SINGAPORE: Every few months, a video circulates online. A woman spits water at commuters on an MRT train. A man removes his clothes in public and starts arguing with strangers. The faces change, but the public reaction rarely does.
Why did no one step in? Why did people just stand around? Why were phones raised instead?
These questions reflect discomfort and uncertainty. Most people are not indifferent. They are just unsettled and unsure what the right response should be.
But the repeated nature of these incidents and videos that go viral suggests that we are still struggling, as a society, to understand what erratic or disruptive behaviour in public represents, and what can reasonably be expected of ordinary members of the public.
Singaporeans are sometimes described as "conflict-averse". Many of us are taught from young to keep to ourselves and avoid confrontation. In crowded public spaces, this tendency has clear benefits. It allows millions of people to share trains and buses with a basic level of order. Most days, it works.
The difficulty arises when restraint turns into paralysis. When behaviour crosses a line from mildly disruptive to visibly distressing, people freeze. Some avert their eyes or step away. Some begin recording. Few intervene, not because they do not care, but because they do not know what intervention should look like, or fear making things worse.
This is not new. What has changed is what happens next.
When I was in primary school, I used to walk past a hawker centre on my way home. Every so often, there was an elderly woman standing alone, pointing at thin air, shouting colourful Hokkien vulgarities at no one in particular.
As a child, I was frightened and would stay far away. I remember parents instinctively pulling their children closer and steering them past her. No one confronted her, but no one filmed her either.
Looking back, that scene was not very different from what we see today. People kept their distance. The difference now is not the behaviour. It is what happens next.
If that same scene played out today, there would almost certainly be phones raised. The woman would be recorded, shared, dissected and labelled. The lack of help has not changed, but its consequences have. What was once a moment of quiet discomfort would now likely become permanent digital evidence of someone's distress.
In my clinical work, I have met patients who only later realised that their breakdowns were filmed and shared online. By the time they sought help, they were already burdened by shame.
From the outside, these incidents look sudden. In reality, they are often the endpoint of something much longer.
When mental illness is involved, the person has usually been struggling for months or years. Family members may already be exhausted. Treatment may have been delayed or stopped. Stressors may have accumulated quietly.
Even when there is no mental illness involved, what the public sees is rarely the full story. But once a video spreads, context disappears. And when we share these videos, we are consuming someone else's worst day as entertainment, or harvesting it for likes and comments. We are turning a human being in crisis into a spectacle, a warning or a meme.
We must ask ourselves a harder question: What do we hope to achieve when we press record?
Some argue that filming increases accountability or protects witnesses. In cases of active harm or violence, documentation can matter. But filming a distressed individual who poses no immediate threat serves no such purpose.
It does not make anyone safer. It does not help the person in distress. Instead, it teaches society that breakdowns are something to mock, to fear or to outsource entirely to institutions.
The comments that follow are predictable – "Lock them up in a mental hospital" or "Why are these people allowed out?" These reactions usually come from fear rather than malice. But institutionalisation is not a solution to public discomfort. Mental health care works best when it is timely, community-based and respectful. Viral shaming achieves none of these.
When people hesitate to intervene, it is often because they are afraid. They worry about personal safety, legal consequences or about being blamed if something goes wrong. These concerns are valid.
Intervention is too often framed as either stepping in physically or doing nothing at all. This is a false choice. There are many forms of help that do not involve physical confrontation, and knowing when not to intervene directly is part of responsible action.
If you witness someone in visible distress in public, consider the following:
1. Do not crowd, stare or film
These actions increase anxiety and perceived threat. If there is no immediate danger, giving space is often the kindest response.
2. Alert staff early
Public transport staff and security often have direct lines to control rooms and emergency services. Your role is not to replace these systems, but to activate them. The earlier they are informed, the more options they have.
3. If you must stay nearby, stay calm and quiet
If the situation feels safe and the person seems receptive, a simple "Are you okay?" in a gentle tone may help but avoid questioning or engaging with distressing content. Empathy is key.
4. Recognise your limits
No one should expect members of the public to physically intervene, especially in situations involving weapons or active violence. Self-preservation and the safety of others come first.
Singapore has made real progress in mental health literacy. But awareness alone is not enough. People need to know what to do and what not to do, without being shamed for choosing safety.
It is about understanding that erratic behaviour in public is not content to be harvested for likes or comments. It is often a sign that someone, somewhere, needs help. How we respond to that need, whether we reach for our phones or pause to act more thoughtfully, says a great deal about the kind of society we are.
Jared Ng is a psychiatrist in private practice. He was previously chief of the Department of Emergency and Crisis Care at the Institute of Mental Health.
Continue reading...
