True New Yorker

Every day, we pass people—hundreds of people—on the street, in the subway, entering the elevator. As we tread onwards, we are passing lives rich with history, people with distant family connections we may never know—pedestrians and motorists, locals and foreigners, professionals and students. But who are these people, really? What are their backgrounds? Where do they come from? I have found that some of the most seemingly random encounters, made in the most impromptu and unexpected places, can remain permanently imprinted in one’s mind, only to be remembered again at equally unforeseen moments.

Just last week, some friends and I were heading downtown to City Center to see a dance performance as a part of my Dance in New York City class. We were all dressed up, each of us decked out in heels and dresses, excited for the show. As we entered the subway station, notebooks in hand, an unpleasant, high-pitched noise unexpectedly stormed my eardrums. It was only when the tones changed and I moved closer to the source of the sound that I realized it was not the anticipatory screech of a subway approaching but rather the music of an instrument I could not identify. There sat a man of Asian descent plucking a curious cello-like contraption, trying to entertain commuters and make a few extra dollars. Most people walked right by him, probably immune to the multitude of performers that line the streets and platforms of New York City. However, as I walked past, I kept my eyes fixated on this scene. I began to imagine where this man was from and what history and culture had produced such an instrument. Was he born in the United States or was this the product of a teaching from a faraway land? Was this music unpleasant to my untrained ear merely because I had not grown up with these sounds as a part of my daily life? The U.S. is known as a land of innumerable opportunities—an idea this man seemed to embody by occupying this subway station as his business office and exposing himself to the judgments of New Yorkers and New York wannabes alike. Having taken this vulnerable stance, he now faced hostility and rejection. Each individual stare was cold enough to have frozen the notion of acceptance in the U.S. right on the spot.

 Again, just last night, I found myself in the same situation, as my classmates and I were heading to City Center for another series of performances. This time, though, there was a jazz trio occupying that very same niche in the subway station. Though people’s purses were no more generous this week than last, these performers received a nod of acceptance from many passersby. I began to wonder why it was easier to capture the attention of commuters this Wednesday evening. The obvious difference between the genres of music being performed could not escape my notice. Jazz is a familiar style that has been part of American culture for almost a century now. Perhaps, though, it was an unconscious disregard that took place last week. Can we fault those busy travelers who are rushing home after a hard day’s work for failing to reach out to some unknown person and unfamiliar culture? All it would have taken was a single moment to look at the cellist, acknowledging his humanity, before stepping on the subway and continuing their daily routines.

I believe if we make a conscious effort to give people from every walk of life the respect they deserve, we can proudly tout our label as one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the world, not only by virtue of the number of people that live in this city but also by the knowledge of those people that walk the grid streets of this island. I firmly believe that it is our duty to earn this reputation by taking notice of those whom the majority would gladly ignore.

 Therefore, I challenge you all to take advantage of these precious moments that present themselves each and every day in this wonderful city. Close that gap of cultural divide and dive headfirst into the awkward separation that detaches your way of living from those of the people most different from you. No books must be studied or biographies read—we need only observe society and value its people. Question the uncomfortable partition that prevents us from understanding those unfamiliar ways of life. Only then will you truly be able to call yourself a cosmopolitan New Yorker.

The author is a Barnard College first-year.