The Escalator Rebellion

Riding the escalator (which the average inhabitant of Moscow does at least six times daily) requires adherence to but one piece of basic escalator etiquette, namely that standing is to be done on the right side while walkers should be allowed to pass on the left. At times, however, this ever so plain and basic rule is grossly ignored resulting in the formation of two completely stationary rows of people riding up (or down) a seemingly endless tunnel. Personally, unless I am in the company of a good book or an equally interesting human, I don’t have the patience to stand still while the escalator carries me off – also, it makes me feel lazy and passive. It is important to note that escalators here are known for being some of the longest in the world, so that if you stand the whole way, the trip could take a good 3-4 minutes, and if you ride the escalator 6 times a day…you do the math.

In short, if Moscow were to be split into right-riders and left-leaders, I would certainly pledge the latter. But even so, there are certain factors that, on occasion, discourage me from running up/down the massive escalator steps. One such factor is that Magomed said that by running up the steps I am exposing myself to an increased risk of contracting tuberculosis. He says that 10 percent of Russians have the disease and they’re breathing and coughing all over the place, and in taking the long trek I inevitably breathe in deeper than if I were just standing. Sometimes I don’t have time to think about that, but at other times it scares me to the point that I hold my breath all the way up. (That’s a blatant lie: I never hold my breath.)

Another reason to stand is that my favorite flip-flops (i.e. the only ones that have held it together for more than a month) have no traction and so are extremely susceptible to all forms of sliding and skidding. I already had one mishap in those very flip-flops which almost resulted in the busting open of my face and I can really do without an encore. So being, if I do happen to taking the standing route all the way to the top (or bottom), I am never the person defiantly standing in the escalator passing lane. I understand the need of the left-laners to get where they need to go, and so courteously contain myself to the right half of the step.

So what’s the point of all of this you ask? I’m getting there.

When rushing up the left-hand side, if there are one or two deviant characters jutting out of the standing line, it is acceptable, and even encouraged, to push past them and continue on…I am even in support of a good nudge or condescending, disdainful glance so as to put such unruly standers in their place. But I’m always baffled by how it comes to pass that the entire left artery gets clogged: It can’t be that everyone who is standing there is standing because he/she wants to be standing. Oftentimes, someone takes on the seemingly simple task of walking, and when they get half-way, they realize that it’s not as easy as they thought, so they stop. Having taken note of such occurrences, whenever I see that the person in front of me may be prone to such behavior, I make sure to step extra hard and loud so that they know that there is someone behind them that has no intention of stopping. (I do have one exception, and that is when the person in front of me is elderly, in which case I walk slowly and quietly so that they don’t feel pressured to go on if they can’t.) Then it’s all up to the person behind the stopper, and there we encounter three types of people: (1) the one who pushes past and keeps going until the top; (2) the one who would really like to keep going but is not pushy enough to push his/her fellow passenger aside; and (3) the one who is also out of breath and uses the situation as an opportunity to stop without looking weak him/herself.

Each additional person that passively takes to standing instead of pushing through makes it harder for the rest of us who come up behind a growing line of standers, until, much like the machine we are all riding, the situations escalates and after a couple of minutes the entire escalator is packed. And as I stand there, I wonder: how many people would it take to revolt against the standers in the walking lane. I know I’m not the only one who is late to work every day, and can’t afford the extra four minutes. I know that 90 percent of the people standing on the left side yearn to run up the stairs but are being held back against their will. What if we joined forces and just pushed through? It’s like any other group study: Each person thinks that he/she is alone—the only one who wants to be walking and not standing. Nobody realizes that they are actually on a much bigger team, and it is that realization that would make the situation ripe for an escalator rebellion!

P.S. SANITY DISCLAIMER: Contrary to the impression you may have received from reading this, I don’t really think that this is a serious problem.

My qualms with photography

I wrote this a very long time ago and have been editing and re-editing for months. Finally, I decided that it is time to bury this piece, and the feelings that go with it, in the eternal blog grave.

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As I was packing for my journey to Moscow, I was struck with the unexpected desire to leave all of my camera equipment behind. I suddenly started to feel as though, instead of an artistic instrument, the camera had become a ball and chain—its mere presence stifling. On a lazy day off, instead of relaxing, I would find myself thinking about what I could be/should be shooting; the stories I was missing; the moments that were waiting to be branded into my memory card. And then, at some point it occurred to me that what makes it onto my memory card ultimately determines what I remember. It becomes a de-personifying process in which my memory is no more human than a laptop.

And I started thinking: if a moment or situation is so valuable that it deserves to be photographed, then, perhaps, it is more valuable to just experience it. And I don’t use the word ‘just’ as an expression of frivolity, just the opposite: it is the key for extracting the golden reality from the mine of perceived reality. All events, situations, ups, downs and all-arounds just ‘are’, regardless of the extraneous values we assign to them. Sometimes, I feel as though I am trying too hard to capture something that would be better served by a living memory than by a vibrant 8x10 print.

Outside of ‘working’ as a photographer, I started feeling like photography was invading my entire persona. I became possessed by the camera: instead of seeing the environment around me, all I saw were potential pictures and lost opportunities. Outside of shooting stories—a time during which I always developed extraordinary closeness with my subjects—I became separated from the world around me by a constant drive to make everyone and everything into a good subject. And for what? I realized that I couldn’t capture it, I couldn’t keep any given moment any longer than it existed no matter how many frames I shot. When the moment is gone, it’s gone forever. According to Eckhart Tolle, an acclaimed contemporary spiritual teacher and author of The Power of Now, the attempt to stop time and keep for the future a moment that had happened in the past borders insanity.

Then, once the ‘moments’ have been ‘captured,’ the photographer is faced with the impossible task of determining which single photo is the most precise and fair portrayal of what ‘actually’ transpired. For me, the inherent and tragic reality is that behind the camera, I was missing everything that didn’t fall within the borders of my viewfinder. I was capturing a fraction without experiencing the whole. I based my memories on a specious portrayal rather than what really was. It’s like the story my parents used to tell me about how when I was two years old I would sit in the cabinet in our old kitchen and play with potatoes. I have heard this story so many times that I don’t know if I actually remember the event or if the repeated retelling of the story generated a fake memory.

I don’t mean to offend any photographers. I believe that the work of a photographer is priceless and terribly important. After all, no books, articles, or first-hand accounts can replace the saturation of meaning carried by a single photograph. John Kaplan’s portrait series of torture victims from the civil war in Sierra Leone managed to personify a brutal war—a war that I had heard about, but that seemed so far away that it was almost unreal. Photographers put their lives on the line to show the rest of us things that we would never otherwise see. Suddenly, everything becomes so personal that you can’t close your eyes to injustice because you see faces, eyes and people, rather than facts, stories and statistics. And it’s not just wars and tragedy: cultures, celebrations, sports, nature and emotions can often be better conveyed by a photo than by any other medium. My short time as a photographer was arguably the most amazing time of my life: I met people and encountered situations that I would have never had any reason to seek out if not for my camera. Nonetheless, at least at this point in my life, I have realized that photography has to take a back seat to personal growth and experience.