NEWS & POLITICS
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PUBLIC TRANSIT
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round 9 AM on June 2, I boarded a southbound Red Line train at the Thorndale stop. On the train, I sat down across from a slim, young Black man in a stained white T-shirt who was talking to himself. (I don’t know his name, so I’ll call him Luke.) Periodically, Luke spat on the floor and picked up a bag of shoes resting next to his feet, only to whip it back on the ground. He was visibly distressed, but not doing anything that hurt me, so I minded my own business and watched other riders do the same.
8 CHICAGO READER - JULY 13, 2023
When a problem of discomfort becomes a problem of safety on the CTA, community violence disruption can be a powerful tool. By KATIE PROUT Before long, Luke stood up and took a few steps toward the seats closest to the door. Holding onto the handrail above his head, he started yelling at a young Asian woman (who I’ll call May) sitting next to the window. Luke shouted sexual, derogatory, and anti-Asian language in May’s direction, and at least once, thrust his finger in her face, leaning very closely into her space. As the train lurched on, May sat motionless in her seat, looking out her window and hugging herself. The rider next to her, who I read as white, was wearing sunglasses and staring into the
middle distance, still as stone, except for the veins rising in his clenched arms. If you live in a city and you take public transportation, you’re familiar with this kind of story problem: when someone is behaving in a way that is unpleasant or antisocial, you decide whether you want to change seats, switch cars at the next stop, or turn the volume up on your headphones and stay put. You think about which actions add up to risk, versus discomfort, versus you-do-you-andI’ll-do-me. But sometimes, a situation does escalate and can become dangerous.
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