The Irvo Otieno Case and the Bystander Effect
Content note : This story contains references to police violence, mental health crisis, and use of pepper spray.
Image - unsplash
On March 3, 2023, Irvo Otieno, a Kenyan, in a state of mental health crisis broke into someone's house. Officers were called, and placed him under emergency custody.
In Virginia, where he lived with his mother, emergency custody is applied when someone is likely to harm themselves or others, needs hospitalization, but is unwilling to volunteer or incapable of volunteering for hospitalization or treatment (Read more here).
The police took him to hospital, but he apparently assaulted the officers during intake and was taken to the county jail instead.
He was taken to county jail, booked, and stayed for three days without his medication. The video from Day 3 shows him in isolation (watch full video here - be warned, it may be triggering). The footage has no audio, but we see officers trying to give him clothes, spraying something into his cell through the hatch door before carrying him out semi-naked for transport to the hospital.
A second video (also triggering) shows what happens at the State Psychiatric Hospital. He arrives in handcuffs and shackles, placed on the floor as paperwork is processed. Two sheriffs are at this time holding him down. Soon, ten or so people (sheriffs and hospital staff) on top of him. He dies on that floor.
It’s the kind of incident that makes you question why none of the people who should have been touch points did anything to prevent it from happening. Six months later, I found myself thinking about this, from a different angle, in the most unlikely place; the local public library.
Fast forward to the Library
I’m thinking about Irvo Otieno as I sit at the local Public Library.
There is a man on the floor, and two other men folding him down, while the rest of us wait for the police to arrive.
I came here to pass time, and avoid the walk home under the scorching sun, because my body malfunctions when it gets really hot outside (I occasionally get seizures). I did not want to check out any books, so I went straight to the public computers and started browsing aimlessly.
That is when I see them, two men doing a tango of sorts right there in the library.
At first glance, they look like they’re fencing, minus the gear. As I watch, I wonder how they have so much energy, when people like me have to make pit stops like this all over town because we can’t brave the outdoors?
As they draw closer, I saw SECURITY in bold letters on one man’s shirt. Then I heard him: he was telling the other guy to stop and leave. But the other guy kept making punch-like gestures toward him.
Then I hear a loud cry.
Everyone’s gaze shifted to the source. The man in the SECURITY shirt had his hands out, pressing something toward the other man. It must have been pepper spray. The other man fell to the floor, trying to regain his sight.
I kept one eye on the computer, the other on the man on the floor, while eavesdropping on the security officer’s call to the police.
Then I felt the movement before I saw it. The pepper-sprayed man (PSM) was slowly moving towards the computer workspace, arms stretched like someone walking in the dark. The security officer asked him to sit and moved to guide him back.
Before I knew it, I had a front row seat in this SmackDown Edition of Public Library WWE.
As their bodies hit the floor, my own body sprang out of the seat, grabbing my bag and moving aside. The same body that could barely manage a two-minute walk from the bus station suddenly became a sprinter. I marveled at this automatic response, but then I noticed blood. I couldn’t tell who was bleeding as the two men continued their “tango.”
Other library users gathered. Some asked the security officer to get off PSM; others told PSM to stop throwing punches. Finally, one man stepped in and held PSM’s hand, ending the fight.
Now the security officer was on top of PSM, a third man kept things still, and the rest of us stood by, silently counting down to the police’s arrival. Some women moved in to make sure “no knees were misplaced.”
The police arrived, cuffed PSM, and we finally saw that it was the security officer who was bleeding, nose and arm scratched or injured. One officer checked PSM’s ID and escorted him out while the other pulled the security officer aside for an account of what happened. People speculated and then drifted back to their screens and their lives.
I tried to do the same, but I couldn’t shake the scene, or my own actions (or lack of).
The Bystander Effect — Genovese Syndrome
Social psychologists say that when there is an incident, and many people are present, each person is less likely to act than if they were alone. This is known as the bystander effect, or Genovese syndrome, named after the 1964 killing of Kitty Genovese in New York - an event that partly inspired the creation of the 911 line.
Full circle
I’m typing this draft to help process what just happened.
Did I think of Irvo Otieno because seeing people on top of someone made me think of all the bodies on top of him? Or because there were so many people who could have intervened over those three days, who might have changed the outcome?
It feels like everyone jumped out of their seats like I just did, like the professional who came in contact with Irvo, like the neighbors in 1964 who watched from their windows, assuming someone else would make the call.
Where were the “third man” who would have stepped in to stop ‘the tango’, of moving him from spot to spot? Where were the “women” who might have stepped forward to ensure that extreme force wasn’t being used?
I have done bystander training, and that might be part of why I am so bothered by this. Maybe, with the skills I’ve learned, I could have assessed the situation quickly, given clear instructions, or helped de-escalate safely.
The sun is going down, and I am giving myself grace as I try to find the balance between noticing what needs to be done, taking thoughtful action, and accepting the limits of what I can control.
Until next time,
Sending love and light,
Sitawa
