Why did no one step in to save the life of Sasha Davies?

THE DAY Sasha Davies died, many people witnessed her distress. Left with her grandfather for the day, the three-year-old had gone with him to a local club, where he drank so much that he had to be asked to leave. Described as "drunk and staggering", he then dragged her through the streets of Kilburn in north London, banging on parked cars.

Throughout all this, various bystanders saw Sasha "petrified" and screaming "I want to go home". The prosecution in the current court case claim that witnesses heard her grandfather scream "you little shit", then throw her and push her so violently that her head smashed against a wall. Shortly afterwards he threw her from the balcony of his seventh-floor flat to her death. Her grandfather denies these charges.

At the end, it is reported, neighbours "tried to help". But why did no one intervene before?

On the surface, few of us would take on a violent drunk. There is also a deep-rooted resistance to the idea of interfering in another family's affairs. In Sasha's case, racism must have played its part. The stereotypical association of blacks with violence makes it easy for whites to tell themselves that black families are more violent with their children, but "it's their culture", and "the children get used to it". Some may have thought with contempt, "let them get on with it".

Yet there are wider factors beyond this pitiful case. Far too many children have died because no one intervened. James Bulger was seen many times as he was dragged to his death. Even those who perish in the privacy of their own homes have almost always been observed by neighbours, friends or local residents. Sasha is only the latest victim of compulsive reticence. What makes us so reluctant to get involved?

One common factor is simple disbelief. In an era when violence and sadism are the stuff of mass media entertainment, we are ignorant of the real- life violence our forebears knew. Within this century, horses or dogs were whipped in the street, men openly struck their wives and children, schoolmasters beat pupils, and even primary school teachers were free with the ruler or hand. In public at least, most of that has gone with the wind. To see a fist smashing into flesh, to hear the unique sound of a body colliding with something hurtful and hard, is something unfamiliar, so we don't know what to do.

There is disbelief too when faced with sadism. Most people only strike a child in anger, if they strike at all. Deliberate cruelty is "beyond belief". Even the professionals have to work hard to deal with it. Ordinary people can be so overwhelmed that their only response is to evade or deny.

More denial occurs when we think, "why me?" When a child is assaulted, we are angry and embarrassed to be in the front line of defence. We don't want the unwelcome attention of seeming to step forward.

"What if I make a fool of myself?" is a peculiarly British disease. "Where's its mother/father, where are the social services?" is another form of shrinking away. Our inner self is resentfully whining, "it's not my job, why should I get involved?"

And here we have it, I fear. Our reasons for failing are those of self- defence. Our apparently laudable desire not to cause trouble or interfere springs from self-regard. We prefer to protect ourselves, not the child. While we are doing this, the children die.

As they have always done. Throughout history, every society in every age has placed the interests of adults above those of the child. Our age has struggled to formulate the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child. What that means may be judged by the fact that countries with a questionable record on adult human rights, like Guatemala, Vietnam, Nicaragua and Egypt, have cheerfully signed up to it, when many leading western states have not.

But it's not down to the UN to look after our kids. We should know instinctively as soon as it occurs that maltreating a child is wrong. We should act calmly but decisively if we even suspect it is taking place. Failure to do so is moral cowardice. "Take me home!" the weeping Sasha begged, again and again. If only someone had.

Rosalind Miles is the author of "The Rites Of Man", a study of male violence,and "The Children We Deserve".