Show: WNYC Specials

Title: How a Subway Killing Divided America

[music]

Bryan Doerries: The chokehold death of Jordan Neely and the verdict in the Daniel Penny trial rattled New York and polarized Americans. I'm Bryan Doerries from Theater of War Productions. This is How a Subway Killing Divided America, presented by WNYC, where we listen to a performance of a recent New Yorker article.

Chad Coleman: Imagine for a moment that you're on that train, too; strangers brought together by faith, much like you are here.

Bryan Doerries: Then we talked about it.

Anthony: None of this is really new, but when I saw this trial and I saw this article, and all I kept thinking was, "Where's the middle way?

Bryan Doerries: Our discussion featured subway operators, Marines, and everyday subway riders.

Charles Leonis: We don't know who we're getting on the train with, but when we do, in most cases, we feel all right.

Bryan Doerries: Coming up, How a Subway Killing Divided America, right after the news.

[music]

Bryan Doerries: Hi, I'm Bryan Doerries. I'm the artistic director of Theater of War Productions. I've been making theater for most of my life, and what I'm most interested in is what theater can do, how it can make you feel, how a live performance can touch you so deeply it rearranges all your molecules, and suddenly, for a moment, you're open to other perspectives, to complexity, to contradiction.

At Theater of War Productions, we take theater off the stage and bring it to where theater actually happens, to hospitals and prisons, military bases and homeless shelters, rival gang territories, libraries, parks, schools, churches, even the detention camps at Guantanamo Bay. We care as much about our audience as the people performing, and we listen to them. Today, you can, too.

Last week, we held a live event at WNYC. We met and we listened to a performance. It was a story that had first appeared in The New Yorker about the verdict in the Daniel Penny trial. Daniel Penny is a retired United States Marine. He was acquitted in December of criminally negligent homicide and the death of a man named Jordan Neely. We didn't just listen to it. We responded. More than 100 people were there; subway operators, bus drivers, Marines, subway riders, because they wanted to have an honest conversation.

What you'll hear over the next hour is what happened in that room. The question for the jury was what would happen to Daniel Penny? The questions for New Yorkers, the questions for everyone in America, were many more. How do we respond to mental illness and homelessness? Did Daniel Penny murder an innocent man on the subway, or did he step up and do the right thing by trying to protect his fellow passengers? Who was Jordan Neely? Was he dangerous? Was he a human being crying out for help? Was he both? Is the subway safe? Is New York City safe?

The verdict arrived last December. Penny was acquitted, cleared by a Manhattan jury. That same day, Adam Iscoe published a piece in The New Yorker, and that's what we're going to hear first. It was performed by the actors Arliss Howard, Amy Ryan, David Strathairn, and Chad Coleman. Arliss starts us off.

[applause]

Arliss Howard: The men's bathroom on the 13th floor of the state courthouse at 100 Centre Street, in Manhattan, has doorknobs that are engraved "City of New York" and pink soap in dispensers that are manufactured upstate by incarcerated men, many of whom have been found guilty in the courtroom down the hall. There are no mirrors in the men's bathroom, but there are windows, one of which is usually open.

For the past several weeks, as an ex-marine named Daniel Penny, who is white, stood trial for the death of a Black man named Jordan Neely, the chants of the dozen or so Black Lives Matter demonstrators who had assembled on the sidewalk, behind police barricades, could be heard clearly near the sink. One protester would shout, "Hey, hey, what do we say?" to which a chorus would reply, "Daniel Penny has got to pay."

The case, in which Penny put Neely into a chokehold on the subway, had become a local and national fixation, pitting progressives against right-wing supporters, who portrayed Penny as a maligned crime-fighting hero. The sound of the protesters on the street often carried into Judge Maxwell T. Wiley's courtroom. On November 1st, two weeks into the proceedings on the day of the Manhattan Assistant District Attorney's opening statement, the chants were particularly loud.

Judge Wiley swiveled in his leather chair toward the sixteen jurors seated in his jury box. "If you hear people expressing ideas outside," he paused a moment, listening to the protesters, "Ignore it. Anything outside this courtroom, as far as you're concerned, is noise." He paused again, leaned back in his chair, then leaned forward and said, "What matters to you, and to us, is what happens in this courtroom."

Judge Wiley's courtroom has high ceilings, fluorescent lights, peeling white paint, and seven rows of dark wooden benches, some filled with reporters, others with spectators; college students, Black Lives Matter activists, a man wearing a Trump kippah, and members of the defendant's private security detail. That morning, Penny sat near the front of the courtroom, listening as Assistant District Attorney Dafna Yoran said, "Jordan Neely took his last breaths on the dirty floor of an uptown F train."

