RIDING WHILE IRANIAN

My profiling experience on the PATH
By Roozbeh Shirazi

As always, City Belt welcomes commentaries from our readers. Got a story to tell? E-mail info@citybelt.org

I went out with my girlfriend a few nights ago to have a long a leisurely dinner with two of our friends in the Village. We met up with them a little late, but there were no hard feelings; despite the delay, we were in high sprits and happy to see each other. We asked each other how we had been, got caught up on the details of mutual friends' lives, and told a few satisfying stories over some good Japanese food and beer.

After dinner, we walked with them to the West 4th Street stop hugged and kissed our goodbyes, and walked up two blocks to the PATH station at 9th St. and 6th Ave. As we had inadvertently learned on our inbound journey, the PATH train was running on a holiday schedule because of President's Day, so we got settled in for a longer than normal wait.

We did not have to wait long; a few minutes later, the train arrived, sporting the two-tone blue and orange headlights signifying that it would stop in Hoboken that night as well, before continuing on to Journal Square to start its return to New York. We would be home in 20 minutes, not too bad as far as our trip was concerned -- but still too late to catch the beginning of a show we wanted to see that started at 9 pm.

The train was packed with passengers, so we entered the first car of the train hoping to get seats as the front cars usually tend to be less crowded. Despite our best efforts, no seats were to be found on the train so we ended up standing close to the door, at the end of a row of seats in the first car. We both clasped a pole for balance and carried on our conversation, both in English and in Persian. I held the pole with my right hand, and placed my left in my coat pocket to keep warm. I was looking forward to getting home and unwinding a bit before going to bed.

We had been on the train no longer than five minutes when a white woman standing next to me barely turned around and haughtily told me, as headmistress might bark at an unruly pupil, that if I turned and faced the window of the train that I would not keep bumping her. Having not touched her at all, I was confused as to who this woman was speaking to in such a manner, turning my head full around and seeing that there was no other passenger within a foot and a half radius of her. I rolled my eyes and paid no mind; after seven years of riding the NYC subway and PATH, I knew crazy people often ride the train and it's best to leave them be. 

I calmly and cordially told the woman I hadn't touched her to which she shook her maroon-bereted head tersely, still refusing to turn around and interact with me face to face. This passive-aggressive diffidence on her part infuriated me, but I saw the futility of trying to talk to someone so socially pathological and rude. Instead, I chose to refrain from giving the crazy woman some choice words and ignored her.

I find it strange that one should be so sensitive about a sense of personal space on mass transit, when the train is hurtling along at upwards of 40 miles per hour over swerving and rickety tracks. It is inevitable to brush against a passenger standing in your immediate vicinity when a 30-year-old train executes a hairpin turn in a narrow tunnel at high speed. I spoke, in Persian, of how someone needing so much personal space had no business using mass transit and should forego buying anymore frizzy maroon berets to purchase a car, where she could estrange herself from other suburban commuters and avoid the injustice of standing on the train.

Whatever. It was over -- the woman was crazy, case closed. My girlfriend and I shrugged and moved on to other topics.

A few minutes after my exchange with bereted woman, still traversing the Hudson River, the conductor of the train approached me from the rear of the car and told me in no uncertain terms to move over to my right, in essence acting as the woman's security detail. Potential conflict reared its ugly head, anxious to materialize out of thin air.

I complied with the conductor's instructions without argument, but inside I seethed. I am an Iranian man in this dystopian post-9/11 society -- what can I do? This was a trap, similar to going through airport security. Since 9/11, I have flown about 20 times and I have been "randomly selected" for additional security screening nine times. I have been interviewed and privately searched; I have kept all of the special stickers intact that they slap on your passport and boarding passes when they want to screen you further. And if you get upset at being treated like shit, then you present the authorities with probable cause to take "additional security measures."

I summoned those lessons learned into that moment on the train. If I raised my voice to confront the conductor, I knew I would lose the war of perception -- I would be considered to be overly aggressive, or perhaps to be jeopardizing the safety of PATH passengers -- not defending my civil rights. I noted the looks of alarm and disapproval from several passengers who were gawking at me at this point. I had become the bad guy, the menacing foreigner who had spoken a foreign Middle Eastern language while standing too close to a white woman.

My girlfriend was looking at the conductor as he actually apologized to the woman for the inconvenience of standing next to me, touching the brim of his hat like a charming sea admiral as me made his way back over to the end of the car. Problem solved -- chivalry is alive and well in New Jersey.

But Samira wasn't having it and spoke up. "He didn't do anything wrong," she said, "he was just standing here."

