Appropriately enough, now that the Times is doing a series of articles on Class in America including a story on an illegal immigrant from Mexico ^[1], I experienced my own glimpse of immigrant life in NYC. Not that this is uncommon. They bring us our Chinese food on a bicycle in the middle of a blizzard, they bus our tables, they make our bacon egg and cheeses. Yet, this was a glimpse of a different kind.

While walking to the subway at 42nd Street and Bryant Park, I noticed a Hispanic family (mom, dad, daughter) all looking really scared, their eyes almost popping out of their heads, cowering next to a news stand. They were holding big bags that, from the looks of it, contained bootleg DVDs and other such materials. Next to them, was a stout NYPD police officer talking into a walkie talkie, probably asking for a patrol car.

I had the urge to go up to the officer and try to persuade him to let these people go. There are more dangerous threats we citizens face that the NYPD should be going after. It almost seems crazy that they would take the time to arrest, detain, and perhaps deport some illegal immigrants that are just trying to feed their children by breaking some copyright laws.

As a very fortunate upper-middle class individual I find it easy to retreat into a bubble of comfort and ignore the misery that is inevitable in a big city. We have all learned to look past the homeless and the less fortunate. It is sometimes impossible to grasp that there are people in every borough who are cramming together in the tightest sleeping quarters, paying outrageous prices for their beds, and working constantly in sweatshops, diners, delis, and on construction sites for a very meager wage.

The moment when my gaze met the father’s and I proceeded to recognize the situation was all in slow motion. I was wondering about the people around me, also briskly walking to get home, and thinking that probably one in ten passersby saw and knew what was happening but then simply continued with averted eyes.