On May 1st, 2023, Neely, a Michael Jackson impersonator who often busked in Times Square and who had a history of homelessness, substance abuse, and schizophrenia, boarded a moderately crowded train and, as Yoran explained, began shouting. His voice was loud and his words were threatening, and in immediate response to these menacing words, the defendant, Daniel Penny, this man, took it upon himself to take down Jordan Neely, to neutralize him. Without hesitation, he grabbed Mr. Neely from behind in a chokehold and brought him down to the ground.

Penny, an architecture student from West Islip, on Long Island, did not look at Yoran as she said, "His initial intent was even laudable, to protect fellow subway riders from a man he perceived to be a threat." But the law does not permit "laudable behavior" when it is also "unnecessarily reckless." Her opening statement, in which she described how Penny held Neely in a chokehold for almost six minutes, even after the train doors had opened and the other straphangers had fled to safety, concluded, "The defendant was not justified in these deadly actions. He used far too much force for far too long. He went way too far."

Later, the jury, twelve jurors and four alternates, all hailing from Manhattan, would need to decide for themselves whether the Assistant District Attorney was correct. Did Daniel Penny, who had a green belt in Marine Corps martial arts, go too far? Did he do what the jurors would have wanted him to do if they had been on that uptown F train? Shortly before lunchtime, the judge looked toward them and said, "Stretch your legs. Think about something else, and don't talk about the case yet with each other or anyone else."

Along with the sound of the protesters outside, the courtroom was often filled with the sound of sneezing and coughing, a case of bronchitis was going around, and with the sound of death. Eight JBL speakers and six large television screens broadcast the moments on the train before Neely's death, and during it, and afterward. There were videos captured by eyewitnesses; Darrick Clay, Moriyela Sanchez, Ivette Rosario, and body-cam footage from police officers; Tejada, Ceesay, Kang, Ortiz, Joefield, and Johnson.

There were also videos from detectives at the Fifth Precinct. "I wasn't trying to injure him," Penny said during his interrogation. "I'm just trying to keep him from hurting anybody else. He's threatening people." The most important video, 4 minutes and 57 seconds long, was shot by a passenger named Juan Alberto Vasquez. It clearly shows Penny's left arm wrapped around Neely's neck.

It is a strange thing to sit in a courtroom and watch a man die over and over and over again. At first, the people assembled reacted to the videos with great emotion. Spectators in the gallery cried and gasped as Neely's legs flailed about and then slowed down and stopped moving altogether before Penny released his hold on Neely's neck and got up 51 seconds later. The jurors fidgeted in their seats. The judge stood up.

Two court officers, both of whom carried guns and handcuffs and wore black bulletproof vests and otherwise stoic expressions, wiped tears from their eyes. Jordan Neely's father, Andre Zachery, wept quietly, then loudly, then walked out of the courtroom. Later, he returned to his seat and hung his head. The second time the Vasquez video played, there were more grimaces in the jury box, but in the course of the following five weeks, the jurors adopted passive, detached expressions.

By the time the prosecution presented another version of the Vasquez video, broken into 1,465 frames on PowerPoint slides, which show Penny and Neely's struggle even more clearly, the jurors had begun to resemble listless schoolchildren. Still, to sit in the courtroom that day was to watch death in slow motion. As prosecutors clicked through the images, Juror No. 11, a young corporate lawyer from Michigan whose grandmother struggles with mental illness, calmed his nerves with chewing gum. Juror No. 9, a white woman who has lived on the Upper West Side for 45 years, bit her fingernails.

At one o'clock, during the lunch recess, just as he did every afternoon, Juror No. 5, an Upper East Side retiree who enjoys reading and video games, smoked cigarettes behind the courthouse in Columbus Park. Around the courthouse, especially among the court security officers, the Daniel Penny case in Room 1313 was known as a "media trial." Alvin Bragg, the Manhattan District Attorney, had brought a manslaughter charge against Penny on May 12, 2023, following intense criticism by protesters and left-leaning politicians.

That evening, the former Republican Congressman Matt Gaetz called Penny a "Subway Superman." Six weeks later, Bragg also charged Penny with criminally negligent homicide, a lesser offense. Throughout the trial, everyone in town, it seemed, had an opinion about the case. "Daniel Penny is a hero." "This was a lynching." "The whole system just failed him." "What a horrible thing, my God. I don't know really what I would've done."