Why did no one step in? Why did people just stand around? Why were phones raised instead?
These questions reflect discomfort and uncertainty. Most people are not indifferent. They are just unsettled and unsure what the right response should be.
But the repeated nature of these incidents and videos that go viral suggests that we are still struggling, as a society, to understand what erratic or disruptive behaviour in public represents, and what can reasonably be expected of ordinary members of the public.
CONFLICT AVOIDANCE AND PUBLIC PARALYSIS
Singaporeans are sometimes described as "conflict-averse". Many of us are taught from young to keep to ourselves and avoid confrontation. In crowded public spaces, this tendency has clear benefits. It allows millions of people to share trains and buses with a basic level of order. Most days, it works.
The difficulty arises when restraint turns into paralysis. When behaviour crosses a line from mildly disruptive to visibly distressing, people freeze. Some avert their eyes or step away. Some begin recording. Few intervene, not because they do not care, but because they do not know what intervention should look like, or fear making things worse.
This is not new. What has changed is what happens next.
When I was in primary school, I used to walk past a hawker centre on my way home. Every so often, there was an elderly woman standing alone, pointing at thin air, shouting colourful Hokkien vulgarities at no one in particular.
As a child, I was frightened and would stay far away. I remember parents instinctively pulling their children closer and steering them past her. No one confronted her, but no one filmed her either.
Related:
Looking back, that scene was not very different from what we see today. People kept their distance. The difference now is not the behaviour. It is what happens next.
If that same scene played out today, there would almost certainly be phones raised. The woman would be recorded, shared, dissected and labelled. The lack of help has not changed, but its consequences have. What was once a moment of quiet discomfort would now likely become permanent digital evidence of someone's distress.
WHEN BREAKDOWNS GO VIRAL
In my clinical work, I have met patients who only later realised that their breakdowns were filmed and shared online. By the time they sought help, they were already burdened by shame.
From the outside, these incidents look sudden. In reality, they are often the endpoint of something much longer.
When mental illness is involved, the person has usually been struggling for months or years. Family members may already be exhausted. Treatment may have been delayed or stopped. Stressors may have accumulated quietly.
Even when there is no mental illness involved, what the public sees is rarely the full story. But once a video spreads, context disappears. And when we share these videos, we are consuming someone else's worst day as entertainment, or harvesting it for likes and comments. We are turning a human being in crisis into a spectacle, a warning or a meme.
Related:
We must ask ourselves a harder question: What do we hope to achieve when we press record?
Some argue that filming increases accountability or protects witnesses. In cases of active harm or violence, documentation can matter. But filming a distressed individual who poses no immediate threat serves no such purpose.
It does not make anyone safer. It does not help the person in distress. Instead, it teaches society that breakdowns are something to mock, to fear or to outsource entirely to institutions.
The comments that follow are predictable – "Lock them up in a mental hospital" or "Why are these people allowed out?" These reactions usually come from fear rather than malice. But institutionalisation is not a solution to public discomfort. Mental health care works best when it is timely, community-based and respectful. Viral shaming achieves none of these.
WHAT SAFE INTERVENTION LOOKS LIKE
When people hesitate to intervene, it is often because they are afraid. They worry about personal safety, legal consequences or about being blamed if something goes wrong. These concerns are valid.
Intervention is too often framed as either stepping in physically or doing nothing at all. This is a false choice. There are many forms of help that do not involve physical confrontation, and knowing when not to intervene directly is part of responsible action.
Related:
If you witness someone in visible distress in public, consider the following:
1. Do not crowd, stare or film
These actions increase anxiety and perceived threat. If there is no immediate danger, giving space is often the kindest response.
2. Alert staff early
Public transport staff and security often have direct lines to control rooms and emergency services. Your role is not to replace these systems, but to activate them. The earlier they are informed, the more options they have.
3. If you must stay nearby, stay calm and quiet
If the situation feels safe and the person seems receptive, a simple "Are you okay?" in a gentle tone may help but avoid questioning or engaging with distressing content. Empathy is key.
4. Recognise your limits
No one should expect members of the public to physically intervene, especially in situations involving weapons or active violence. Self-preservation and the safety of others come first.
Singapore has made real progress in mental health literacy. But awareness alone is not enough. People need to know what to do and what not to do, without being shamed for choosing safety.
It is about understanding that erratic behaviour in public is not content to be harvested for likes or comments. It is often a sign that someone, somewhere, needs help. How we respond to that need, whether we reach for our phones or pause to act more thoughtfully, says a great deal about the kind of society we are.
Jared Ng is a psychiatrist in private practice. He was previously chief of the Department of Emergency and Crisis Care at the Institute of Mental Health.
Continue reading...