Going underground

Going Underground – The Jam

I love the subway. To plunge underground, burrow through the blind earth and come back up for air in a different place, I think it’s magic - however dark. Especially in wintertime. Late in the afternoon the trains are packed with heavy coats and stoic faces. They drone past bleak, dreary science fiction stations. Something is always leaking, seeping through the ceilings, leaving dark wet spots on the platforms. A concrete future of high humidity and quiet desperation. Think Blade Runner, or, better still, 1984. The subway as a brick version of Orwell’s boiled-cabbage smell. Eye contact is to be avoided at all cost while on the train. Only beggars and fanatics will try to fix their eyes on yours, looking to dig out the soul inside for fast cash or salvation. To answer the call of the crazy is at one’s own risk. The message of the commuting crowd is clear. You keep to yourself or you’re on your own.

I am on my way home. Above ground, an icy January afternoon is paper cutting its way through the streets. Underground I find line 1, the local train that stops at every station from South Ferry to 96th Street, where I get off. At Lincoln Center a young family gets on board: a man and a woman in their late twenties, and a toddler. The boy wraps himself around his mother’s legs and presses up against her as the doors close and the train starts moving.

The man takes a deep breath and clears his throat. ‘Can I have a moment of your attention please?’

As I am writing this, there are 100.000 homeless in New York City, 75.000 of whom are families roaming the streets. Couples with children, single parents, pregnant women. Every night there is room for 38.000 individuals somewhere in the city’s shelter system. Some 34.000 people are eligible for financial and other assistance from the New York Department of Homeless Services – a wonderful initiative to get people back on their feet, says the government. Just another temporary scheme to keep the poor out of sight, say the critics.

‘My name is John,’ the man says. ‘This is my wife Samantha, and the little man down there’s our son Michael. I am a technical engineer. I was laid off four months ago. We lost our home four weeks ago. The Department of Homeless Services is providing us with shelter, and for the time being they are paying for my wife’s tuition.’ The man speaks in a low voice, but I am pretty sure everyone in the car has heard him. When he mentions his wife, I can’t help but look at her. She nods in recognition as she looks back at me, and then continues to look at everybody in the car. One by one. ‘We are very grateful for their help. It means we have a roof over our heads, at least for now, and food every day. What we need is a future. I need work. I need to buy diapers for my son. I want to be able to buy flowers for my wife. If there is anyone who can help us out…’ I look around me. All eyes are on the couple. By the time the train starts slowing down for the next stop, nearly everyone has reached into their wallets. One dollar bills, five dollar bills, business cards. ‘Call my office in the morning,’ one man says as he gets off the train. ‘Maybe we can work something out.’ He pulls up the collar of his coat, puts his hands deep in his pockets and disappears to the nearest exit, outside, skyward.