Bryan Doerries: That was David Strathairn, along with Arliss Howard, Amy Ryan, and Chad Coleman, performing the first part of Adam Iscoe's piece about the Daniel Penny trial. It was published in the New Yorker the day the verdict came out. Coming up, we hear the rest of the article, and then the audience response. We'll hear from a guy who's worked for the MTA for nearly two decades.

Mark Brea: There's such so many mixed feelings. I've always felt like the train system is-- it's an intimate setting of strangers.

Bryan Doerries: I'm Bryan Doerries, and you're listening to How a Subway Killing Divided America from Theater of War Productions, presented by WNYC. Stay with us.

[music]

Bryan Doerries: Hi. I'm Bryan Doerries, and you're listening to How a Subway Killing Divided America from Theater of War Productions, presented by WNYC. This series invites community members to respond to journalism in real time. This story came from The New Yorker, Adam Iscoe wrote it, and it was about the verdict in the Daniel Penny case. Daniel Penny is the Marine veteran who was acquitted of criminal charges in the death of a man named Jordan Neely almost two years ago. Adam, The New Yorker writer, attended the trial every day alongside reporters from Fox, The Times, and all the other major outlets. Here are the actors Arliss Howard, Amy Ryan, David Strathairn, and Chad Coleman performing Adam's article.

[music]

Arliss Howard: Each morning, two or three dozen reporters lined up behind a police barricade in the hallway, jockeying for a spot. Each evening, the journalists filed dispatches or appeared on television. After testimony by a man named Eric Gonzalez, on November 12th, the following headlines appeared in the press. The Times, "Rider who helped restrain homeless man testifies about fatal chokehold." Fox News, "Key witness in marine vet chokehold case admits he lied." The Associated Press, "Subway rider who helped restrain man in NYC chokehold says he wanted ex-marine to 'let go.'"

Judge Wiley regularly instructed the jurors to ignore these and other news reports, but his courtroom is only one room in a city full of them. During the trial, the jurors frequently found themselves in the course of their "real lives," as the judge put it, surrounded by opinions and the news. The other morning, before the defense called another witness, a Fox News daytime host said, "While Daniel Penny returns to court, career criminals continue to cause chaos across city streets."

A few days earlier, a man who had recently been released from Rikers Island had stabbed three people across Manhattan. Afterward, Mayor Eric Adams stood behind a lectern at City Hall and said, "This is the result of not taking actions and ignoring people who need help." He went on, "The street corner is not a psychiatric ward." On Friday, November 22nd, in Judge Wiley's courtroom, as an expert witness spoke to jurors about a photograph of Neely's spleen, the suspect in the stabbing spree was indicted in another courtroom on the second floor.

Among the prosecution's many witnesses; patrol cops, detectives, a train conductor, a 911 record keeper, Yoran brought forward passengers who were aboard the train on the afternoon that Neely staggered through the doors and began shouting. Ivette Rosario said, "I was worried." Larry Goodson said, "He wasn't threatening me, nor did I notice him threaten anyone else." Lori Sitro said, "I actually took the stroller that I had and put it in front of my son to create a barrier of sorts because I didn't know what was going to happen." Alethea Gittings said, "I was scared shitless."

The defense called witnesses who spoke to Penny's character. Penny's lawyers and the Fox News personality Jeanine Pirro, who sat in the courtroom scribbling on a yellow legal pad most days, referred to the defendant as "Danny" throughout the trial. Jacqueline Penny, the defendant's older sister, said, "He was always very sweet to my friends." Gina Maria Flaim-Penny, his mother, said, "He was always an A-plus student." Gunnery Sergeant Nathaniel Dunchie said, of Penny's time in the Marine Corps, "Working with him was a breath of fresh air."

The defense also hired a forensic psychiatrist, a former director of mental health on Rikers Island, who reviewed 5,000 pages of Jordan Neely's medical records. "Would you agree that he was perhaps one of the most severely psychotic individuals that you ever evaluated?" "I have not evaluated him." "Based on his history?" "Based on his history. Yes." Each lawyer, then, in his or her own way, played a part in creating a caricature. Danny, the kid in a tough situation trying his best to do the right thing. Mr. Neely, that malodorous man with schizophrenia, stoking passengers' fears on the subway.

