The American Public's Fascination With the Undead

Zombies aren’t pretty creatures. Popular media depicts them in assorted states of decay. They shamble. They’re insatiable cannibals. And, well, they’re dead. So why can’t we get enough of them?

Selling the Illusion of Wealth

To round out AiP's discussion on our relationship with fashion, today we're looking at the counterfeit industry. On Monday, we probed the appeal of high-heels. And on Wednesday, we discussed a particular color trend in New York City. 

Ashes to Ashes: Communitas and Religious Symbols

How does do Ashes worn by Catholics for Ash Wednesday differ from other outward symbols of religiosity?

The Social Functions of Blushing

It's happened to all of us. The poorly timed remark, tripping over an uneven sidewalk, a torn seam or an open button or zipper, or even the dreaded toilet paper stuck to the bottom of a shoe—embarrassment can strike at any time.

What Does the Nutcracker Have to do With Christmas?

In this age of commercialization, it can be difficult to find true symbols of the season. After all, Santa himself is a spokesman for one of the largest department stores in the United States. And Rudolph, that iconic red-nosed reindeer, was created by Montgomery Ward, another large American retailer. A closer look at the Nutcracker and his battalion of wooden soldiers suggest that the figures and symbols that seem to get closest to the meaning of the holiday are those that are somewhat peripheral.

Is Your Facebook Profile Ready to Delete You? Lessons from South Park

South Park's "You Have 0 Friends" episode drives home the ways the social media giant Facebook has slowly but surely taken over our lives. Originally aired on April 8th, Comedy Central ran it again last night, and a second viewing revealed additional insights into the ways our lives have changed as a result of digital and social media—and was a hilarious good time at that. So, what would you do if you had no Facebook friends? Is your Facebook profile larger than life? [Stan in the digital world. © South Park.]

The Five Points and the Collect Pond: Ripples Through Time [FP3]

The story of the Collect Pond is integral to the story of the Five Points itself, and it is a prime example of the how the relationship we have with our landscapes can impact our social order.

Death 2.0: Digital Mourning

As today is Good Friday, perhaps it's a good time to talk about death in the digital world. While millions of Catholics engage in rituals of remembering today, I'd like to talk about how Web 2.0 technologies are changing the experience of death for those charged with remembering.

Is Your Time My Time? Deconstructing "Social" Time (3)

I've been doing a lot of sifting through the articles and books I have on Time, and some graduate writing I did on the subject. And I think I'm ready to address my question as to whether there are parallels in Intersubjective Time. To do so, we're going to take a trip to the Caribbean. (But first I recommend you check out Part 1 and Part 2 of this series if you haven't already.)

Is Your Time My Time? Deconstructing "Social" Time (2)

Time. Sometimes it can seem as though there isn't enough of it. Sometimes it can seem endless. I woke up thinking about my notion of temporal freedom because it seems to run contrary to social order, which is structured in such a way that encourages intersubjectivity (the shared social experience of individuals). We exist within networks that overlap—I am a wife, sister, daughter, writer, anthropologist, godmother, bibliophile, former student, etc. Each of these roles carries with it experiences and memories that overlap with those of others in these networks. What I have named as temporal freedom actually seems to tied to a great number of external factors and persons. These thoughts sent me back to my bookshelves and to my notes from grad school. Here is what I have managed to puzzle out today—perhaps you can help strip back the layers on this as well, Reader. Hold on tight. We're going to delve into some theory today.

Santa Claus—Social Order Manifested as The Spirit of Christmas

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

-Excerpt from Twas the Night Before Christmas (Clement Clarke Moore) [Image Right: Inflatable Santa Claus as seen from behind a tree.]

Most Western children (and some adults) eagerly await the arrival of Santa Claus—easily recognizable from the description above. In his red suit and sleigh pulled by reindeer, he comes bearing gifts. If you've been good that is. Children are well aware of his rules too: he keeps a list, he checks it twice, and he knows who's been naughty or nice. If you've been nice (e.g., unselfish, polite, and helpful), you might find something neat waiting under the tree. If you haven't, well, you might get a lump of coal.

Our present day image of Santa seems to come from a few different sources. He is a combination of the Dutch Sinterklaas and the British Father Christmas—both of whom appear to be rooted in the real life Saint Nicholas of Myra. Nicholas of Myra was a saint and a Bishop with a reputation for secret gift giving—he was known for putting coins in shoes left out for him, and one legend has him throwing bags of gold coins through the window of a poor man's home to help provide a dowry for his three daughters, saving them from prostitution. The tradition of Saint Nicholas' Day (Dec. 6) spread to many countries, and on the eve of this festivity which marks Saint Nicholas' death, presents are exchanged. The Dutch Sinterklaas appears to make the distinction between good and bad children (although in practice, all children receive gifts). He has a helper named Zwarte Piet whose black skin has made him a source of controversy in recent years. For our intents we are only concerned with his role in punishing bad children (by taking them away in a sack). Children leave their shoes by the fireplace with some hay or a carrot for his horse, and Sinterklaas leaves them chocolate coins or some other token. A sack is also often placed outside of the house or in the living room with present for the family. Father Christmas on the other hand had nothing to do with gifts—he typically represented the Spirit of Christmas. Though he has since merged with representations of Santa Claus, he was originally created to be the personification of good cheer. [Image Right: Inflatable Santa with snowman for company.]

