of course, and I don't have a cell phone). For what its worth, I regret locking my door. I regret not trying to get help. I regret not calling the police. I regret not doing something, even if whatever I did would be futile.
Offhandedly, a coworker said the same thing probably happens on the South Side of Chicago. I would say that they are correct that poverty and violence abound on the South Side, and that there are probably bleeding people in the street from time to time. However, I disagree that a middle class person passing through in a taxi, who encounters a bleeding teen begging for help, wouldn't at least call the authorities. I would hope that the taxi driver would do the same as well. In Caracas, it seems that neither feels it is their business, nor responsibility. As for me, I believe it is both, and I don't know if I will ever forget the face I saw, and shunned, today.
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