As the jurors scribbled notes on their court-issued legal pads, their difficult task was to look past these caricatures, that Daniel Penny acted to defend others from a frightening figure on the train was of no legal relevance, from the prosecution's point of view, given that Neely did not have a weapon or threaten a specific passenger directly. Yoran's argument was, in part, that Penny acted with "reckless" disregard for Neely's life, that the deadly chokehold continued long after Penny had rendered Neely unconscious, that Penny, "Danny" was an upstanding young man trying to protect a woman and child was, on the other hand, of the utmost importance to the defense.

Their argument relied primarily on the jury's fear and sympathy. The police were too slow to arrive. It took them seven minutes and thirty-five seconds after the first 911 call, and Penny was thus legally justified to hold Neely in the chokehold to protect other riders. The defense asked many witnesses from the train whether they ever heard Neely gasping or gagging or if he said, "I can't breathe." If he couldn't breathe, then why didn't he say so?

The defense also did its best to discredit the determination made by Cynthia Harris, one of the city's medical examiners, of the cause of Neely's death. "Compression of neck. Chokehold." If Neely hadn't died from Penny's chokehold but from another cause, or any other cause, then a reasonable jury would have no choice but to acquit the defendant. Steven Raiser, one of the defense lawyers, who later referred to Penny's chokehold as "a civilian restraint," pointed out that Harris made her opinion on the cause of death before the toxicology report, the molecular genetic report, the anthropology report, and the neuropathology report had been reviewed.

His insinuation was that she and her colleagues, including many of the city's top medical examiners, who also reviewed the case, had rushed to judgment. Raiser asked, "How could you determine whether the results of those tests were unimportant before knowing what the results of those tests were?" Harris said, "No toxicological result would have changed my opinion." She went on, "He could have come back with, you know, enough fentanyl to put down an elephant, and I would have just thought that he walked onto the subway with a huge amount of fentanyl in his system and then was put in a chokehold, in which he died."

A juror laughed. Jordan Neely's father lifted his head and sat upright in his seat. An almost-smile crept across his face. The defense attorneys, for their part, brought forward Dr. Satish Chundru, of theforensicdoc.com, who argued that the cause of Neely's death was the "combined effects" of the street drug K2, acute schizophrenic psychosis, and physical exertion, which all contributed to a death by sickle-cell crisis, in which one's red blood cells clump together and stop moving, leading, in this instance, to asphyxiation.

In a pretrial motion in the case of Derek Chauvin, the former Minneapolis police officer who murdered George Floyd, defense attorneys also argued that Floyd died from a combination of drug use and complications from sickle-cell trait, rather than neck compression. Asked about the purple discoloration in Neely's face, which Harris had explained as a sign of "congested veins" resulting from "a sufficient amount of pressure" on Neely's neck, Chundru replied that perhaps Neely had a sun tan. In the men's bathroom, a white-haired man in a black sweater attending the trial said of Chundru, "He's coming off like a gun for hire."

Several days later, after Thanksgiving, on the first morning of the lawyers' closing arguments, the chants of protesters could again be heard through an open window. Raiser asked the jurors to picture the jury box as the uptown F. "Imagine for the moment that you're on that train, too, strangers brought together by faith, much like you are here."

Several jurors fidgeted in their seats as Raiser again described Neely boarding the train "screaming threats that he will hurt you and even kill you" and frightening the passengers. He went on, "The subway car falls silent. Where do you go? You go nowhere, because you can't." Juror No. 11 scratched his nose. "You are not here to decide whether you want to ride alone on the train with Jordan Neely," Yoran said during her own closing argument. "That's not what this case is about." The actual task at hand was to determine, beyond a reasonable doubt, whether Penny's actions were "reckless" and "not justified," and Yoran acknowledged that it was a difficult one. "As I've said to you all along, this is a hard case. It's hard to find someone guilty of a killing they did not intend."

As the jurors deliberated, Jordan Neely's father filed a civil suit against Penny, and Judge Wiley's regular court docket proceeded. Motions were agreed upon, hearings were scheduled, a young Rastafarian man was sentenced to five years in state prison for a firearm charge. "Good luck, young man."

On Friday, December 6th, the jurors sent Judge Wiley a note. Despite their best attempts, the 12 Manhattanites, the retired public librarian, the young corporate lawyer, the gray-haired Ukrainian woman who often wore an elaborate hat, could not set aside their differences of opinion to reach a unanimous verdict on the first charge, manslaughter in the second degree. Judge Wiley instructed them to try again, "Jury deliberations aren't intended to be easy."

