Do I See Them or Do I Make Them Invisible?

I always receive a call from my aunt at nine in the morning, but it’s really my four-year-old cousin on FaceTime. He is always so excited to see me. The first thing he asks is when I’m leaving for work and heading out of the house. The excitement is not really for me…

I show him the streets, the cars passing by, the changing traffic lights, as we make our way toward the most thrilling thing: the subway. He loves the subway, just as I do. During the entire call he is focused and quiet. He always waits to read the station name aloud - “96 Street Station (1) (2) (3).” He lives in Long Island, so most of his adventures entail either grocery shopping, malls or a quiet empty park nearby. For him, the New York City subway and the people who take it are amusing. He turned four recently. He was born in the US; I come from Nepal, and this world of the city is completely different, and subways are equally or more fascinating to me.

As always, I came down to the platform and prepared to show my cousin the trains coming and going, but today there was a woman walking around the platform, taking her clothes off, making faces, and screeching. She was probably in her late 30s or early 40s and had layers of unkempt clothing that she was pulling off her body, moving as if she were having some sort of fit. My train was right there on the platform, and before I could fully process what was happening, I got on it. It was during rush hour, and there were a fair number of people on the platform. Many of us were tightly packed into the last car in front of which she stopped. Normally, when I’m about to catch the train and it’s there, it goes by so quickly that I hardly have time to get in. Today, even after I got in, there was some time before the doors actually closed, and I saw her twist her body and scream in pain. I watched the screaming woman jerking her body as she moved around the small platform (the 96th Street platform is one of the smallest). Most of us seemed visibly scared that she might enter the car, into the tight space that we were in. I don’t know if anyone called for help. I don't know if she was there for a while. I watched her scream from the train platform as my train left, and only after my phone call with my cousin dropped as I lost service, I realized he might have heard some of that too. I don't know if, in future, when he explores New York City on his own, how much of it he will like, if he will take the subways and get deja vu from so many times I’ve shown him the platform, or if he will not take the subway at all to avoid such encounters.

I've gotten so used to encountering events like that, I thought to myself. Every time there is an unhoused person sleeping on one of those uncomfortable benches designed to keep them away, I walk past as if I don’t fully see them. I see someone asleep on the floor, covered in food scraps, sweat and piss, and I hold my breath and keep walking. When someone enters a car and I think they might cause a scene, I switch cars as soon as I can. I see women selling candies with a baby strapped to their backs, and I keep to myself.

There is no reason to engage, and, more often than not, I’ve been advised not to make eye contact. One time, I mistakenly looked at a guy painting on a subway map inside the car. The stranger came near me stomping his feet, trying to scare me off, because I looked at him spray painting. I was with Collins, a friend in my program, on my way to our meeting on 51st St, and Collins spoke on my behalf, “Man what are you trying to do that for?” The stranger moved a little further and I tried to keep my cool and asked Collins to not engage any further because I didn't want to cause a scene. It was a moving car, we couldn't have gotten out of it, and there were only a few of us. That’s also maybe the reason he felt comfortable vandalizing. What would I have done in that situation if my friend hadn’t been there? I think part of my hesitation came from being a woman, and his willingness to engage came from him being a man. I have heard my friends who are men talk about taking the subway alone at three in the morning while sloshed, and I cannot imagine moving through the city with that same ease or lack of fear. Even though I have grown to love the subway and feel safe most of the time, there is only so much risk I am willing to take, because public spaces, no matter where they are, are experienced differently by men and women.

There’s always a constant tension for me between: do I see the unhoused men, the strangers vandalizing the subway cars, undocumented women selling fruit, people who seem to be struggling and sleeping on the benches or do I make them invisible?

A few weeks ago, I was in Grand Central Station on my way to Queens for a bicycle ride. I stepped out of the station to meet a friend and travel with them. They’re not used to navigating the subway on their own. They’ve been in New York City longer than I have. They walk to their work and live 10 minutes from their workplace. Finance bros. Murray Hill. Rings a bell, no?

I met them in Grand Central Station around 9:20-ish and took the 7 train to Queens. 8–10 minutes later, on the same platform, a 7 train coming into Grand Central carried someone with a knife who slashed three random people on that very platform. We learned this news later, around 11pm, in a social media post from a New York City fan page while returning from our cycle ride. We were waiting for our train and they announced that the trains were no longer stopping at Grand Central.

When I described this situation to my sister back in Nepal over a call, I don’t know why but I started with, ‘It’s funny’ (It’s not). She looked clearly shocked by my casualness about something like that happening nearby. But there’s only so much you can do, so I calmed my nerves by downplaying its impact. Maybe it is also about feeling overwhelmed by having to confront so much at once. It becomes both a way of handling it and survival, but also a way of defending ourselves from it, and I know the system is one of the safest in the world, but because it is so heavily used, about 5.5 million riders on an average weekday, things can still happen, even if that does not mean it is unsafe.

I have had many such encounters that have made me feel unsafe and overwhelmed, but I have also had moments that I treasure. Both things can be true at the same time. And maybe I am still deflecting, and maybe I am still downplaying the weight of these situations.

Over time, I have also been learning to see people and extend kindness, even if I cannot always give money or support. When I see someone selling food, or performing, or sleeping in the subway, I try to be respectful. Even if I am not buying the candy, I can still smile. Even if I am not paying the performers, I can still clap. And when I have leftovers, I can sometimes give them to unhoused people.

I can also go on and on about access and equity in the subway, and how much of my experience is shaped by that. I can keep my distance, but I can also still extend myself. After all, we are all part of the same system. We are the subway.