A man kills his son-in-law in the street and calls the Mossos d'Esquadra, with murderous coldness, to come and arrest him. A man dies in his home, and the neighbors find out fifteen years later, because they thought he had gone to live in a nursing home.
The father-in-law didn't become violent overnight. And in a neighborhood community, however unstable, a roll call is made at least once a year.
Should we take care of others? "I just need to take care of the neighbors" would be the most common response, especially considering that "the others" are increasingly strangers, more unknown, speak other languages, and have different customs. But over the years, you discover that a group where people take care of each other at least a little is more humane and, therefore, among other things, safer.
Yesterday, a frail-looking woman entered the subway car walking with a crutch. Two people jumped out at once to ask the passengers sitting on the benches reserved for such situations to please vacate a seat, and the positive response was immediate. I was on the bus, and when I looked up from my phone, I saw a straight-faced woman carrying a two-year-old boy in her arms. I wanted to give up my seat, but she said no, that the boy didn't want to sit, he wanted to be carried on my shoulders. I was about to give her the veteran's theory that raising a child consists of teaching them from an early age that their will is not sovereign and that a mother is a person who also gets tired. But I kept quiet, thinking that I wasn't my sister's keeper, especially not in front of everyone. I hope she reads this article.
