Part of the problem

When we are aware of a wrongdoing and don’t do something about it, what does that make us? Well, it makes us part of the problem. But you knew that, right?

When I was much younger, I remember reading an article in the Toronto Star, or maybe the Smelly Telly, about a person who was murdered on a New York City street. When the police went door-to-door asking for assistance, many said they’d heard the victim’s call for help, but didn’t want to interfere. Indeed, some people had watched from their windows as the incident took place. Not one person called the police during the altercation. Most of the people, when interviewed, said they didn’t want to get involved. They may have been worried about repercussions. But not the repercussions you’re probably thinking of. Mostly, they were worried they’d be called to be a witness and have to take time out of their day to be in court. Some folks said it wasn’t any of their business. At the time, I remember being really upset. I vowed I wouldn’t become one of those people, and I would make it my business if I saw a wrongdoing, an injustice or an inequity. So, how’s that working for me? Well, I’m glad you asked.

How it worked for me, in the past, wasn’t always good. In school, when a bully of a teacher verbally abused a student, I stood up and told him he was being mean. First of all, standing up in class without permission was bad enough, but standing up to a teacher? Needless to say, from that moment on, all of his venom rained down upon me. Not one of my classmates came to my rescue—although many patted me on the back at recess. I was treated to many rounds of “you think you’re so smart” and “Irish and Italian explains you” and, my favourite, “you must have cheated to beat the boys on that test”. For the rest of the school year, I wished I hadn’t said anything. Yet I was proud of myself for speaking my mind. My dad told me I’d done the right thing, and that’s all I needed to hear.

When I started working, I noticed men got paid more than women, even if the men were doing the same kind of work. How the H-E-Double digits did that ever make any sense? It didn’t. And, of course, I said something. As a matter of fact, when an HR person told me what my hourly rate of pay was going to be, I asked how much I would get paid if I were a man. He told me it wasn’t any of my business, but added, “men are an investment.” I was hired, despite my potential to ask too many questions. Over the next six years, I did ask too many questions. I got great work reviews but department heads were afraid of the questions I might ask and I paid for it by staying in the editing department until we moved to the County. I was later told the inequity in that pay system did change. I don’t believe I was the first to notice the problem, nor do I believe I was instrumental in the change. But it worked, eventually. It just didn’t work for me. My dad, once again, told me I’d done the right thing. But maybe I’d catch more flies with honey.

But I was never a sweet person. I was always the person who noticed the emperor was without clothing. I was the person who said as much publicly. How’s that working for me? Glad you asked.

theresa@wellingtontimes.ca