If you see something, say something.
For years now, that line has been drilled into Americans. Usually it’s meant to apply to idling vehicles or unattended bags—things that are “probably nothing” or at least they were once upon a time. A simpler time.
Outside of the United States, people aren’t so familiar with concept. Don’t get me wrong—Europeans see plenty, but they often don’t get around to saying anything about it, at least not in a way that does any good. Maybe they’re more private or just more trusting—I don’t know. All I can say is that if I accidentally left my backpack at an airport bar in Munich, I suspect the staff would more likely weigh it than run it through an X-ray machine. I have no doubt that I’d get it back in one piece, albeit with a nastygram about a 7 kg carry-on limit.
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I am no stranger to saying something. I don’t need to see smoke to tell people that they’re about to start a fire. This often comes at great embarrassment to Johann who, as a Finn, would rather torch the whole block than tell another person their business.
Except for me, of course. Johann will tell me everything he sees—every rule that is being flouted, every guideline that is being ignored, every law that is being broken—all in real-time. “Just so you know,” he often begins before launching into a detailed explanation about how to dispose of single-use plastic. I am usually not the one in need of knowing, but away he goes just the same, lecturing me on restroom etiquette or how to a store wet umbrella in a public place. But does he take that advice to the source—the person who skipped the line or is dripping through an H&M? Never. He wouldn’t dream of it.
Once, in Venice, Johann was narrowly hit by half a sandwich, which was being thrown by a man who was feeding a flock of seagulls. Even then, Johann said nothing. Instead, he turned to me, his voice barely above a whisper: “This is why they’re so aggressive. Because people feed them.” “Well say something,” I replied, rolling my eyes. He considered it for a second and then tossed his canvas bag over his shoulder. “Let’s just leave,” he concluded. “I don’t want to get involved.”
On some level, I can understand that. No one wants to start a fight with a man who has a flock of seagulls on his side. But at the same time, I think people are too quick to shirk social responsibility. They seem to think that minding their own business is somehow a better quality than having common decency. But there is a difference between being a busy body and being a responsible person—and I don’t appreciate when people pretend to not know how to distinguish between the two.
An example:
On my flight to Bangkok, I was seated next to an infant and her mother, both of whom were quite agreeable considering the circumstances. About mid-way through the 9-hour flight, the mother allowed the child to watch cartoons on an iPad… without headphones. More than one person in our vicinity sent dirty looks their way, but no one said anything. Whether that was because they considered cartoons a better alternative to a bored and fussy child or were too shy to say anything, I don’t know. I can only speak for myself. I didn’t speak up because demanding that the cartoons be turned off seemed an outsized reaction to an otherwise behaved baby. If an adult was doing the same, I’d check it. But an infant? No. I don’t want to get involved in how to parent.
Fast forward two weeks, to a two-hour flight from Kuala Lumpur to Bangkok. A mother (coincidentally the same nationality as the first) boarded with a toddler. It was mid-day and the child was full of energy, as little boys often are. Even during takeoff this kid could not be contained. He screamed, he jumped on the seats, he crawled over the whole row and ran up and down the aisle. Mid-way through the flight, he untangled a balloon animal and began hitting passengers seated on the aisle directly in the face. Most of them were Southeast Asian, which meant that they were too polite to say something. I was in the middle seat, shielded by a Thai woman, but still was having none of it. I recognized that saying something was a white woman’s job.
I stood up and snapped my fingers until the boy’s mother looked up from her iPad.
“Your son is hitting people in the face,” I said.
She shrugged. “I don’t understand English,” she said to me in perfect English.
I raised my eyebrows. Anyone who has traveled internationally in the past few years would see right through that. Any European of a certain age who is flying from one Asian country to another and doesn’t look lost or terrified speaks some English. “Really?” I asked. “You got all the way to Malaysia without speaking English?”
“Oh,” she replied. “I meant I couldn’t hear you.”
I smiled, the way one does when trying not to vault over a Thai woman and fashion an elephant out of an Eastern European pashmina. “Your son is hitting people,” I said, plainly as I could. Then I motioned to the aisle, where he son was behaving exactly as described, striking a Malay woman repeated in the face with a balloon, while she tried unsuccessfully to bat it away. The mother acted like this was brand new information and called her son over. Then, speaking in a language that I don’t actually understand but could somehow comprehend because of context clues and a general awareness of human nature, asked him, “Is this true? Are you hitting people?”
