The Perishable Dream of New York City

In 1904, the New York subway, built in an effort to connect all the boroughs of the city apart from Staten Island, opened its doors to thousands of passengers. From the Bronx to Brooklyn and from Manhattan to the Queens, the subway connected the people of New York. The diversity in ethnicity, riches and culture of the city could be observed by sitting in a subway cart for no longer than twenty minutes. On the surface of the automatic doors, you will read something along the lines of “do not lean against the doors” written in English, French, Creole and Spanish. If you turn your head to one side of the cart you will observe the businessman who sits on the colorful orange benches, legs crossed, and eyes locked in on his newspaper. If you turn towards the other side, you will see the homeless man who sleeps, his whole body spread out on the benches.

My friend and I took the subway every morning and every afternoon. During our visit, we stayed in an Airbnb in the Bronx and the closest subway station to us was named Gun Hill road. It was an hour-long trip from gun hill road station to Manhattan and during that time, I got to observe all of New York’s people. What surprised me most was how easy it was to identify the people from Manhattan, and those who lived in an outer borough such as the Bronx. Manhattan was for those who had made it while the Bronx was for those who had yet to make it and the subway was what connected both worlds. In the Bronx, people wore dark colors and a serious face. The coats we wore during those chilly afternoons were too colorful to have us blend in. If you were to pass these people while in a fit of laughter, they would look at you with an expression that asked, “what are you so happy about?”. During the three-minute walk we did every morning to the subway station, we stood out enough to get disapproving looks thrown our way.

In Manhattan however, we blended right in with the colorful crowds of people. Tourists filled the streets and the atmosphere felt so dissimilar to that of the subway. Manhattan had always resembled a sort of promised land. In the 1680’s, the English governors who ruled the city hoped that its commerce would bring them wealth and prosperity. In the 1900’s, the city was also a haven for many African Americans who fled the harsh atmosphere of the south. This is without mentioning the city’s rich cultural environment where every artist wants to see if they can make it. Several of America’s most brilliant individuals such as Mark Twain and William Dean Howells had moved to New York city because it was the place to be. Manhattan, the Borough which alone holds the legacy of New York city, is the physical embodiment of the American dream. It is the land of possibility where finance, theatre and fashion come together to form a beautiful mosaic of life. The city, as described by writer Joan Didion, has always been “an infinitely romantic nation, the mysterious mixture of all love, money and power, the shining and perishable dream”.

Although the American dream might have previously meant a life of equal opportunity for all, its ideals are now deeply rooted in the values of consumerism. The need for equality has transformed itself into the need for an abundance of material goods. You see it while walking through the mammoth skyscrapers, you feel it while admiring the flamboyant nightlife, and you hear it while listening to the endless ads diffused in Times Square. Manhattan’s luminous attractions are beautiful, yet superficial distractions where tourists can indulge in a fantasy. But behind all the lights is hidden the people of the subway who expose the deception of the American dream. The luxury and charm of Park Avenue and Upper east side which greatly contrasts with the overcrowded streets of Harlem and Greenwich village leaves a distasteful impression. Undoubtably, this brutal division in riches holds similarities to the 19th-century city when immigrants were segregated from the wealthy. The house surrounded by a white picket fence cannot be enjoyed by everyone. Where there is rich, there is poor and where there are winners, there are losers. Behind the skyscrapers and the never-ending nightlife is hidden the humble struggles of ordinary people.

A moment I vividly remember is when I overheard a conversation between a man and his son. They were on the subway platform waiting for their train to arrive and were standing two meters away from me. The father was telling his son, who looked like he was maybe 9 years old, that he had to toughen up or the world would walk all over him. He didn’t say it viciously but rather in an encouraging tone. I could tell that the boy was timid. His small hands were gripping those of his father tightly and his body was curved inward to make himself small enough so that no one would notice him.

One of my favorite parts of the trip was being able to sit in the subway on our way to or from Manhattan and just observe the city’s people. There were many interesting individuals but, the one that impacted me the most was a man who had sat across from us in the subway. At first, I did not notice him because I was focused on reading a book, but after a while I looked up and he immediately engaged me in conversation and asked me what I was reading. As awkward as I am, I smiled and politely responded to his question. This interaction led to him explaining his lifelong story to me. He was a father of two and wasn’t doing well financially, emotionally and physically, but he was trying so hard to be a better man. “I just want to be better for my kids man. I’m trying so hard” he said. And I sat there speechless. What do you respond to such a confession? I wish I would have had the words to bring him comfort and ease his torment, but I did not.

It is not the skyscrapers, the endless amazement procured by the theatrics of Broadway street, nor the allure of the dynamic city life that makes New York so endearing. It is the people who give character and life to the city. Although it is hard to notice this when blinded by the millions of lights and deafened by the incessant noise, it is everywhere. Look past the crowds to see the street dancer who fights every day for his dream, look harder to notice the old bearded man selling hot dogs at the entrance of the Brooklyn bridge and look for the people of the subway who share their stories with those willing to listen.