Patriotism Shows its True (Lack) of Colors on the F Train
NEW YORK CITY - Sticky air. A crowded subway car. New Yorkers sitting sweaty leg to sweaty leg on the subway once again. The non-essential worker crowd, (read: white affluent) has resurfaced in the subway for the summer after the long COVID-19 winter hibernation. It’s Saturday, July third. The first July fourth weekend that we can collectively celebrate, together, outdoors since the COVID-19 pandemic erupted. The crowd is barreling toward Coney Island on the F train.
A booming voice cuts through the metal screeches. Man of Haitian origin above six feet appears. He is steeped in American flag garb. The American flag is plastered across his torso, a flag lays on the back of his neck like an Olympian. His head is topped with a sun cap that older women wear. This man was decked out for what looked like an all-American BBQ
With a booming but monotone voice he begins his appeal.
Hello everybody!
It’s America’s birthday!
The greatest birthday of all!
Behind the emotive phrases is a mono-emotive, plain face, as if he is staring into a void.
The symbolic garb he drapes his speech and body is all-American. But his non-whiteness and foreign accent is noticeable.
Spending the day at the beach?
It feels like a performance. To a hollow train.
All I want is a Nathan’s hot dog.
The only disruption to the hollow silence is a chirp from an older white man seated to my right. He chuckled at the beach comment in a nostalgic nod to the classic July fourth spot.
Does anybody have any change?
Silence.
He holds his posture in the middle of the subway car. After a short 30 seconds, he ends his appeal in defeat. It’s an unusually early defeat for subway solicitors who entrepreneur their way into food.
The food this man asked for was a Nathan’s hot dog. I can’t imagine that is his true desire. It makes no sense for him to travel another 30 minutes to Coney Island just for a hot dog.
Yet it also makes no sense that people are hungry in the richest country in the world.
It is clear that this entrepreneur made a calculated decision to make today’s bread. In his mind, the cost of the garb (which had to be more than $10 bucks) and a metro card (which is $2.5 for a one way ride) was worthwhile. It made ends meet if he earned more than $12.5 dollars asking for money. In the minds of his fellow subway travelers, the cost of a hotdog is a small goal to reach. By giving a dollar they could feel the dopamine rush from the accomplishment of feeding a man today. While this seems like a full proof approach, the subway travelers proved him wrong.
Beyond the calculations to create logical appeal, he invested in American garb clothes to lean into an emotional appeal. This garb was a strategy to compensate for his “otherness” as a Black man with a foreign accent. Clearly he bought this garb to appeal to Americans on the fourth of July. Despite being decked out in all the American symbols and announcing all American phrases, his fellow subway riders ignored him. His announcements It’s America’s birthday!, Spending the day at the beach? and All I want is a Nathan’s hot dog were coded messages to instill a sense of camaraderie. We are collectively celebrating. I am very grateful and proud to be an American.
This begs the question, what about him nullified the effect of the strong logical and emotional campaign he led? He failed to seem like an approachable fellow, better yet, we the subway rats failed to recognize his approachability.
It is a disappointing (not) surprise that after a collective hibernation due to COVID-19 did not dispel hyper (white) nationalism.
The moment demonstrates that white Americans have no motivation to celebrate a fellow American if he is Black immigrant man with a foreign accent.
The promise of American camaraderie for fellow Americans is proven hollow. American patriotism is in individual, not collective. Clearly.
On this very busy subway car, not one donation was made. Not one acknowledgement of his presence was made. Not one word said directly to him. Just the man to my right with his chuckle, acknowledging the folk lore around Coney Island. Perhaps that was his donation in social capital to the man of Haitian origin because he surprised him with the cultural knowledge that a beach day in Coney Island is a tradition for boomers and above. Then there was me. I lifted my head up from reading Modern Ethics in 77 arguments just to make eye contact with him, put my hand on my chest and shake my head no.
Why didn’t it? Because there was social cost to my inaction. If he had directed his appeal to me I might feel socially obligated to prove I am not a monster.
I only give money when I’m being seen. The night before, I actually gave five dollars cash to a houseless person. I was on first date and we were going back to their place. We’re waiting for the Q, drunk, happy and horny. I saw an elderly Black man in all black garb, going through the garbage at 2am. The Q train screeches to stop at the station. Quickly, I took out the cash in my pocket that I got at Cubby Hole from a helpful older woman (cubby hole is only cash). I picked a bill I thought was a dollar bill thought it would be a dollar. I put my hand over the trash can and said, “Do you want a dollar?”. He nodded and accepted it. My delayed drunk vision registered that it was a $5. That’s the minimum for a sandwich in NYC but I regretted it instantly. I don’t let it show on my face when I turn left towards the Q, to see my date in between the subway doors looking at me curiously. I met my intention, to be seen by my date as generous.
To be a white American is to be an individual whose altruism is tied to validation.