“For Berry and the others to be rescued, in other words, two things had to happen: she had to never forget who she was, and that who she was mattered; and Ramsey needed to not care who she might be at all—to think that all that mattered was that a woman was trapped behind a door that wouldn’t open, and to walk onto the porch.”
—Amy Davidson, The New Yorker ”What Charles Ramsey and Amanda Berry Knew”
The above quote is probably the most meaningful thing I’ve read about the crazy news in Cleveland on the three now-recovered missing persons. I watched some of Charles Ramsey’s interviews, and am astonished and impressed at his actions when he thought he might be interfering in a domestic violence situation. I say interfering, because that is how most people would think (and this point has been all over comment sections of other posts about Charles Ramsey).
Years ago, at a bus stop, I saw a latino man slap the woman with him. It was so sudden and shocking—they went along speaking as if nothing at all had happened—that to this day I ask myself if I really saw what I thought I saw because I didn’t want to believe it.
A few years after that, when I was in grad school, I saw a tiny asian girl crying and pleading with a skinny white guy who was sitting on one of the benches on campus. I didn’t know what was going on, but I couldn’t ignore it. The girl’s pleading didn’t sound like a bad break-up or a couple’s argument was happening. She kept motioning at a guy across the lawn to call the police, but that guy didn’t seem to know what was going on.
I walked right up to her and in a calm voice asked if she was ok. I put my arm around her shoulders like we were good friends. I lead her away gently but firmly toward the practice rooms, chatting with her the whole time. I didn’t have a good grasp of the campus yet, and I wasn’t a performance major so I didn’t know my way around the practice rooms. But I knew that there was sometimes a security person there.
I walked her over, when suddenly the guy showed up right behind us. She freaked and hid behind me. We were in the practice room waiting area, and there were a bunch of dorks on laptops. They just stared at the scene unfolding in front of them. I don’t remember their faces, but I bet later I met every single one of them. Not a single guy helped us. I ended up finding an emergency phone and calling the police.
I’m describing all of this, not because I want to be seen as a hero, but because this situation as well as the one I described before it, has become an integral part of me. I still feel guilt and anger about both situations.
I’m angry because the advice I had gotten from my boyfriend at the time was that I should never have interfered and risked my safety. I’m angry that not a single guy in the practice room offered to accompany us or even spoke up when we were being threatened. I feel guilty because it was so easy for me to help her, but I felt totally powerless when I saw the couple at the bus stop.
So I admire Charles Ramsey. He had even less reason than I did to help out, given the negative profiling that male minorities receive. But he did the right thing regardless and saved four lives. I hope that more people learn from his actions and take initiative when they receive a cry for help.
