A bunch of years ago now, when I was living in Minneapolis, I was home alone in my apartment. I was staying up late doing something I can’t even remember now when I heard a noise outside. It was a child calling for their mother. I went to my front windows; I was on the first floor, but it was up a small set of stairs and so my windows were elevated and they looked out over the street. I left the lights in my living room off and peered out into the darkness. I didn’t see anything. 

I sat in the darkness and waited and I heard the child again, crying and calling for their mother. It was late and I was concerned for the kid. I wasn’t sure what was going on. 

I was still pretty early in my journey of understanding the dangers of calling the police, how they might escalate a situation, and so I wasn’t sure what to do. What if I called 911 and the police came and something happened and this child’s mother was hurt? On the other hand, what if I didn’t call 911 and something happened to the child? I went back and forth over what to do while hearing this child, who was getting in and out of a car, and crying. 

Should I go outside? But what happens if the mom comes out from somewhere and sees a strange man talking to her child? What if the mom is involved in something sketchy and I get pulled into it and get put into danger? All of these questions were racing through my head. 

Finally, I called 911. I told them I heard a child crying outside. The police arrived less than 10 minutes later and I could hear them knocking on a door, finding the mom, and chastising her for leaving her child outside. Then they went ahead. I’m not sure if anything else happened. 

I wasn’t sure how to feel about what I had done. But at the time I also had no idea what else I could have done. It seemed like the best option in that moment, but maybe it wasn’t.

I’ve thought about this moment a lot over the years. As I’ve deepened my own commitments to justice, as I’ve listened and learned from communities to which I don’t belong, as I have wrestled with my own areas of both marginalization and privilege, this question of what we do in a crisis moment keeps coming back up for me. 

I think, when something happens, there is a comfort in the idea of calling in the professionals. And certainly, sometimes we need to. If there is an accident, if someone is having a medical emergency, we probably need to call a medical professional. But I think there is sometimes, at least in myself, a desire for someone else to handle a situation that feels overwhelming or scary or out of control. If I can just call 911, then someone else will come and everything will be okay. 

But as we think about what it means to be good neighbors, as some of us realize for the first time how the systems were only designed to protect some and not all, as some of us realize how dangerous the systems can be for our neighbors, we are invited into thinking differently about how to handle community crises. 

If you couldn’t call 911 in a crisis, what would you do? Who would you call?

That is the question I am sitting with these days. 

What are the skills I might need in order to be able to be a good neighbor to the people around me? (This could look like first aid, carrying Narcan, learning about harm reduction, learning about deescalation)

Who are the other people I can call if something happens? (Are there community crisis lines in my town? Can I directly call the fire department or medical personnel? Are there neighbors who have skills that could be useful in crisis situations?)

What might I need to confront in myself in order to be a better neighbor? (My fear for my own safety, worrying about doing or saying something wrong, worried about escalating situations. My own desire to “stay out of it” or to staying in my private bubble.)

What other resources are available? Do I know my neighbors? Can I think outside of the box when it comes to community care?

I really believe that moving forward we’re going to need to depend on each other more and more. We will need to look out for our actual neighbors. Some of us will need to get more comfortable with being in physical proximity to people. Some of us will need to face our fear and anxiety about getting involved. We’ll need to learn how to deal with systems and structures that no longer work (if they ever did) and find new ways to deal with community crises. We’ll need to get more comfortable with discomfort.

But most of all we’ll need to be in it with people. Instead of calling someone else to fix it. Instead of dialing 911 and walking away. Instead of waiting for someone else to intervene, we will be invited to get involved. To stay involved. To show up. 

I want to be a good neighbor. I want to care well for the people in my community. I want to show up in a crisis and not just wash my hands of what’s happening around me. I want to confront the fear in myself; of not being good enough, of being at risk, of all of the other things that make me feel like if I can just hold myself apart I’ll be safe. Because I really believe holding myself apart actually puts me more at risk. This is all still a work in progress for me, but these are the questions I’m wrestling with and if they resonate with you, I invite you to wrestle with them with me.