Around three o'clock that afternoon, the jurors again announced that they were deadlocked. The defense moved for a mistrial. Yoran responded with a motion to dismiss the manslaughter charge, and, over the defense's strong objection, in a move criticized by some legal scholars, several right-wing commentators, and even Elon Musk. The judge instructed the jury to consider the lesser charge, criminally negligent homicide.

The following Monday, at around 11:30 AM, the jurors returned to the courthouse. They filed into the courtroom, and the jury foreperson announced that Penny had been acquitted. Several people in the gallery broke into applause, and Judge Wiley shouted, [gavel banging] "Quiet." Neely's father stared ahead blankly, then looked around the courtroom in disbelief. Penny grinned. Still, the case that had divided New York City for more than a year and a half would continue to divide it. To some, Penny was a triumphant hero, others saw a villain let go. The jurors, for their part, filed out of the courtroom and, perhaps, boarded the subway home.

[applause]

Bryan Doerries: That was actors Arliss Howard, Amy Ryan, David Strathairn, and Chad Coleman performing Adam Iscoe's piece from The New Yorker. Now, remember, we're in a room listening as a group to this performance with community members, subway riders, and even people who work for the MTA. We used the performance to spark a discussion. We heard first from Mark Brea, who spent nearly 20 years at the MTA. He's worked as a subway conductor, a train operator, and a dispatcher. For him, dealing with lost kids, people pulling on the emergency brake cord, even a passenger being stabbed, it's all part of his job.

Mark Brea: I've been in a lot of situations working with the MTA, even as a rider. One of the things that resonated with me was the woman [chuckles] that said she was scared shitless, because I've seen it on people's faces as a worker, also as just a rider on the train. There's so many mixed feelings. The woman that said she put the baby carriage in between her and the baby because she doesn't know what's going to happen. I've always felt like the train system is, and I've said this many times, it's an intimate setting of strangers. I'm on the train with a bunch of people. The train's crowded. I'm rubbing elbows. I don't know you. I don't want you touching me. There's been many occasions where people are acting irate.

I just move out of the way because I don't want to-- as a MTA employee also, I don't want to get into a situation. I don't want to lose my job. The best thing is to move, but everybody's different. When situations like this happen, we're all scared. You don't know how people are going to react. There was a gentleman in the article that said, "He wasn't doing nothing. I wasn't scared." You get that reaction, too. I mean, I've been in the streets. I might react that way myself, too, sometimes, but I get out of the way because I don't want a confrontation with anyone on the train.

Now, do I think that Mr. Penny came out of his house and said that morning, "I'm going on a train. I'm going to kill a Black guy today"? No. I don't think that. I think it's something that was festered. It's something that is created in someone. You get fed up. I'll give you an example. I work at Columbus Circle. Just this morning, somebody got off the train, and they pulled five cords on the train. Not one. They pulled five. Now the train operator and the conductor, they have to figure out where these cords are pulled so they could get the train moving again.

Now the train's sitting there for 10, 15 minutes. You got to get to work. You got to get to wherever you're going. You don't care. You just want people to get on, get off. Let me get to where I'm going. You're mad at the train operator, conductor. You take it out on them. They're in uniform. "Hurry up. Move the train." But they don't know they got to figure out what's going on. This is what goes on on a daily basis.

Now, at the same time, we speak about Neely, but Penny could have been having some mental issues also for the past week. Who knows? You get fed up. You get fed up and you just-- it's a situation that could have been de-escalated. It's unfortunate. I'll give you one more. I don't mean to keep too much, but I get random drug tests. I get on the train, I'm going to the random drug test, there's a guy talking to himself, and he's rolling something up. Now he's in my car, and I'm like, "Ugh." I'm going to get a random drug test myself. He lights up whatever he's smoking. I can't stay in the car with this guy.

Now, I'm a certain age. Maybe if I was 20, 30 years younger, I'd confront the guy and say, "Listen--" but is what my old ass is going to do? Excuse me. [chuckles] I'm not here to confront anybody. What am I going to do? I get up. I'm angry. I said something out loud where everybody looked at me, but I move to the next car because I'm not going to get-- if whatever he's smoking gets in my system, I take my drug test, there goes my job. I just move.

We get to the next stop, the doors open, what happens? Six people come running in. These are things that happen on a daily basis. Like I said, it festers. It gets you upset until maybe one day you snap. Anybody here. We're all human. I just want to get to my job. I want to get home to my family. That's it. These are things that we have to think about. Like I said, this is a intimate setting of strangers. Think about it.

