People Who Record Accidents Instead of Helping

There was a time when witnessing an accident triggered instinct: stop, help, call for assistance. In today’s Malaysia, it triggers something far more urgent—open camera. Before anyone checks for breathing, before traffic is secured, before basic human decency wakes up, someone is already filming vertically, steady hands, full battery, perfect angle. Priorities.

These are the First Responders of Content, heroes of the algorithm. They don’t carry first-aid kits; they carry ring lights. Blood on the road? Film it. Someone crying? Zoom in. A wrecked motorbike? Pan slowly for dramatic effect. Helping would interrupt the shot. Helping doesn’t trend.

The justification is always noble-sounding.
“I’m documenting.”
“For awareness.”
“So people can be careful.”
Amazing how “awareness” requires a close-up of someone’s worst day and a caption begging for shares. Awareness apparently needs background music and a slow-motion replay.

Meanwhile, the victim lies there, surrounded by spectators who know how to comment but not compress a wound. One person shouts instructions they learned from a movie. Another argues about who’s at fault. Nobody calls emergency services because everyone assumes someone else already did. Spoiler: nobody did. Everyone was busy recording.

This behaviour thrives because it’s rewarded. Videos go viral. Pages repost. Comment sections explode. Sympathy is outsourced to emojis. Accountability disappears into views. The filmer gets attention; the injured get exposure they never consented to. Privacy dies on impact.

And when questioned, the filmer gets offended.
“Why blame me?”
“Better than doing nothing.”
No. Filming while refusing to help is doing nothing—loudly. It’s turning human suffering into entertainment and calling it public service.

Accidents don’t need audiences. They need assistance. They need calm, space, and people who act instead of perform. If your first instinct is to record rather than respond, the problem isn’t technology—it’s character.

Malaysia doesn’t lack compassion. It lacks restraint. Until we learn to put phones down and hands to use, our roads will keep producing content—and fewer people willing to be human when it actually matters.