The morphing of these three characters into Santa Claus packs a powerful punch—a gift giver, a moral watchman, and the embodiment of good cheer. While Santa has no helper to pack wayward children into sacks (CPS would NOT sanction such behavior!), he is watching. He knows when you steal your coworker's lunch, or flip someone the finger for cutting you off on the road, or break something and pretend you didn't. Today Santa makes no distinction between good and "bad" children—all children get presents. But the idea that Santa—or someone—is watching persists. In essence, he's watching because we all are watching in some ways. An early post on this blog explored Durkheim's idea that a moral sensibility governs the collective, keeping order to permit the continuation of society. The social order that governs our society is "watching," and symbols associated with Santa's may be manifestations of this moral sensibility by virtue of the power we assign them. 

I was thinking about this as a I passed a volunteer for a charity last week wearing a Santa hat. While hundreds of people probably filed by her, only perhaps dozens reached into their pockets for their spare change. She didn't call for donations, she simply stood there, wearing her red hat. She passed no judgment, but her hat did: "I'm watching," it seemed to say. "I know whether there is change in your pocket, whether you're ignoring my helper willingly, or whether you're late for a train (in which case, you can make it up later.)" [Image Left: Charity volunteer with red bucket.]

Santa's hat is not the Sorting Hat, but in making Santa into a moral watchman, he and his accessories have become an extension of the sensibility that guides society. Though his history is linked to a Bishop, he has largely become a secularized icon, personifying the charity of the human spirit—one that we can all relate to. He and the imagery linked to him remind us of the "rights" that we as a society believe in. These are not civil rights, but social rights: right-doing. The charity volunteer's hat was therefore not a statement that Santa himself is watching, but that we bear social obligations that are necessary to the maintenance of the social order. To quote Francis Pharcellus Church:

The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see.

Can you think of other symbols that are used to maintain social order? Answer below, and remember to leave some cookies out for Santa. He's on his way—you can track his progress using NORAD's Official Santa Tracker.

Merry Christmas all!

In Pursuit of Life, Liberty, and Happiness—and the Right to Fish

Winter has finally arrived in the northeastern United States, so my thoughts have naturally begun to turn to summer. Believe me, after having the wind cut through clothing that you apparently layered in futility, you'd be wishing for warmer days too. During the summer months, my husband Steve and I tend to spend a lot of time near the water—living on an island, it's not really all that hard to do. He is an avid fisherman.* I prefer to lounge on the sand with a good book, but I watch. And take (mental) notes. And I've even brought in a fish or two myself (mainly flukes). This simple sport brings immense pleasure and satisfaction. It links us to one of our earliest means of sustenance, and reminds us that not all foods need to come from the supermarket in brightly colored wrappers—nature may still be able to support us if only we could learn to take only what we needed.

A few weeks ago at the car wash, the car ahead of us drove in covered in mud and blood. The owner had been hunting in Maine and informed us he had "bagged" a 600-pound moose. While I stood there trying to picture the moose strapped to this guy's car rack, Steve struck up conversation about his own catches out in Montauk, home of the monster striped bass. Our new friend informed us that he and a few buddies were thinking of staging a rebellion by taking some fishing rods and throwing them in the water. That got my attention—my ears tend to perk up at the word rebellion. Steve nodded sympathetically, and pulled a fishing license out of his wallet, saying, "Yup. I hear you, but I've got my license to fish. Not taking any chances."

[Image Above: A striped bass takes the bait in the waters off of Montauk. Photo Credit: S. D'Costa]

My expression at the sight of Steve's license could only be described as incredulous. This was the first I had heard of licenses being required for recreational fishing on Long Island, and with good reason—the requirement only went into effect in October. And I was a little incensed when we climbed into our car. I thought that requiring a license for residents to fish in waters they have known all their lives was absurd. But after talking to a few fishermen and visiting the major forums, my outrage was tempered. I do believe in licensing. I don't operate a car without one. My driver's license functions to  provide a means for taking action when I do something wrong on the road—i.e., I have a license, and must therefore know the rules, so if I decide to pull an illegal u-turn, I can be charged with a fine or other penalty. And if I incur enough penalties, I can lose my right to operate a vehicle. [Image Right: Fishing the East River.]

Despite my misgivings and uncertainty about fishing licenses, I absolutely think that catches need to be regulated: undersized fish need to be thrown back; fish need to be caught in season to allow them to grow to maturity; and we have to adhere to the daily possession limits (e.g., per day: 2 flounder, 15 blue fish). I do agree that if you're caught with an undersized fish or a fish out of season, well, you're a fish out of water, buddy. Good fishermen are responsible fishermen—they know that in order to be able to fish in the future, you have to leave something to catch, which means not keeping fish over the daily limit or taking undersized fish home. The problem is that not everyone out there with a pole is a responsible fisherman, and some fishermen believe that a license may mitigate some of the wrong-doing. Right now, fishing is regulated by Department of Environmental Conservation (DEC) officers who perform random checks of buckets and coolers, particularly at the docks where—up until recently—anyone could walk up and throw out a line. On fishing charters, sometimes called party boats, the boat can be fined if DEC officers meet the boat at the dock and passengers are found with unsuitable fish. The mates regularly toss small or unseasonal fish back into the water, although there are ways to get around this. [Image Left: Fisherman with striped bass.]

I think the reason I had problems with licensing was because I was grappling with the following question: How would a fishing license change regulation? Well, the license would function like the driver's license. It wouldn't necessarily stop everyone from wrong-doing (like illegal u-turns, or keeping an undersized fish), but the harsher penalties that come with being caught as a licensed fisherman would hopefully deter a large number of illegal fishermen. But getting caught would still be a matter of chance. The license would not guarantee that everyone would do what they were supposed to do. And in this sense, it doesn't seem to be anything more than a way to generate revenue for the state.