[music]

Bryan Doerries: That was Mark Brea, who works today as a train dispatcher at the 59th Street Station. Coming up, we'll hear from a Marine, a paramedic, and an everyday subway rider, all talking about how they navigate their experiences on the train.

Gabrielle: In this entire interaction, no one said anything. No one did anything. No one did anything.

Bryan Doerries: You're listening to WNYC. Stay with us.

[music]

Bryan Doerries: This is Bryan Doerries, and you're listening to How a Subway Killing Divided America, a live event from Theater of War Productions, presented by WNYC. At the event, we heard actors perform a piece that was published in The New Yorker. The piece was about the trial of Daniel Penny, the Marine veteran who was acquitted of criminal charges, and the death of a man named Jordan Neely almost two years ago. The incident absorbed New Yorkers and the nation for months. We had a discussion with people in the audience, subway operators, bus drivers, Marines, and everyday subway riders. In the room with us, we had someone who had a personal connection to the story.

[music]

Moses Harper: First, I want to just thank everybody who's in attendance right now. This is how communities heal. We have conversations, we talk. This is how we do this. My name is Moses Harper, and I actually knew Jordan Neely. He was a friend of mine. After listening to this, the same thing comes up to me. I've been doing outreach for over 34 years with high-risk populations, and I can't count how many Marines from across this country reached out to me on their own accord from different generations; male, female, Black, white, and said, "Ms. Moses, they teach us.

They train us different than what you guys know. They teach us to respond, not to react during intense situations. Live ammunition can be going by our heads, and what this man did, that's a kindergarten move. We all know that that is imposing fatal attack, and we're not supposed to do that. If there's an individual who is not armed, who is not imposing fatal attack, we're supposed to de-escalate." Now, I, being 100 years old, have been in situations--

Bryan Doerries: You don't look 100 years old.

Moses Harper: I'm so close.

[laughter]

Moses Harper: I've Been in situations where armed gang members who intend to take each other's lives are ready to do damage, and I've stepped in between, and deescalated using intelligence, communicating, and responding instead of reacting because I don't want anyone to get harmed, and I've successfully done that, as well as working with at-risk populations that are in the jails and homeless populations.

I invite everyone to consider that even when there's a societal breakdown, there's always an appropriate response, and we shouldn't seek the last resort as the first thing that we do. It shouldn't be, and some of the things that I learned. I had to sit in during the trial, I had to watch, I had to listen to this stuff. Some of the things that I did learn from members of the military, I didn't know that stuff before. I didn't know. Maybe we don't know some of those protocols and things, but they do.

I kind of had to take their word for it, and I just-- my heart bleeds for anybody who's affected by any kind of criminality that takes place. I invite you all to consider. This has to be a "we" thing. It has to be a family thing. When we don't protect people who are sitting outside, homeless, in front of the street, in front of a jewelry store where precious metals are being protected with bulletproof glass, and the system hasn't put anything effective in place to take care of the person that's sitting out in the front who has nothing? Something's wrong. Something's wrong.

Bryan Doerries: Thank you so much, Moses. I appreciate-

Moses Harper: Thank you, Bryan.

Bryan Doerries: -everything you brought into the room.

[applause]

Bryan Doerries: We want to get a few more perspectives in the room into the conversation. For those of you here in the audience, has there been an instance where you've today, yesterday, over the last 10 years, walked past someone in distress and intentionally or made the conscious decision to compartmentalize or ignore them? How does that sit with you? What was the impact on you? Yes. Right here.

John Escalante: John Escalante. I'm a 30-year veteran, a Marine Corps. I'm going to break the ice, not to be the evil of the atmosphere here, but yes. I have taken that approach to be human. Certain people approach me asking for money. I refuse to give money. I'm like, "Come with me. I'll buy you a meal," especially if they're with children or their partner or whatever.

I refuse to give them money, but I'll gladly "Come with me. I'll go into a restaurant, buy you a meal. As a matter of fact, I'll buy you breakfast for tomorrow." That's 50-50 someone exploded in your face and say, "F-- you. Go to hell. Who do you think I am?" Whatever. They refuse my genuine, sincere attempt to be human and, reversal, I get insulted. I got assaulted a couple of times doing that.

Then the Marine stepped out on me, and I had to defend myself and put that person down. I didn't kill him. I had no intention to kill him. I didn't have a forehead or a label-- I mean, a label on my forehead saying, "I'm a US Marine. I'm potentially dangerous." I know rules of engagement. I've abided by the Geneva II Conventions. No one wears labels on their foreheads. I was being human. At that time, when I was being assaulted, the Marine stepped out of me.

