Back when I was a janitor, around 1983/84, in this one building, I'd see this guy working late almost every day, even on Fridays when almost everyone else had started their weekend early. One day, he was unusually upset at his boss. To hear him tell it, his boss wasn't a very nice fellow... a person who took sadistic pleasure in belittling and demeaning those he could, whenever he could. One of the boss' favorite games was going through mail stamped "private."
On this particular day, the "late-worker" was the boss' latest victim and the guy was livid. I was the only one around, so he unloaded on me. We talked. In the end, I asked him, "Why don't you just talk to the guy to let him know that he's about to be lynched by the people in his sector?"
Late-Worker stopped and thought for what seemed like a long time. I kept looking at him as his mind worked, wondering what his answer would be. Finally, he said, "No, Janitor Man, I won't talk to Boss because that might help him."
I thought of the implications of what he said. It was, and remains, one of the saddest moments of my life.