What’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done when no one was watching?
I don’t know whether it was the bravest thing I’ve done or one of the silliest.
I was walking along the main street of an inner-city suburb when I heard someone yell, “Stop!” I turned and saw a man running towards us, with another man chasing him. It was obvious something had been stolen.
I had perhaps a second to respond. The body moved before the mind. I stepped forward to block his path. It didn’t work. He pushed me aside, turned the corner and disappeared.
The man chasing him was a jeweller. The thief had taken an expensive item from his shop.
My father thought I had been foolish. He was probably right. The man might have been armed, violent or desperate. Jewellery can be replaced. People can’t.
My father’s instinct was responsibility: don’t turn the loss of a possession into something worse. Mine was engagement: when someone is being wronged in front of you, you don’t simply become an observer.
The thief disappeared around the corner, but the argument between courage and caution followed me home. When does another person’s problem become mine?
I think there are moments when simply witnessing something creates a claim on us. Once I understood what was happening, it no longer felt entirely like someone else’s problem. That doesn’t mean I was wise to step physically into the thief’s path. There were probably better ways to help. But standing aside did not feel neutral either.
I didn’t have time to weigh courage against caution or solidarity against self-preservation. I simply reacted.
And whatever else might be said about the wisdom of it, my instinct was to move towards someone else’s trouble rather than away from it. I hope I never lose that instinct.
The Afterword 
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