As you can imagine, the reaction from the fishing community on Long Island has been loud. A growing number of fishermen, led in part by Stuart Vorpahl, are mobilizing to reclaim the waters off of eastern Long Island for recreational fishing. Vorpahl is a commercial fisherman who has been fishing without a commercial license since 1984, when commercial licenses became mandatory. He has been arrested four times. However, Vorpahl has no intention of becoming licensed because he claims that the state has no right to regulate fishing in the region thanks to a 313-year-old colonial decree known as Dongan's Patent. And recreational fishermen are apparently protected under the patent as well. In 1686 Governor Thomas Dongan placed the responsibility for the management of the local land and waterways of eastern Long Island in the hands of locally elected trustees. Vorpahl and others maintain that the Patent still holds, and therefore the state has no right to issue and collect fees for licenses (which would go toward conservation efforts [see page 2]). Six Long Island towns have since filed a suit against the state's DEC saying that the state has no authority to demand a license for fishing in the waters off their shores. Undoubtedly, concerns regarding summer tourism have their place in these lawsuits since eastern Long Island is known for its summer recreational activities.

While most recreational fishermen have an opinion, the responses to the licensing mandate seems to be mixed. Yes, some are incensed, but still others view it as a step in the right direction. Those fishermen who regularly throw fish back that are too small or over the permitted daily limit, even while they watch others pack in small fish, are fed up. The fines for keeping fish that you shouldn't have are already hefty. They will be even heftier once the new licensing regulations are actively enforced, and may ultimately result in the guilty party being banned from fishing. Currently, the DEC is opting to educate the fishermen they find without a license—no tickets seem to have been written yet, but stern warnings have been issued about the consequences of fishing without a license in the future. So licensing will hopefully reduce the number of people fishing illegally. And while there isn't much in the process of regulation that can change, hopefully, the penalties that come with being caught will act as a deterrent. That's not to say that those who oppose licensing are not responsible fishermen—they want to fish without interference, and insist they can be trusted to adhere to regulations, but can the same be said for others? Those who are anti-license have concerns about whether their fees would actually be applied to conservation and have questions about who would regulate that distribution—and it's a fair question. [Image Left: Happy fishermen with their catch.]

As for Dongan's Patent, can a 313-year-old document be applied to the present day? I certainly hope so, given the age of our Constitution, but perhaps there is room for an adjustment. If Dongan's Patent gives the responsibility for the management of the waterways to the localities, then perhaps the localities need to take a stronger stance in managing the waterways. If they don't want to license fishermen, then they need to regulate the catches more stringently, which means more dock and cooler checks. Do they have the manpower for this? It's doubtful. So we come back to licensing. Perhaps they should get to keep the revenue and apply the funds locally. Regardless of the solution, someone needs to regulate our natural resources. It's the only way to curb illegal fishing. And if the localities begin to manage the waterways, then they need to apply the same rules across the board, so they still seem to need a DEC-like organization. [Image Right: Keeper fluke caught on the fishing charter, Laura Lee.]

What's your take on Dongan's Patent? Does it still hold water? Is the DEC out of line for requiring licenses? Who should primarily be responsible for protecting our natural resources—the state, or the locality? Come on, cast your line below.

*Note: The terms "fisherman" and "fishermen" refer to all people who fish for recreation.

Music and the Counterpoint of Humanity

What is it about steel pan music that stops me in my tracks? This was the question I posted to my Facebook status last week after stumbling on a steel pan musician at Penn Station. The melodies he coaxed from the steel pan made me pause, and I went digging for the change in my pocket, something that I rarely do. Steel pan music reminds me of my heritage—something that Facebook users were quick to point out, referencing both a longing for home and my nationality as reasons for feeling this connection. Music has this power—to recall a memory, to transport us, to connect us.

New York City is known for its public performers. They can be be found on street corners and subway platforms. They range from simple musicians to full bands to complete shows with lithe acrobats. Good ones draw large crowds, but even the not so good performers will gain a solitary audience member until the train pulls into the station or the light changes so pedestrians can cross. Why are we drawn to music? Particularly public music? Is it something more than a momentary distraction? [Image Left: Performer at Penn Station.]

My first social science endeavor dealt with music. I had an English teacher in high school who was young and enthusiastic; his ideas didn't always jive with the administration. For example, he learned that our school bell system could be programmed to play music instead of tones. He managed to persuade the administration to permit the bell system to be modified: instead of a tone to signal the end and beginning of classes and three minutes of silence during the passing, there would be three minutes of music to accompany students during the passing between classes. The exercise was over relatively quickly—the administration found the music disruptive. Teachers felt they had trouble getting their students settled down for the lesson.

At the time, I was reading about the use of music to relieve stress. There have been studies done linking reduced levels of cortisol (a stress hormone) to exposure to music. I remember being particularly intrigued by reports of surgeons piping in music to ease their (and their patient's) anxieties about the process. It kept them relaxed. Of course, this isn't really new information. There's a reason music is played in fast food establishments and in shopping malls: more than just background noise, it sets a mood. Holiday shoppers are more likely to spend if they are feeling like its a "Holly Jolly Christmas" and people tend to eat more when there is slow, sad music in the background. If there was evidence that music influences mood, and it was being used to this effect by larger parties, then could it have a benefit in schools? Beyond creating unruly, distracted students, that is?

Possibly. If surgeons were using music to calm their nerves, then perhaps I could make an argument about productivity. The study I designed used classical music during passing, and teachers reported through qualitative assessments that students seemed more relaxed and productive. The administration would not permit quantitative analysis, which I proposed could be done through examining test scores (collected with all identifying information removed, of course.) I tested this hypothesis in three high schools, and the results were the same—music has a effect on mood which could be linked to productivity, but the question of why remained unanswered—how can music manipulate the collective?