To which the conductor replied: "There is plenty of room, no need to stand there so I asked him to move, that's all."

This exchange drew the attention of about 10 more onlookers from our end of the car, curious at the scene that was unfolding before them. Samira raised her voice and persisted. "This doesn't make sense -- he wasn't doing anything; we were just talking, so I don't understand why he has to move. Why did you ask him to move? For what reason?"

After an increasingly hostile back and forth, the train was winding into the Hoboken station and we just looked at each other. The doors finally opened. I took a page out of Samira's book and said too loudly: "Let's switch cars here. I don't want to ride in a car where I am being racially profiled because some crazy white woman is uncomfortable standing next to me. This is absolute bullshit."

We stepped outside the car and started walking up to find a car farther down from the one we were riding in. "I don't just want to walk away from this -- I want his badge number because this is ridiculous," Samira said as she stopped. "I feel humiliated and we didn't do anything."

The conductor was monitoring our departure, following us by passing through the cars and continuing to glare at us. Samira glared back, and then walked back into the train.

"Sir, I want you to give me your badge number."

"Give you my badge number, for what? Look, woman…"

The word hung in the air, attached to a series of unspoken but clearly understood words following it. Look you crazy bitch, stop acting crazy and shut up. Stop making a fuss about things you can't understand -- this is man's work, and I'm handling this situation like a man.

Samira exploded.

"Woman? Don't call me woman. Give me your goddamn badge number."

"What do you want me to call you, girl?"

At this point, I stepped in.

"Sir, you have no right to speak this way, you are acting very unprofessional," I said. "She asked you a reasonable question, all you need to give is a reasonable answer. If you can't do that, we have nothing left to say to you and we aren't interested in listening to you."

All of this had taken about twelve minutes. I told Samira that we should leave and that he was not a person we needed to talk to anymore. He had crossed several lines already, but apparently wasn't finished doing that for the night. Perhaps regaining his sense of authority as conductor of the train, he told us to get off the train. He began shouting at us, blocking the entrance to the train and leering at us like some drunk in a barfight.

"Why don't you get the hell out of here -- go on, get lost."

I turned around and faced him once more.

"Sir, you have no right to speak or behave this way -- you are being incredibly unprofessional and—"

"What are you gonna do? You ain't doin' nuthin'. So go on, get the hell outta here…"

"Give us your badge number..."

"Shut up! You ain't doin' nuthin'…"

At this point, Samira and I walked away furiously, determined to get out of there and file a complaint at that very moment. I was angry and humiliated, and I wanted noting more than to confront the conductor and hold him accountable for his actions. Why was he treating me like this?

We left the platform and found a passenger assistance line upstairs by the turnstiles. My mind raced as I gripped Samira's hand and walked away. What a awful ending to an otherwise great night.

Transgressions like this happen all the time. One moment, you are engrossed in what you are doing, perhaps carrying a conversation with a friend while walking by the street, and a passerby rudely shoulders through the two of you as if you weren't there. Or you might be standing in line, and all of a sudden someone much larger than you muscles their way in front of you.

All of this often occurs in a matter of seconds, leaving one little time to decide how to respond in kind. Still, responses matter; they can determine whether one successfully defuses a potential crisis or ends up getting punched in the face.

My adrenaline had prepared me to respond physically if necessary, and I was feeling very angry and embarrassed, but I believed I had acted appropriately. I had defied people's stereotypes by refraining from using profanity, keeping my voice calm and removing myself from a situation in which the tension was escalating. I put the onus of maintaining decency and professionalism on the conductor, and he had failed that challenge miserably and very publicly.

What angered me most was the abuse of power -- the exercise of authority without transparency or just cause. He asked me to move, and I did. All I wanted in kind was an explanation as to why: why I had to move, seeing that I was minding my own business, engaged in conversation with my girlfriend, holding the pole with one and hand keeping the other in my coat pocket. If I have to move, at least give me a reasonable answer as to why. When he couldn't supply a reasonable response, it became obvious he had no valid reason for asking me to move in the first place, and instead became angry that we challenged his judgment.

I was angry that all of this had happened because some passive-aggressive racist white woman did not feel comfortable standing next to me and Samira. I was angry because we now have this goddamn security culture that has turned everything upside down and completely disempowers people who resemble me and have a certain cultural or religious heritage. It allows sick and entitled people, like the woman on the train, to unfairly provoke and get away with racism, while someone like me has to be removed from the train, nevermind the fact that I have served as an elementary school teacher, and am currently a doctoral student at a well-regarded graduate school.

