International Political Will

Next to my apartment building there is a short-cut to get to the main road that is lined with typical local shops. There is a “hardware” store, a “mini-mart” (for lack of a better word), a travel agency selling bus tickets, and a little street restaurant. A Hindu shrine to Hanuman sits in the middle of it all. In all of these shops, there is no door, no “inside” for the customer. You simply approach the store front and the owner digs around in the back to look for your goods.

The area is small, but has a homey feel. In the early morning, shopkeepers are out sweeping the patio area, chatting with their neighbors over chai, or offering a morning prayer at the shrine.

This morning lacked that homey feel.

Lying on the sidewalk across from the shrine, in front of a shuttered storefront, was an older man. In Mumbai, it’s not uncommon to see people sleeping on sidewalks, streets, or pretty much anywhere - I hardly notice it anymore.

But as I walked past, his nice clothes and clean-shaven face caught my eye. This man was no street person. He was lying on his stomach, his arms and legs stretched out and missing one sandal. His head faced the shrine, and his eyes were open, coldly staring back at me. As I got closer, I glanced in curiosity.

His pupils were dilated, dark, empty, and unmoving. His cheeks were sunken, and his mouth slightly open.

The shopkeeper across the way paused from sweeping and stared at the old man. He went back and whisked a few more times before pausing again and staring.

I stopped only a few feet from the old man and surveyed the area. All the other shopkeepers were doing the same: sweeping a little, stopping, staring, and then going back to sweeping.

I looked back at the man on the ground. Even overnight, in the rain, the flies had already congregated and hovered over him. The cold, dark eyes stared forward unflinching. His chest did not rise, he did not move.

I walked on to work, wondering. Had the man’s family stayed awake all night wondering where he was? How many people had walked past and done nothing? Had one of the shopkeepers already called the police? Or had everyone done as I did - simply moved along with the afterthought that it’s “not my problem?” How long would the man lie there?

Several years ago on a golf course in California, a man on the hole in front of me collapsed and died. Other golfers - including myself - stood around and watched as the one man who knew CPR tried in vain to revive him. We waited more than 20 minutes for the ambulance to arrive, and without a heartbeat or any air, the paramedics said there was not much they could do. Still, the last image I remember was that golfer laid out on a stretcher, the paramedics at least creating the illusion they could help.

A bank robber once crashed his car in front of me while running from the police. He then exited his car, blindly firing his gun, and was promptly shot dead by police. Even then, the other witnesses and I stood around and acknowledged that a life was lost. He may have been a criminal, but the paramedics still arrived quickly and soon the crowd around the body blocked the spectators’ view.

Death in America is an event, and though they may be surrounded by strangers, the departed are typically not alone.

But the old man this morning was different. He died alone, and remained alone. No one gathered around. No paramedics rushed in to put him on a stretcher. The usual morning routine of the shopkeepers was only disturbed by the occasional pause to stare before returning to their work.

The old man was treated like the dead rats that show up on the sidewalk: everyone just walks around and hopes it isn’t there when they return.

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