Music can be a connective agent because we feel it. While we may have different emotive responses, we feel music in the same ways—our bodies respond to it similarly. At the 14th Street-Union Square subway station, there is sometimes a brass band that performs. They usually have a large crowd, and the beat grabs every single spectator. Regardless of color, creed, or age, heads bob, feet tap, and bodies sway in unison. Music has the ability to link the counterpoint of human existence. Counterpoint is a musical term. It refers to the harmonizing of independent elements—dissonant chords, if you will, coming together to create beautiful sounds. Jose Marti, a Cuban revolutionary writer and political theorist (and quite a bit more, but you can read about him if you're interested by clicking on his name), wrote in a style of counterpoint. He took different frames of thought, different subjects, different styles, and wove them together to talk of revolution, of being. [Image Right: Violinist at Penn Station.]

Marti saw our connection to the natural world as something that could be used to link us all—giving us terms, expressions, and feelings, that we could all understand. He felt that poetry particularly exemplified this connection, and that Walt Whitman excelled at weaving these narratives:

"The truth is that his poetry, though startling at first, leaves a delightful feeling of convalescence in the soul tormented by the diminishment of the universe. He creates his own grammar and logic. He reads the eye of an ox and the sap in the leaf."

Literature, he felt, spoken in terms of nature is something that we can all understand. It has cadences, rhythms, and melodies. We feel it much in the way we can feel music:

To the greatest number of free men and workers the Earth has ever seen corresponds a poetry of wholeness and faith, grave and soothing, that rises like the Sun from the sea, setting the clouds ablaze, edging the crests of the waves in fires, and rousing the nestlings and the drowsy, flowers in the teeming jungles along the shore ... everything breathes out its own music.

The poem Whitman composes to mark the death of Lincoln speaks in these terms. He captures the pain of a nation in nature, and it becomes something that everyone can relate to, something that is preserved through time:

Literature—which announces and propagates the final, joyous concordance of apparent contradictions ... Literature, which inculcates men's fearful spirits with a conviction so rooted in definitive justice and beauty that the penuries and uglinesses of existence do not dishearten or embitter them—will not only reveal a form of society that is closer to perfection than any now known, but will also, by felicitously conjoining reason and grace, provide Humanity, ever eager for marvels and poetry with the religion it has awaited in bewilderment since it became aware of the emptiness and insufficiency if its ancient creeds.

Music is literature and literature is music. These forms of expression maintain a link to the natural world, which is what we feel. Poetry, like music, can bring us together, excite us, send us to the depths of despair, much in the way a gray swamp bird singing its lonely song against a bleak landscape can evoke despondency. Music captures these rhythms, which are encoded into our understanding, despite our backgrounds—sounds of joy are recognizable, as are sounds of sadness. If you are ever fortunate enough to attend the wedding of someone from another culture, pay attention to the music and compare it to other joyous tunes from your life. You will certainly find similarities. Universities have "fight songs" for this reason. They're a good way to get the crowd going, yes, but they remind the crowd and team of their connection. Couples choose wedding songs to form a connection with each other and their guests. This shared experience has the power to induce collective moods and experiences, which possibly lay at the root of my early social science forays. [Image Left: A guitar in transit.]

For me, the steel pan connects me to other Trinidadians in transit. It connects me to my relatives whom I have never met. It reminds me of a shared history. The next time you come across a street performer, stop and take in the show. If you find yourself nodding your head or swaying along, give a sidelong glance to see if your neighbor is doing the same. Let the social rhythms override your differences. And carry the collective mood with you. if you find yourself being more productive or pleasant, share the network effect. [Image Right: Band plays swing; couple dances in the foreground.]

Have a favorite song? How does it make you feel? Remember the fight song from you alma mater? What was the effect on the crowd? Talk back below.

Cited:

Marti, Jose.

2002 "The Poet Walt Whitman." In Selected Writings. Esther Allen, ed. New York: Penguin Books.

Sleepers, Squeezers, Lurkers, and More: Interacting With Subway Riders in Their Natural Habitat

In a city that values personal space, we sure spend a lot of time in close contact with one another, particularly on mass transit. I personally will only board a packed subway car if I am running late and have to get somewhere immediately, otherwise, I'm perfectly content to scope out the platform, note where the doors open, and wait for the next train (this behavior makes me a camper, as we will discuss shortly)—if I have learned anything traveling via mass transit, it's that there is always another train.

Perhaps believing that my commuting strategy had lulled me into false beliefs about the success of my commuting strategies, the subway gods decided to remind me of the value of personal space recently. The 2/3 subway lines were down, which meant that I—as well as hundreds of other people who normally take those lines—was forced to find alternate routes. Having resigned myself to missing my regular LIRR train, I opted to follow my rule of letting the crowd go before me. And as usual, it worked. (Or seemed to.) A train came, and everyone piled in—they would have ridden between the cars if the practice hadn't been outlawed. Just to be safe, I let another train roll through the station. It was moderately full, but boardable, but I was already off schedule at this point, so I figured I might as well wait for a more comfortable experience. Not too long after, surely enough, a quick peek down the tunnel revealed the dim glow of the headlights of an oncoming train.[Image Left: Looking for the train down the tunnel. The dim glow of headlights mean it won't be too much longer.]

The train arrived and it was virtually empty, so I boarded and stood by the door because I only needed to go three stops or so. Well, what I hadn't banked on was how crowded the trains must have been when they got to the stops after the station where I boarded. So if the trains had been merely crowded by my judgment at my station, they were virtually unboardable by the time they got to subsequent stations, which meant that people had no choice but to wait—until the train I was on arrived, and they flooded the car. I'm a petite person, so I quickly found myself pressed against the glass. Sideways. Under someone's armpit. Yeah. I had a pang of claustrophobia and had to remind myself that I would be getting off soon. I closed my eyes and breathed (though not too deeply) and tried to subtly adjust myself into a slightly more comfortable position. For those of you who don't live in an area where mass transit can get this chaotic, to help you fully appreciate this experience, I've included the following Seinfeld clip where Elaine Benes gets stuck on a train on her way to a wedding:

Despite leaving a facial imprint on the glass door, I could understand why the train was crowded—service interruptions and delays aren't fun for anyone. I doubt anyone on the trains that afternoon had an enjoyable ride. But what about when personal space is invaded when there is no reason for it?

