A death on the metro rail and the questions it leaves behind

Giving up my own seat to an elderly passenger while travelling on public transport has never required much thought. I know whether I can stand, and the decision is mine. It becomes less straightforward when I am standing too, watching an older person struggle while someone younger remains seated.

I sometimes ask that passenger, politely, whether they could offer their seat. Some agree at once. Others hesitate or refuse. I have often wondered why they are unwilling to help when the person beside them appears to need a seat more.

But the word "appears" matters. I am deciding, on the basis of what I can see, that one stranger is more capable of standing than another. A younger person might have an injury or an illness I know nothing about. They should not have to explain it to me, or to an entire carriage, simply because I asked.

That does not make it any easier to watch an elderly person struggle. If I say nothing because I cannot be sure about the seated passenger, the person standing is still left without help. I find myself caught between two mistakes: judging someone too quickly and leaving somebody else to manage on their own.

What has helped me is recognising the difference between seeing someone who might need assistance and hearing someone actually ask for it. When I see an older passenger standing, I may be right that they need a seat, or I may be wrong. When a person says they feel unwell and asks for somewhere to sit, their need is no longer a matter of guesswork. The first leaves room for doubt. The second ought to make us pay attention, even when we cannot provide what is being requested.

The death of Najibur Rahman, 64, has made that distinction harder to set aside. He was an associate professor at the National University and fell ill while travelling on Dhaka's metro rail on October 24. His son told Prothom Alo that, according to a colleague who was travelling with him, Najibur had asked several times for a seat, but nobody responded. He collapsed and was later declared dead at a hospital.

His son said he was not blaming anyone. He regretted that his father had not been able to sit when he needed to. We cannot know whether a seat would have changed the medical outcome. Nor do we know what every passenger heard or understood. What remains difficult to ignore is the family's account of a man repeatedly asking for help.

Uncertainty should not make us remain silent. A passenger who cannot give up a seat might still ask whether someone else can, or alert the train staff if the person is unwell. Nobody has to prove their kindness by ignoring their own limits.

It has also changed how I interpret the moment after I intervene. When a seated passenger gets up at my request, I cannot tell whether they had noticed the situation before. Perhaps they were distracted, or unsure whether a seat was needed, or expected someone else to move. Getting up after being asked does not prove they were deliberately ignoring anyone.

The same uncertainty follows me elsewhere. An older pedestrian at a busy crossing may need a driver to slow down more than a stranger's arm. Someone carrying bags on a footbridge may welcome an offer to carry them, or feel safer holding on to their belongings. A person approaching a closing lift may want nothing more than someone pressing the button to keep it open. I can see a need without knowing what help would be welcome, so a quick offer, followed by respect for the answer, seems more useful than assuming I know best.

I also know that my own request can embarrass someone. When I single out a younger passenger, I make their decision public, and if they refuse, people nearby may assume the worst. Asking the whole carriage is fairer, but a request made to everybody can be left unanswered by everybody. I do not think there is a perfect way of asking. I can only try not to turn it into an accusation.

Nor should people who need assistance have to depend entirely on these exchanges. Help from strangers matters, but it should not be what makes a seat, a footbridge or a road usable.

Even in a properly functioning system, though, there will be moments when someone needs another person to respond. I would rather ask whether anyone can help than assume somebody else will. But I want to be more careful about how I ask, and slower to decide what a refusal says about a person.

One day, we too may struggle to climb a staircase, cross a busy road or stand through a long journey. We may find ourselves hoping that a stranger notices our difficulty.

And when that day comes, perhaps all we will want is for someone to stop for a moment and ask, "Can I help?"

Arafat Rahaman is a journalist at The Daily Star. He covers education and writes on governance, rights and public accountability. He can be reached at [email protected].

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