In the end, I was less of a threat to public safety on that train than that woman's ridiculous beret. Nowadays, if a Middle Eastern man challenges authority, be it with the police, in an airport, or on a train, there is no limit as to what can happen. He is, by virtue of appearance, a potential terrorist and that gives the state, the courts, and media the justification it needs to imprison, violate legal rights, and even torture.

And no one gives a shit, because Middle Eastern and Muslim Americans don't have powerful advocacy groups like the Anti-Defamation League or the NAACP. I was angry because I had momentarily felt afraid to voice a challenge to the injustice being perpetuated against me for fear of being arrested on a powerhungry conductor's whim. I felt I was powerless in my own country -- a nauseating feeling. I was angry because I knew had a different appearance, I would have been treated differently.

Why did the conductor, a black man, intervene on behalf of the white passenger and later apologize to her? What was the meaning behind the apology? Sorry you had to stand next to that dirty A-rab terrorist, ma'am. Did that woman and I not pay the same fare? Do I not have the same rights as anyone else, and have the freedom to stand where I choose so long as I do not physically bother anyone else?

Samira and I exited through the turnstiles. As soon as I picked up the phone, I turned to see that the conductor had stealthily followed us up from the platform. For a second, I thought he was going to hop over the turnstile and physically confront us. I was more than prepared to deal with that if it happened, but I was hoping to capture an audio account of the altercation on the passenger assistance line. I fumbled with the phone; it had some problem connecting at first.

"Oh you want to make a complaint against me? I don't care, I don't care -- my supervisor don't care either. She gonna back me up, she gonna know how you were pushing and shoving me, the passengers…"

I stared at him now in amazement as he rambled on incoherently, alternately shouting and pointing his finger at us. He knew he had screwed up, I thought, that is why he came up here, trying to intimidate us, and make up some weak alibi about how I was "pushing and shoving other passengers." He came closer, until he was close enough grab the phone from his side of the turnstile. The train to Journal Square sounded a departing announcement, and he turned around and descended back down to the platform to get back on the train.

He turned around and jabbed his finger in our direction once more: "You can't do nuthin'…"

Here's the thing: I am doing something. I am sending this to everyone I know, and will do something until Samira and I get an official apology from PATH and/or the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey. You can do something too -- you can read this, and pass it along to people that you know so that next time some racist tries to falsely accuse someone innocent of something they did not do, you can help freeze them in their tracks by saying something and calling attention to the situation. I am not going to play along and be complicit in other people's bigotry, and I am not going to pretend like this isn't a big deal. Anyone else who cares about civil rights and protection under the law shouldn't play along or pretend that this is all OK either.

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Comments

[Kimberly]

While I personally do not travel by path (NJtransit Raritan line, actually), this story is not the first incident of abuse of power and basic unprofessionalism I have heard or personally encountered regarding NJ Transit. And as half of an interracial couple that's taken plenty of crap from bigotted, ignorant people, I can only fume further.

I have to encourage everyone who was as heated as I was by this story to print out a copy and send it along to the transit authority along with a note explaining that paying customers won't take this sort of behavior lightly - and that if they want words like "bigot", "racist", and "abusive" publicly tied to their name, we will only be too happy to speak with the press, mayors, and local government about how they run things up there.

[Ralph]

I call BS on this from a number of angles. It's all too neat; I challenge this cat to produce three witnesses to this (not including Samira) -- especially to the whole "the conductor followed me" part of the story.

Also, your story shows no evidence of familiarity with a night on the PATH system, despite claims otherwise. PATH conductors do not have badges, for one. Additionally, you should know how PATH conductors deal with someone trying to escalate a situation (which, in this case, appears to have been Samira, by chosing to take a stand at that moment, rather than during the seemingly COUNTLESS scathing indignities our pal Roozbeh implies having suffered -- man, I could NEVER imagine being pulled aside and searched and detained at, say, an airport, while the wheels grind inexorably on...but wait, I'm white, so I must have been imagining the whole thing).

Surely bigotry is still a problem in this country. But prejudice flows both ways, kind of like crap. I'd be curious to hear from others...fellow passengers, the mean ol' conductor with the badge, and perhaps the old lady herself, who went from "white" to racist and white, to passive-aggressive, racist and white. Man, Roozbeh, you sure do a good thumbnail study.

This whole story stinks worse than the PATH system itself.

[alan wright]

Sorry, Ralph. There's nothing wrong with doubt or cynicism re the fact-finding which befits investigative reporting, but I think you're overdoing it.

The Port Authority is investigating the incident because they take it seriously. That you don't is simply immaterial.