Last week, while having dinner with my good friend James, we got to swapping commuter stories. We were talking about large backpacks, and prime spots on the train (he prefers to stand by the door instead of taking a seat—consequently, I have categorized him as a door dweller), when the conversation turned to people who seem oblivious to others around them—the ones bump you with their backpacks, blast their iPods, occupy multiple seats, etc. On his way to meet me for dinner, James fell victim to a close-stander. Surely you've heard of close-talkers (which, interestingly, is another Seinfeld phenomenon)? Well, close-standers are oblivious to personal space boundaries. They will stand inches away, their hair in your face, knocking your book or personal device out of your hand, and they do this without any need for it, and without seeming to know they are doing it. Close-standers do this when there is more than ample space on the train to accommodate everyone. Perhaps they are used to traveling only during rush hour when close-standing is mandatory; perhaps the trains and buses they ride are always crowded; perhaps this is their way of getting human contact—no one really knows, but close-standers sometimes create uncomfortable situations for those around them. [Image Right: A door dweller stakes his claim. He could also be a packer, but his manuevering to remain in the door caused me to classify him as specified.]

Before we go on, it might bear discussing the different categories that subway riders can be grouped into. All sorts of characters ride the subway and, like any good cast, they know their parts well:

• Campers. Commuters who know where to stand so that the doors open in front of them, enabling them to board the train firs,t are campers. They get very annoyed when non-campers, or lurkers, try to push past them and board before them. There is definitely something obsessive about campers, but they are relatively harmless. If they do get bypassed somehow, they may be annoyed, but they follow the crowd—or re-position themselves and wait for another train. [Image Right: Campers board a train during morning rush hour.]
  

• Close-standers. People who stand "thisclose" to you despite the fact that it is not crowded and everyone can be afforded some personal space. It is believed that close-standers are oblivious to their needless violation of personal space. If space permits, you can try moving away from a close-stander, but you do want to be aware that close-standing could mask sexual harassment, which has also been on the rise on mass transit (more on this later).
  

• Door dwellers. These are travelers who prefer to stand—in the doorway. They don't rush for seats, but strategically place themselves in the doorway, which is considered prime real estate on mass transit systems, to minimize having to shuffle around the subway car to accommodate the ebb and flow of passengers. Door dwellers usually also know which side of the car to stand on to minimize having to move out of the way to permit people to exit and board the train. They will grow extremely irritated if a new boarder tries to usurp their position and they have also been known not to step aside to let people on or off the train for this reason. Do not attempt to secure the door position if a door dweller is already in place, but assert your right to move past him or her.

• Lurkers. These are people who try to bypass the efforts of campers and door dwellers. They want the positions these people have managed to secure, but lack the resources and abilities to claim them on their own, so they wait for opportune moments when they can sidle by. They will wait for the last minute before boarding the train in an effort to oust the door dwellers. They also try to come in from the side to bypass campers. Lurkers are very good at what they do. However, they do tend to be older travelers, so perhaps it's a travel strategy: if older travelers don't plot in this way, they may get shuffled out of the way. If you think a lurker is making a move that will result in your comfort and hard work being compromised, stand your ground. They don't like to make eye contact, so looking at one squarely in the eyes is often enough to deter their behavior.
  

• Packers. People carry large bulky items with them. In all fairness, though, packers need to be distinguished from folks for whom the subway is their main method of transportation and who really have no other option for transporting bulky items. The term packer is therefore reserved for those people with super large backpacks they refuse to take off when they board the train. If you encounter a packer, you would be best advised to practice defensive maneuvers. I have been hit by a large backpack, and it's quite a weapon. Recently, I witnessed a packer on the train whose backpack was easily 50 pounds or so. In turning around, she easily cleared a swath of passengers from her vicinity. They were not happy, and she met their protests with protests of her own.
  

• Pole huggers. The folks don't want to share pole space with you—they don't care if you fall down or into other riders when the train stops suddenly because you had nothing to hold onto. These folks can be identified by their possessive nature toward the pole: They will crook an arm or elbow—sometimes even both arms—around the pole, or lean against it, and effectively block anyone else from using it for support and stability.  Pole huggers will relent as more people crowd around them and reach for the pole. Securing a place at a pole is simply a matter of showing the pole hugger you do not recognize their ownership of the pole. [Image Right: A pole hugger leans on a pole in the center of the car.]
  

• Sleepers. Early morning trains are where you can find the sleeper species, although they have appeared at other times as well, and seem to be straying from their natural habitat as the economy worsens. It's one thing to close your eyes until you get to your destination, another thing to fall so deeply asleep that you head, and soon your entire body, is leaning on a stranger. The best thing to do if you encounter a sleeper is to prop him or her back up. If the sleeper continues to fall on you, you are then entitled to poke or prod the person and inform them that they are sleeping on you. This is New York, however, so be prepared for the person to just stare at you. 

• Sprawlers. Oh yes, the sprawler category. Sprawlers tend to be men, but women can sprawl too. It's not enough that they have a seat, they feel the need to sprawl out so that no one can sit on either side of them. They do seem to prefer end seats, which minimizes their impact. The best way to combat a sprawler is to say "Excuse me" and then take the seat. The sprawler may grumble, but will relinquish inches allowing you to sit. Be advised, however, that the sprawler will continue to sprawl, so it will still be an uncomfortable experience. [Image Right: A spawler prevents anyone from occupying the seat next to him.]
  

