When Humanity Is Called Reckless

I am angry.
Not the loud, fleeting kind, but the kind that burns quietly and refuses to go away.

A man was killed while helping someone. He didn’t go looking for trouble. He didn’t set out to be brave. He was simply present. He saw another human being in need and responded the way we hope humans still can.

And yet, someone close to me said, “Yes, it’s terrible—but why did he even go there? What did he achieve?”
Perhaps it was frustration speaking. Perhaps fear. But even with that understanding, I cannot accept the idea beneath them—that helping another human being needs justification.

That question broke something open in me.

When did helping someone become a mistake?
When did compassion start needing justification?

What followed was familiar: “When things are bad, you shouldn’t put yourself in harm’s way.”
I understand the fear behind it. Fear wants rules. Fear wants distance. Fear wants to believe tragedy only happens to those who make the wrong choices.

But I couldn’t accept the implication—that survival is more important than humanity.

I found myself asking, What if it were someone you know?
The answer stunned me: “Maybe I still wouldn’t do anything. That’s just how things are now.”

That sentence stayed with me.

If “that’s how things are now” means turning away when someone needs help, then something precious has already been lost. This loss is not just on the streets, but within us.

I was advised to stop watching. To protect myself. To not feel so much.

But I don’t want protection that comes from numbness.

I need to watch.
I need to feel this pain.
I need to understand this anger and this helplessness. If I am ever called to act, I don’t want fear to be the only voice I recognize.

Maybe I am not doing anything heroic right now. But awareness is not nothing. Feeling is not nothing. Refusing to normalize indifference is not nothing.

The most painful realization is that some of the people in my life are not here with me. These are people I care about. I don’t hate them. I know they would help me in other ways. But something has shifted. Respect has limits when values no longer align.

I am learning that you can love people and still choose distance.
That you can accept their presence in your life without accepting their worldview.
That moral clarity can be lonely.

The man who tried to help may never know the impact of his choice. But calling his humanity a mistake feels far more dangerous than what happened that day.

If staying safe means looking away, then safety is too small a goal.

I don’t want to live that way.