The true character of a society is revealed not by the speeches of its leaders, the claims of its economic success, or the grandeur of its civilisational inheritance, but by the instinctive response of ordinary people to another human being in distress. By that measure, contemporary India has reason to engage in some deeply uncomfortable introspection.
Almost every day, newspapers and television channels report incidents that should shake our collective conscience. A man lies bleeding on a busy road after
The true character of a society is revealed not by the speeches of its leaders, the claims of its economic success, or the grandeur of its civilisational inheritance, but by the instinctive response of ordinary people to another human being in distress. By that measure, contemporary India has reason to engage in some deeply uncomfortable introspection.
Almost every day, newspapers and television channels report incidents that should shake our collective conscience. A man lies bleeding on a busy road after a collision, while passers-by gather around him—not to help, but to record videos on their mobile phones. A woman, assaulted in broad daylight, cries out for assistance as curious spectators watch from a distance. Victims of road accidents die because precious minutes are squandered while crowds do nothing at all. Ambulances carrying critically ill patients remain trapped in endless traffic because motorists refuse to yield. By the time the police or emergency services arrive, life has often ebbed away.
In 2016, a young software engineer, Soumya Mathew, lay grievously injured after a road accident in Bengaluru because of a lack of timely medical attention. In 2021, in Madhya Pradesh, a man injured in a collision remained unattended as bystanders filmed him instead of taking him to a hospital. Similar incidents have occurred repeatedly in Delhi, Mumbai, Hyderabad, Chennai and countless smaller towns. Videos routinely circulate on social media showing accident victims surrounded by dozens of spectators, yet without a single individual stepping forward to render immediate help.
One particularly disturbing category of cases involves victims of mob violence or assault. The spectacle has become perversely familiar: a crowd gathers, mobile phones are raised and videos uploaded, but intervention is conspicuous by its absence. Documentation has replaced compassion. Recording suffering has become easier than relieving it. The smartphone has become both witness and accomplice. Tragedy is instantly converted into digital content.
Road safety statistics underscore the enormity of the problem. India witnesses one of the highest numbers of road fatalities in the world, with over 170,000 deaths annually. Medical experts repeatedly emphasise the importance of the “golden hour”—the first sixty minutes after severe trauma—during which prompt medical attention can make the difference between life and death. Yet far too many victims lose that opportunity because ordinary citizens fail to act.
What explains this disturbing indifference? One explanation frequently advanced is fear of the police and the legal system. Citizens believe that anyone helping an accident victim might be dragged into endless police inquiries, court appearances and bureaucratic harassment. Recognising this, the Supreme Court issued important guidelines in 2016 protecting Good Samaritans, subsequently reinforced through statutory provisions in the Motor Vehicles (Amendment) Act. These protections make it clear that those assisting accident victims cannot ordinarily be compelled to reveal their identity or undergo unnecessary legal procedures. Yet awareness of these safeguards remains lamentably poor. More importantly, public confidence in their implementation remains limited.
Unfortunately, there has also emerged a deeper psychological transformation within our society. Urban India, in particular, has become increasingly atomised. The relentless pursuit of economic advancement, professional competition and personal ambition has narrowed the boundaries of concern. We inhabit crowded cities but increasingly isolated emotional universes. We coexist physically while remaining psychologically indifferent.
Psychologists describe this as the “bystander effect”: the greater the number of witnesses, the less likely any individual is to intervene because responsibility becomes diffused. There is another uncomfortable truth. We have become remarkably tolerant of human suffering, and I discussed this at length in my book The Great Indian Middle Class. Whether it is the sight of pavement dwellers sleeping under flyovers, exhausted migrant workers trudging hundreds of kilometres, or accident victims awaiting assistance, repeated exposure has bred not compassion but familiarity. Misery has become normalised. We no longer react because suffering has become part of the everyday landscape.
What can be done to change this state of affairs? First, the law must continue to protect Good Samaritans and publicise those protections aggressively. Police personnel must be trained to treat helpers with gratitude rather than suspicion. Emergency medical systems require substantial strengthening, particularly in smaller towns and rural India. Road users who obstruct ambulances should face swift and meaningful penalties.
Equally important is education. Schools should teach first aid and civic responsibility as seriously as mathematics or science. Public campaigns should celebrate ordinary citizens who save lives instead of glorifying viral videos of tragedy. The media, too, must shift its emphasis from merely reporting civic failure to highlighting examples of exemplary public courage.
Ultimately, however, no law can legislate compassion. Empathy arises from a moral imagination that enables us to see ourselves in another’s suffering. It demands that we recognise that the bleeding stranger on the roadside could just as easily have been our father, daughter, spouse or friend. The test of civilisation is not how loudly we celebrate our achievements, but how instinctively we respond to another’s vulnerability. The ancient Indian ideal of vasudhaiva kutumbakam—the world as one family—needs to become a living practice.
(Pavan K Varma is an author, diplomat, and former member of Parliament (Rajya Sabha). The views expressed are personal)
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