• Squeezers. Squeezers will try to fit into a seat when they cannot fit. They do so anyway, and rather than perch on the edge until more room becomes available, they insist on sliding all the way back to sit "properly" in a seat causing people on either side extreme discomfort. There is no known effective way to deal with squeezers—though I suppose you yourself can stand.
  

We could go on listing categories extensively, but I think we have the basics. Now that you have an understanding of the cast of characters, let's return to James' story. The train was relatively empty, and so he was able to claim the preferred domain of door dwellers. When the train pulled into a subsequent station, the doors on the opposite side of where he was standing opened and a woman boarded. She crossed the aisle to stand in front of James with her back to him. And slowly the space between them seemed to diminish. According to James, "she was all up in my business!" As the train rocked back and forth, she bumped him a few times. James didn't confront her, but he was perplexed—with all the space available, it seemed ridiculous that she would crowd him as she did.

So I proposed a few suggestions to James to explain the woman's behavior:

1. She was a door dweller too.The problem with this argument is that there were other doors available, so she could have claimed one as her own.
2. She was attempting to flirt by pressing her rear into him. James nixed this idea because, while was uncomfortably close, she didn't seem to intentionally bump him. Also, James believes that it would have just been a weird way to pick someone up. She never once made eye contact with him—it was as though she didn't know he was there.
   
3. She was a close-stander. We seemed to come to an agreement on this point. James felt her behavior was unwarranted, but she also seemed clueless—classic signs of a close-stander.

Riding the subway is a unique social experience. As mass transit, it is used by people of all cultures and backgrounds, and undoubtedly people have different notions of what are socially acceptable interactions. However, quite a few of the categories above can create uncomfortable situations as you find yourself in close bodily contact with strangers as a result of their actions. An alarming trend that has grown out of this is the rise of sexual harassment on the subways. In close quarters, people are groped, and according to the comments in response to the campaign, been ejaculated on and rubbed up against. One emptier trains, or when riding late at night, riders have reported men exposing themselves. It's clearly a jungle out there. The Holla Back blog provides a forum where people can share their subway harassment stories—be warned if you visit the site that some of the stories are quite explicit. The MTA launched an anti-harassment campaign, but it remains to be seen how effective it has been.

[Image Above: Anti-harassment ad on the subway.]

This particular type of unpleasant subway interaction aside, many of the offenses attributed to these categories seem to stem from a brand of social indifference. People don't care because their interactions with one another are largely minimized by the cushion they carry in the forms of iPods, PDAs, smart phones, and even books and magazines. But many of these categories simply represent commuting strategies. I am certain that campers and door dwellers have been around for some time. Packers may have emerged as a result of current economic times. But it is also true that the norms of social behavior are changing. Of course there are those who simply feel that others should accommodate them. I have observed this with packers and sprawlers and squeezers in particular. The nature of social interactions is changing as a result of new technology and media. It is yet unclear as to how the social order will evolve.

Have a category to add to the list above? Want to share a subway story? Join the discussion below!

Negotiating Private Beliefs and Public Behavior With the Meter Running

Last week was a relatively busy one. While the Yankees were being paraded down Broadway and Mayor Bloomberg was holding on determinately for a chance at another term in office, regular people were contending with the social order. Last week Paul Bruno and his partner, Erick Ruales, were ejected from a New York City cab because they were engaged in public displays of affection in the backseat. Bruno and his partner allegedly "sat close," possibly hugging (maybe they shared a kiss), which the driver, Medhat Mohamed, found distracting and felt compromised his ability to get them to their destination. Mohamed was ultimately concerned that their snuggling was a precursor to sex, and two blocks into the ride, demanded that they exit the cab. Bruno and Ruales were appalled at their treatment and have filed a complaint against the driver. The Taxi and Limousine Commission is currently investigating. If Mohamed is found guilty of a "service refusal," he could be fined. According to the Post (which has surprisingly provided in-depth coverage of the story—the newspaper has a reputation for tabloid-quality writing), "the first offense is a $200 to $350 fine, the second a $350 to $500 fine and a 30-day suspension, and the third strike is license revocation." [Image Right: Paul Bruno, Credit NY Post.]

While the Village Voice has wryly noted that being kicked out of a cab is a mark of a true New Yorker, in a city whose history is steeped in diversity, tolerance is a city standard—and in an interesting twist is seemingly being preached on behalf of both sides: The public response has provided support for both Bruno and Ruales, and Mohamed as well. The cabbie's supporters state that he has a right to a work environment where he is both safe and comfortable. And he does. However, he is also a service provider. He is not a city worker, but he engages the public on a regular basis. It is his livelihood. In his line of work, his job is take people—provided they don't present a threat to his well-being and can pay the fare—from Point A to Point B. Of course he has to right to ensure that his personal safety is not compromised—but at what point do such decisions come to be regarded as profiling? Is he given a set criteria against which to measure safety? Hardly, because the issue of personal safety is not a concrete measure. The line separating these types of decisions is a fine one, open to personal beliefs, which is not a fair measure for either party.

In Minnesota, Muslim cab drivers objected to transporting passengers who had been drinking or who were carrying alcohol, such as wine, from the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport because it violated the terms of their religion. According to one driver,

"The one who drinks, the one who transports, and the one who makes a business of it, they have the same category."

