Are we all becoming too accepting and blase about casual acts of street violence, asks Elspeth McLean. Should we dismiss them as merely some age-old, boys-will-be-boys behaviour or weird rutting ritual practised by inadequate men with too much booze or other drugs on board?
When the night-spot manager seemed to be gently suggesting I might be a fond mother, I knew he hadn't witnessed my son interrogations.
They fall short of misuse of a telephone book or a hose (although I have been tempted to whip the bright LED light off my bike and point it piercingly at eyeballs) but they are merciless nonetheless.
Two weeks after his nose was broken in a 2am dance-floor assault, the son under scrutiny was getting sick of the endless questioning. He did not even seem impressed that for the final grilling, in fine copshow style, I was allowing him to smoke and had not uttered one nagging comment about it.
At the initial questioning, I took the time-honoured doubting-mother line, ‘‘you must have done something to deserve it'', followed quickly by ‘‘just how much had you had to drink?''
No, he had done nothing to deserve it. Yes, he had downed a few beers over the evening but would describe his condition as ‘‘jovial'' rather than drunk.
Although I have never witnessed his dancing, I am well aware of his reluctance in this performing art, suspecting he may make Rodney Hide, Tim Shadbolt and Michael Laws look like Fred Astaire, Rudolph Nureyev and Sir Jon Trimmer respectively.
‘‘Are you sure you weren't flailing about with your monkey arms hitting people?'' I said, doing a Shadders impersonation myself, which sent the cat scuttling for cover.
No.
‘‘Did you say anything to wind anyone up?''
No. He was dancing away and then he was hit, knocked to the ground and kicked in the head before he managed to escape. As close as he can get to identifying anyone is that one of the kickers had tan and white shoes.
Once outside the establishment, with a heavily bleeding nose, he told a bouncer what had happened.
He says the bouncer greeted him blankly and did nothing, although the manager tells me staff spent 10 minutes trying to find out what had happened, to no avail. The only written record of the incident says ‘‘one guy got beat up on dance floor''.
Nobody appeared to have considered that it might have been a good idea to call the police.
Perhaps they jumped to the conclusion the police might have more pressing matters to attend to during a busy weekend near the start of the student year. He walked to the police station and reported the incident, and says police seemed keen to attend until he told them he could not identify anyone. They gave him a lift home and suggested he come in the next day to make a statement.
When he did so and told them he hadn't seen who did it, the policeman he saw suggested he ask his mate (who also said he'd been punched when he tried to help) if he could shed any more light on it, otherwise there was no point in making a statement. He said the policeman commented it didn't look like there was much wrong with him. He explained that his nose was broken.
And that was that. Nobody could identify anyone so nothing further could be done. We will never know what happened. Did my son contribute to it? Do the people involved in this make a habit of it? Will they do serious damage one day? Does it matter? Should young men such as my son toughen up or avoid going out in the early hours in a ‘‘jovial'' state?
Two weeks and at least six mother interviews on, his nose has been more or less crunched back into place and he is making light of the incident, telling me he was probably targeted because his attackers were jealous of his dancing skills.
He would like me to shut up about it and would prefer me not to write about it. He thinks he is big enough and certainly ugly enough (given his partially straight nose) to take care of himself. I agree, but point out that he was concerned enough at the time to report the matter to the police and maybe his attitude now is indicative of a wider issue.
Are we all becoming too accepting and blase about such casual violent acts between strangers, particularly young men? Should we dismiss them as merely some age-old, boys will-be-boys behaviour or weird rutting ritual practised by inadequate men with too much booze or other drugs on board, or regard them as something more sinister?
If I had my nose broken in a similar incident, what sort of treatment would I get?
Another son, whom I suspect has been reading too much Hunter S. Thompson, suggests I should go out dancing and see if my style will provoke someone to do the deed.
‘‘Yes, maybe I could even be knocked out,'' I enthuse, ‘‘giving new meaning to dancing with the stars.''
He ruins my momentary pleasure at that weak pun with his second thoughts that I wouldn't be allowed near any dance floor because of my geriatric state.
I know it's not OK, but I feel my mother fondness wearing thin.
- Elspeth Mclean is a Dunedin writer.