“No,” he shook his head.
She shrugged, as if she didn’t have eyes. “He said no,” she said to me.
Then, she took the balloon animal that was not being used as a weapon and put it in the seat back pocket. For the remainder of the flight, she followed him up and down the aisle, giving him free rein of the plane but at least making sure he kept his little fists to himself.
“Thank you,” the woman next to me mouthed. A pair of Thai men turned around, masks covering their faces and nodded.
Sometimes I use my whiteness for good. I am a hero in a hoodie. Captain Karen, reporting for duty.
So what do you think? Busy body or no? Would you have said something on the first flight the second, both or none? How embarrassed would you be if you were my travel partner? Tell me. Pretend you’re a Finnish man in his mid-thirties who has seen everything and has no real concerns in life.
Part of why I write this post is because I know so many people right now are seeing my pictures and very much wanting to say something… about quarantines and germs and the use of hand soap. They are torn between wanting me to come back right away and not letting me touch anything once I arrive.
Some people have already said something, which is fine. From one busybody to another, I get it. Thank you for speaking up. But also: Back at you! This disease may have originated in China and spread through Asia but it has already made its way to place near you. If you are preaching to people like me, then I hope you are practicing the same. Because daycares, schools and subways are just as filthy as airplanes and public pools. I can handle unsolicited advice; I cannot deal with hypocritical behavior.
Rest assured that I will be social distancing once I am back home—avoiding people and public places and taking the proper precautions when I do go out. Although part of me feels like maybe, just maybe, my time would be best spent out and about, checking the people who are buying out the stock of soap and toilet paper, and saying something whenever people act vaguely racist about a disease that doesn’t discriminate. I mean, if ever there was a time for Captain Karen… this is it.
My mother (a woman of very mixed heritage) would have said something, while my father (US born 98% Finn, 2% Russian per DNA testing) would have died internally and pretended he didn’t know my mother. Growing up with them was fun. :)
i am not a woman of mixed heritage, but i may as well be. i don’t know your parents, but if you dad is anything like my 99% Finn then he may act embarrassed but he secretly LOVES when women make a scene. if not for the outcome than just for the entertainment.
I think you’re absolutely right, and even more as they get older. The proof is he let his daughters grow up to be just
Ike their mother!
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ha. you do you.
sometimes parents will only discipline their child if someone brings it up. This is, I found out, the Montessori method of raising children.
Your airline mother sounds like she practices the same thing. If no one complains, no one is bothered. And since no one would dream of complaining, she’s good to go.
i think you’re being very generous by classifying this as “a method.” it appeared to be pure ignorance. but hey… maybe you’re right. who knows what books she’s reading? personally, i don’t care what she calls it. when her kid is hitting people in the face with anything, even a balloon, it’s an approach worthy of reproach.
Spot on.
well, I didn’t say I approved, and I consider it lazy, to parent by approval; having been confronted by just this sort of thing myself, I think you did exactly the right thing. I was at a craft show (selling) one day, and the woman opposite me had three little boys who were playing ball. in the middle of a craft show. up and down the aisles, racing, screaming. Finally I said, “maybe you could get your kids to slow down a bit? People have breakables here…”
she gave me that Look, the one that said “mind your own damn business’ but I noticed she took the ball away from the kids and told them to settle down.
No matter what the language, it’s lazy parenting.
I agree with what you did on both airplane trips so good for you!
thank you!
I definitely would have said something on the second flight, and if the balloon touched me, then it would have been MY balloon. “Oh, I’m sorry, he was hitting me in the face with it, which I thought meant he wanted me to have it. But by all means, have it back!”
Then, the me in my daydream would daintily pull a hat pin from the pillbox hat atop her perfectly coiffured updo with her impeccably manicured nails, pop that sucker, and hand it back to the little fart.
one can dream!!
somewhat related: sometimes when I am with girlfriends at the beach or a park, always just sitting around minding our own business, a group of young men suddenly materialize and begin playing some sort of sport as close as humanly possible to us – usually despite there being ample room elsewhere, like 20 yards away or in their own backyards. they appear to know how to play the sport, but yet, somehow, the ball just keeps ending up by us – on our blanket, just behind us, to our left, in our champagne. I can only take so many “HEAD’S UP!!”s before I yell back, “IF IT COMES OVER HERE ONE MORE TIME, I’M KEEPING IT.” That’s not karen speaking, that’s her mom, Rita. And she too is ready for duty.