That said... yes, the narrative style of this piece may portray the untidy events too neatly. Such as it goes for self-publication and non-authoritative (non-"impartial") journalistic authorship.

But that authorial bias is a far shallower transgression than racial bias is... whether performed, purported, or simply perceived.

[Ralph]

Mr. Wright:

It is not that I don' feel that this should be investigated. Rather, it most certainly should. I simply don't believe that it actually happenned; at least, not like the author claims. I think he took a personal "perception" of racial tension and ran with it. Which, I hasten to add, is irresponsible.

"But that authorial bias is a far shallower transgression than racial bias...whether performed, purported, or simply percieved."

A bit glib, don't you think? I mean as in "readily fluent, often thoughtlessly so." ( hat tip to dictionary.com) So an oversensitivity is both a valid reason and a valid excuse for forcing a possible molehill to fit the mountain-like proportions that one person may feel hysterically necessary?

But that was a general observation, sort of on a braod "theme" here. What I am most impressed by is that, in a section specifically devoted to reader feedback, you dismiss my feedback as "totally immaterial" because I will not readily join in your anvil chorus of vicarious discontent, and because I see fit to look at this -- an allegedly factual story in a community publication -- with the same eye that I would use on, say, the Ledger or the Journal. So I guess you're saying that I should not look at this a a story that needs to be vetted for veracity. Good show, old chap. Wring those hands until they're red and raw. I'm sure you'll sleep much more soundly.

[Brian]

Well, anyway, I thought it was a good article.

[Justiceiro]

Just because someone is a Jackass, doesn't mean they are a racist Jackass. I got similarly hassled by an African American Transit cop at the Lackawanna Terminal, and I'm so white I glow in the dark. Sometimes people are jsut loathsome, and it doesn't go any deeper than that.

[Editor]

Ralph ... You say:
"I simply don't believe that it actually happenned; at least, not like the author claims. I think he took a personal 'perception' of racial tension and ran with it. Which, I hasten to add, is irresponsible."

Perhaps you're right, and it didn't go down *exactly* as Roozbeh says it did. It's his subjective experience -- and needless to say, if I were in his shoes, I'd probably be at least a *tad* bit sensitive to racial tension too -- and was clearly labeled as such, ie; not "News" reporting but a "Guest Viewpoint." It's a snapshot of an event, as experienced by an invididual, not a definitive account by any means. We published it because we thought it was interesting, and because NJ has both a large Middle Eastern population and a problem with racial hostility towards them post-9/11.

[Justiceiro]

I dig what you are saying editor, but check this exchange, as reported by Roozbeh:

"Why did the conductor, a black man, intervene on behalf of the white passenger and later apologize to her? What was the meaning behind the apology? Sorry you had to stand next to that dirty A-rab terrorist, ma'am. "

Note that the racist text was never explicitly stated- that is to say, no reference was made to Roozbeh's ethnicity. I am not so sure that Roozbeh's ethnicity was clear to the people in the train. What, after all, do Iranians look like exactly? Unless one is wearing "obviously" muslim apparel, like the Hijab, or an "FC Tehran" licensed shirt, identifying someone as Iranian is not as easy as the author imagines. If anything, they probably misidentified him as latino. That happens to my wife all the time.

the first person to make overtly racist statements was, in fact, Roozbeh, when he referenced the "crazy white woman" in an way intended to be public audible.

I've been on the recieving end of this, and it's irritating. Living in Jersey as I do, I have far more opportunities to interact with asinine people than I would like. I also don't own a car and use public transportation, which means that I encounter panhandlers on a daily basis at Newark Penn Station. I rarely give them money, and when I don't I am occasionally disparaged with a racial epithet. Do I not give people money because they are not white? Certainly not. I don't give them cash because I don't care to give cash to rude people who wheedle and impinge on my privacy. I also have neither the time nor inclination to explain to these folks that, despite their assumptions of my honkitude, I have a great many friends of color, married someone of color, intend one day to have mixed race kids, and generally consider myself a flagrant cegenator.

Is there racism out there? Certainly. But some of it exists only in the head of people like Roozbeh.

His statement that "I was angry that all of this had happened because some passive-aggressive racist white woman did not feel comfortable standing next to me and Samira." is an assumption. Maybe she didn't like standing next to Roozbeh because of his gender. Or maybe she's just an anti-social twit.

I wasn't there, and I can't read the thoughts of his interlocuters. But then again, neither can he. And, as I said before, the only one who actually said something racist was Roozbeh himself.

[AcinueJic]

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