When I walk in my house, out of my house, there's masks. I have to figure out which mask to wear when I step out into the subway, the buses, or even the streets, because I have to be fair. I can't be judgmental. I have to be as human as possible. I have to be grounded. I don't outrank anyone. I have kids. I have peers. I have friends. I have people that look up to me.

That's the first thing I have to think about. I don't stop. I don't have to pull my psychology degree. I don't have to put my judgment. There's no time. A lot of times I'm sitting in the subway, things are flaring up almost every day I have to have my head on a swivel 360 degrees. "Where's my exits? Where's my entry points? Now, is this person a threat? Is she going to do something? What's in that bag? What's in that pocket?" Constantly. Constantly. "If it reaches a boiling point, do I need to be interjected and get involved?"

That's every day. Sometimes there's no time to say, "Let me think about this. Let me step back. Let me empathize. Let me figure out if this person having a good or bad day." I have to worry about the safety of myself and the ones around me, especially when ladies have kids. Right? I have to be very-- like situation awareness constantly, and that's head on a swivel 360 degrees. That's just waking up every day.

Bryan Doerries: I really appreciate you bringing your perspective into the room. It's good to hear from a Marine. It's good to hear what your life is like as you operate and walk through these streets and these subways. I really appreciate you and the gesture of humanity, of you being vulnerable and sharing that with us. It's really powerful. We don't have to agree with each other. That's never the objective of Theater of War productions work, but we can agree to hear each other's interpretations. We can hear each other's stories and truths. We can sit with what you brought into the room about masks.

One of the reasons we perform with actors is I think actors help us to see that we're all wearing masks, that we're all playing roles, and maybe for a brief second, we can step back from the roles that we're playing and acknowledge that we're playing roles. Also, I really appreciate what you said as I'm sitting with it right now. Sometimes, we don't have the time, the luxury of time to assess what role we're playing. Sometimes, the roles and habits that we've been engaged in for the longest period of time kick in. How do we maintain our humanity when that happens? Where do we learn to de-escalate? What are strategies we can actually use to de-escalate violence when it occurs around us where we can also feel safe? Please.

Anthony: Good evening, everyone. You talked about de-escalation. My name is Anthony. I'm a paramedic for the fire department for the last 21 years. I've been in New York City EMS for 23 years. I've responded to the Jordan Neelys and the Danny Perrys of the world. I've responded to them, and I go in with no weapons and only de-escalation tactics, my wits and my good looks, and I'm not very good looking, so it's more wits.

[laughter]

Bryan Doerries: Don't sell yourself short.

Anthony: Well, thank you, Bryan. You talk about de-escalation, but the question I want to pose to everybody, on the way here tonight, I'm in the Flatbush Avenue train station where I live by Brooklyn College. As I'm waiting for the train, I hear this argument happen. Two people are attacking each other, a little group, and an innocent bystander woman gets punched in the face, and I go over, bend, and care. She has a broken nose.

I'm 40 years traveling to trains in New York City. That's not new. None of this is really new, but what is new is polarization to this extent. There's a perception out there because people have isolated themselves in their own little bubbles, and they sit there and they look and they go, "It's always like this." We use these truths and take the same paintbrush and paint it over everything. They go, "I have to react. Why should I de-escalate? Why should I de-escalate when I can go over here and I'll be championed for not de-escalating?"

When I saw this trial and I saw this article and I remember it happening, but I watched this, and all I kept thinking was, "Where's the middle way?" What would have happened if Danny came out and said, "I may have overreacted, but that doesn't mean I didn't feel threatened." "I'm sorry somebody died." That was not-- I didn't wake up that morning and say, "I'm going to go kill somebody today." Where's the middle path as a society that is slowly eroding?

We've come to accept violence on the subways. For 23 years, I've done everything on the subways. I've delivered a baby on the subway. I've treated people on the subway. I've been on the tracks. I've had people run over by the trains. I've treated the conductors who run over the people on the trains because people forget about that trauma where I've had to sedate conductors because they're so-

Bryan Doerries: Panicked.