These drivers argued that transporting passengers who have been drinking or who are carrying alcohol violated their religious freedom. And they are right. However, like Mohamed, they have entered a profession that requires them to work with all members of the public. As a result, the Minnesotan cab drivers have also faced investigations for service refusal, although the Metropolitan Airport Commission is working with them to mediate the situation. They suggested that cabbies who would not transport passengers carrying alcohol install lights on their roofs to indicate their non-alcohol stipulation, but this policy met a poor reception. For now, cabbies must move to the back of the queue, which could mean another three hour wait between fares. This is an industry that relies on people's need to travel when they themselves are unable to to provide the transportation. In New York City, inebriated party-goers are encouraged to take advantage of mass transit options, which includes cabs, to protect both themselves and other motorists from drunk driving accidents. Is there room here for this type of negotiation?

People get kicked out of cabs all the time, for being disorderly, for getting sick, and for getting too frisky in the backseat. But Bruno and Mohamed have raised issues of discrimination and religious beliefs. The medallion holder for Mohamed's cab has stated that according to Islam, displays of affection between same-sex couples are unacceptable. To avoid penalties and possibly losing his license, Mohamed has has to prove that his discomfort was not caused by the sexual orientation of his passengers, that he would have accorded a straight couple with the same treatment. Mayor Bloomberg has denounced the cab driver (with the politician's disclaimer that he does so only if the story is as stated) saying that

"Somebody's orientation has absolutely nothing to do with whether they can ride a taxi. That kind of attitude doesn't fit with what this city's become."

Is there room for Mohamed's religious argument? In discussing this case with someone, he argued time and time again that despite the civil right issues, Mohamed is an independent operator, and like other businesses, he has a right to determine how he will do business and with whom. But in a business that has such a broad reach, is this argument justifiable? When working with the public, where does the line between personal beliefs get drawn? PDA's are everywhere. People hold hands on the street, they may kiss at the bar, and I won't get into what I've seen happen on the subway. If there is to be a standard for public behavior, then it needs to be explicitly stated and enforced—and not by a New York City cab driver, whose sole responsibility is to get his fares to their destination quickly and safely.  But beyond questions of public decency and disorderly conduct, which are fairly subjective judgments, how can such a standard be set? The law states with regard to public decency and disturbing the peace that persons whose behavior

endangers the public peace or health or which openly outrages public decency for which no other punishment is expressly prescribed by this code, is guilty of a misdemeanor.

In other words, there is no concrete measure—anything found offensive can be filed under this heading. Did Bruno and Ruales endanger the public peace? Did they openly outrage public decency? Are they guilty of a misdemeanor? On whose measure are they to be judged? Did Mohamed endanger public peace or outrage public decency? There is clearly a lot of room here for interpretation. And the interpretation can be colored by personal biases. Is this a case of personal belief coloring business practices? Talk back below. [Image Left: Medhat Mohamed. Credit James Messerschmidt, NY Post.]

Culture in Action 3: Parades—Public Festivals, Public Spectacles

Whether you care or not, if you live in the United States, you undoubtedly know by now that the New York Yankees won their 27th World Series title. As part of the winning tradition, the players and relevant staff were honored with a ticker tape parade on Friday, Nov. 6th, down the Canyon of Heroes (also known as Broadway when it isn't packed with screaming sports fans). The parade wound its way down to City Hall, where recently re-elected Mayor Bloomberg presented the team with the keys to the city.

Parades are held to mark a celebration. They're a form of public festival that draws in the community, and actually work to reestablish social ties: The idea is that we are all gathered to celebrate the same accomplishment—we are united in our celebration. Parade-goers are linked by their sense of pride and camaraderie. In a larger sense, parades are also a spectacle. It's a chance for a community to put on a show for their neighbors, to demonstrate their dominance. The accomplishment being celebrated connects the people present, but it also distinguishes them from others as well. And there is a great deal of preparation that goes into the show—from transit to safety to entrepreneurship to turning a blind eye when employees go missing for a few hours, everyone has a part to play. The spectacle is supported by the government because it provides a momentum that can be used. If buildings need to be built, laws need to be passed, or even wars need to be started, the momentum from such public celebrations can be mobilized. This sense of pride can carry forth many political agendas. [Image Left: A vendor sets up an impromtu stall on Nassau Street using a permanent sidewalk ornament.]

Ethnographers should always try to understand their biases, and their audiences should also have a sense of how the objectivity of information may be compromised. So before I go on, I need to confess that I considered calling this post "Infiltrating Enemy Territory." I am not a Yankees fan, as some of you may have surmised. I root for that other New York team, whose name I will not mention in a post about a parade for their rivals. I put a lot of though into whether this parade should be filed under the Culture in Action series, and ultimately decided that parades have a huge cultural element to them: they can reveal a great deal about the character and personality of a people through the ways in which society responds to these occasions. Regardless of the cause, a parade is still a chance to think about and talk about crowd dynamics. So as a dedicated anthropologist (who works within the vicinity of the parade route), I elbowed my way into enemy camp on Friday morning, bore witness to the scene, and extricated myself when chants of "Boston Sucks!" began to rise in pitch and intensity (belatedly realizing that I was wearing a red jacket—the color associated with the Yankees' arch rivals, the Boston Red Sox, and the team they beat for the championship, the Philadephia Phillies).

