Dysfunctional Politicians and Dysfunctional Train Riders (Us)
New Yorkers complain about the subway like it’s a second job, yet we defend it like family. Somewhere between delayed trains, leaking station ceilings, and brake dust inhalation, we collectively decided the dysfunction was worth it.
As New Yorkers, we deal with a brand of dysfunction that would lead most cities in the world to charge the gates of politicians’ homes with torches and shovels. Every single one of us who lives in or commutes into the city has participated in the same ritual: waiting for a train that was supposed to come five minutes ago, then twelve minutes ago, standing underneath a papier-mâché-covered pipe with brown liquid dripping out of it while scattered construction debris litters the tracks and someone plays a game with slot machine sounds at full volume.
We are accustomed to infrastructural disappointment, and in a way, that’s part of the charm of life in the city. When I first moved to New York, I was overwhelmed by the train system. I didn’t know where I was going. It was loud. It was dirty. I loved it. Slowly but surely, you learn how to exist within it, even in its worst state.
To this day, I find myself defending the MTA from friends who complain, not because they’re necessarily wrong, but because I’m defending the trains and platforms themselves, the whimsical rides through tunnels and over bridges. Sure, we have anachronistic systems, but we were also the first city in the world to create subterranean travel, and the fact that so much of it still exists is both technically ridiculous and strangely beautiful, like living inside a working museum. For all the bells and whistles and signals and lights that remain stubbornly analog, there’s still a charm to it.
The Long Island Rail Road strike reminded New Yorkers that the MTA only feels unified when it’s failing all at once. Strikes are not all that common, even with an encouraging strengthening of labor power, but they nonetheless reveal an exposed systemic fragility. By Monday evening, it looked like the Albany cogs, along with labor union leaders, had drafted a resolution that perhaps didn’t look like total dog shit on paper. Time will tell.
Currently, the Long Island Rail Road’s farebox operating ratio, the term used to measure how much of the railroad’s expenses are directly covered by passenger fares, sits between 33% and 40%. The farebox revenue covering the New York City subway’s operating costs sits at 26%.
This means that billions of dollars from tolls and taxes help subsidize these systems through the MTA. And who exactly is responsible for it all? Is it just the governor’s office? The mayor? Suburban interests? Consultancies?
There are many fingers in that pie of diffused responsibility, which is something of a New York political pastime. The real answer is that everyone has a piece to contribute, and that also means no one ultimately takes responsibility.
But it’s us, the people who live with it and tolerate it, who are the Stockholm-syndromed masses. Sure, we put up a fuss. We complain. We talk to one another at work about the insane person we saw on the train that morning or the fact that we were stuck underneath the East River while the conductor reminded us every five minutes that they were still there, desperately trying to keep us from dying on the inside.
It’s like some giant exercise in chicken where we collectively decided to accept a terribly run system because it means so much to us, and most of us don’t leave because this is simply how it is. Our city is worth that price of admission, especially if we’re already “fine” with the cost of living. If anyone should have a say in how their city’s transportation is run, it’s the people paying $3,000 for 280 square feet of space.
Somewhere between Adriaen van der Donck and the Cronut, we decided that getting home two hours late while breathing in brake dust was something we were willing to live with.
And anyway, it beats living anywhere else.