A coworker taking the PATH trainThe day began early for many fans. A great many people called in late or played hooky entirely, and teachers may have noticed a few empty desks on Friday morning. My morning commute was slightly more hectic than usual, as I contended with the large number of fans boarding the LIRR and subway. (which operates in a system similar to the LIRR) shared his morning commute with a dog who alternated between wandering the aisle and hopping up on the seat much to the annoyance of the conductor. Food vendors selling breakfast staples were doing brisk business as I made my way to my office building, weaving between the droves of people trying to get to Broadway.The came from all directions, of different sizes, shapes, and colors, all sporting the navy blue of their team. And there to greet them were the opportunistic street vendors who saw an chance to make a quick and relatively easy profit: banners and hats were $5.00, t-shirts cost $10.00. [Image Right: A dog ready for the Yankees' celebration downtown. Credit: J. DiBenedetto]

At about a quarter to eleven, I slipped into my jacket, grabbed my camera and hurried west on Wall Street. Several small groups—families with young children in tow—passed me, emitting triumphant whoops of joy. We all soon encountered a road block that could have ended all parade activities right then: Wall Street was closed at William Street, a good two blocks from Broadway. The police were blocking off street perpendicular to Broadway as they filled with people, and given the high profile of Wall Street itself, extra precautions were being taken to preserve the landmark. A cop advised us to walk north, so we walked a block to Pine Street, passing some more vendors, and turned west again to pack together as closely as we could to get a glimpse of the parade route. I ultimately wound up approximately half a block away from Broadway and still could only just see the events ahead of me. People got creative in searching for a good spot. Some climbed on the shoulders and backs of accommodating friends, boyfriends, and parents. Others climbed on top of city vehicles, though they were quickly chased off by watchful police. Some scaled buildings. Many buildings downtown have ledges about eight feet or so above the ground. They aren't wide, but if you're nimble, you can perch there to get above the crowd. And still others hung out of office windows.

[Above: Fans find a good vantage point.]

The crowd seemed to feed off of the growing energy. Laughter would erupt, and in true Yankees fan form, chants of "Boston Sucks!" and "Phillies Suck!" and "Let's Go Yankees!" and "Twen-ty Sev-en"—the hyphens emphasize the musical intonation of that particular chant—would swell periodically. It was definitely something to feel: a sea of people packed into side streets in shoulder to shoulder formation, speaking as one and thinking as one (except for the impostor in the red jacket). We were momentarily transported back to the stadium. The chants were something that everyone could participate in, including those who had not made it to a side street before the police began barricading those as well. But in truth, even those at the very end of the blocks and the people behind the barricades didn't seem upset that they couldn't see their beloved team. They were content to stand there, to be a part of the crowd, and take up their favorite war cries.

[Above: Crowd packed into Pine Street awaiting the parade.]

"Ticker tape" (really just shredded paper), thrown from buildings, drifted through the clear blue sky. In no time at all, the ground was covered, and everyone standing in the vicinity had scraps of paper in their hair and on their jackets. Ticker tape parades are unique to urban settings. They originated (where else?) in New York City. The first parade of this kind occured in 1886, when ticker tape was thrown during the dedication of the Statue of Liberty. The tape came from the old stock ticker machines, and when they were replaced by their electronic cousins, the ticker tape that filled the sky for these parades came from shredded office waste paper and city-supplied confetti. Caught in the wind, the scraps drifted for miles, blanketing Wall Street and the neighborhood. Lumbering street sweeping vehicles were on standby to get things back to order once the ceremonies wrapped up. [Image Left: "ticker tape" fills the sky.]

So there I was, in my red jacket, standing amongst a throng of people who probably would have fed me to the lions in the Colosseum had they known of my true loyalties. A cheer began to grow from the right along Broadway, cameras were thrust into the air around me, and the band marched by. Not to be dissuaded, the crowd continued to roar, their cries growing louder as the official photographers made their way down the Canyon. And then finally, They came. The moment these people had been waiting for arrived, and the crowd erupted, extending to the peripheries. In fact, those were the folks who probably yelled the loudest. Children were hoisted into the air. Hats were waved. A woman began to cry. [Image Right: Exuberant young fan tries to catch ticker tape. He did wind up snagging several large white sheets of copy paper.]

Remember when I said that athletes are our representatives on a public stage? We support teams because we believe in them—we trust them to protect our interests on the national stage. Well, the parade-goers turned out to say "Thank you." That was the feeling that seemed to radiate through the crowd. Yes, there was a bit of arrogance, but a certain amount of swagger is to be expected from the victorious—particularly when it is cultivated, and believe me, New Yorkers cultivate their swagger. People were there to say thank you. The spectacle was in the showing. The turnout was meant to send a clear message to rivals, and perhaps the strength of voices behind the cheers and the chants were meant to carry—I wonder if the hair on the backs of the necks of Bostonians and Philadelphians stood on end at that moment. Could the energy from this group have been so great as to travel that distance? [Image Left: The team passes this section of the crowd.]

Once the team passed, people began to trickle away from Broadway. Some were going back to their offices, like me, and others were headed to City Hall for the final celebration, and still others were packing into bars and joining lines to buy hot dogs and chicken with rice from food vendors. The mood was jubilant. Vendors were still hawking their wares as I made my way back toward Wall Street, fighting the crowd heading in the direction of City Hall. But the day was not over for many. Those who did not have tickets to the City Hall ceremony seemed content to mill about and drink in the remaining atmosphere. [Image Right: People moving toward City Hall.]

The effects of this public festival/spectacle will last well beyond the coming baseball season. The city's spirit has been renewed by this gathering of fans—even though they don't represent the complete spectrum of baseball supporters in New York. The festival/spectacle has permitted the assertion of a sense of social dominance and it will be something that all residents—whether you support this team or not—will carry forth with them in their travels. Our reputation, whether we want to share in it or not, has been bolstered. Once again, we are a city united, albeit some more reluctantly than others. The parade created a substantial expense for the city, which probably saw a tab in the range of $330,000.00, but the long term effects appear to outweigh these costs.  

[Above: Debris post-parade.]

Have you witnessed a parade or village festival on a smaller scale? Perhaps in your town or village? What was the atmosphere like? Let's talk about it below while we wait for Spring Training 2010.