Anthony: -upset and panicked. Bus operators, same thing, but where's the middle path? Where's the way of saying, "Hey--" the de-escalation is me saying, "I'm at fault somewhat here," and go forward from there. I don't know why we accept that violence is a part of this. We accept it here, and I think because we, as a society, has just said and did this, and we shrug our shoulders and say, "You know what? This is what it is. We're going to mitigate it." Sometimes, that mitigation is, "I'm going to take it to that extreme and kill somebody," just to show you that this is how we have to do it. That's not how we have to do it. There is a middle path here.

Bryan Doerries: Thank you so much, Anthony. I really appreciate your perspective. Thank you.

[applause]

Bryan Doerries: Anyone else who wants to take this question before I get to my last question? Yes. There's someone over here. Go right ahead. Yes.

Gabrielle: Hi. Hello. My name is Gabrielle. I wanted to just respond to your question about have you ever had an instance in which you didn't respond in the way that you maybe wanted to? This New Year's Eve, I was taking the subway to get to Amtrak just to get home. As a transplant, I feel like I have to be super aware and super mindful of the fact that I'm in a new place. I'm 10, 11 years into this, but I still want to be aware, and I still want to be respectful. And 've been riding the subway since I was 16 years old, and I feel very comfortable. I've got my suitcase, my 10-pound dog, I'm on the way to the train. I'm feeling good.

I get targeted by someone who ends up wielding a knife and trying to attack me with a knife. In that moment, I felt like I responded in the way that I should have to the veteran's point here. I know what I'm supposed to do. My dad trained me, so I'm aware, handled the situation. They left the train. I think the moral injury that I left with was a woman approached me after and said, "Sis, are you okay?" I was very upset by that because in this entire interaction, no one said anything, no one did anything, and I felt very betrayed because I do my best to be a good neighbor, a good person, contribute to my environments always. When I really needed support and backup, I had none.

That was what I left with was for the first time in 10 years living here, feeling alone and feeling like there is no support, and you do go out into the world by yourself. That's not what we need in terms of a social contract. To your point about community, we need that. That was very disappointing, but then, again, it's difficult. You don't know what to do, and everyone's just trying to get home. So that was very difficult. I didn't realize how emotional that was for me, obviously, until [chuckles] just now. Yes. That was what affected me the most. It wasn't that I encountered that. It was that when I did, everyone was silent. It was a completely full train full of capable people, and it was just me and my 10-pound dog doing the best that we could.

Bryan Doerries: Thank you so much for sharing that story. I really appreciate that.

[applause]

Bryan Doerries: We've been doing work, Theater of War Productions with military populations for 18 years. What the military has taught us is that betrayal is the wound that cuts the deepest, and the idea that you're part of a community or a family or a neighborhood or anything that brings us together in some way, and that people will turn their backs and watch something violent happen to you.

How do we show compassion, which requires a certain vulnerability, when we ourselves feel unsafe? Is it possible? Have you experienced it yourself? Have you enacted acts of compassion that transcended your fear of being unsafe? You don't have to answer that question. You can just come right in, but yes.

Ashley Miles: That's a loaded question.

Bryan Doerries: Yes. Very loaded. I'm here to ask loaded questions.

Ashley Miles: I just want to say I am not nervous. I just have bad nerves, so if you see me shake, just rock with it. My name is Ashley Miles, and I do have lived experience regarding mental health, so I feel deeply connected to it. When I heard the verdict, it was very unsurprising, but what I do want to say is that when it comes to having compassion for people with mental health issues that we do see on the train, we need to be more mindful and learn when we're dealing with someone who's in a crisis and when someone who's an actual threat.

The first thing that we often think of is that someone's a threat without thinking, like, "What could this person be going through? What could their day have been before they got on this train? What could we do to help them?" We first jumped to worrying about ourselves without worrying about all of our well-being. That's what my takeaway was.

Bryan Doerries: Thank you so much. You did answer my question. I really appreciate it. My final question is this. The death of Jordan Neely and the recent Daniel Penny verdict divided New York. It divided our nation. Arguably, it's dividing our world. How do we heal after the death of Jordan Neely and the Daniel Penny verdict? What does healing look like to you? Over to you. Yes.

Charles Leonis: Hello. I'm Charles Leonis. I guess you can say that I'm one of the typical riders on trains. I've been in New York City for about 19 years, and I think the answer of your question is already in front of us. We talk about these situations that happen on these trains, and they're horrific and they're upsetting. I understand. In my 19 years here, when I get on a train, I realize that I'm getting on a train with random New Yorkers of all walks of life.

If there's one normalizing thing about New York that makes us New Yorkers, we don't know who we're getting on the train with, but when we do, in most cases, we feel all right. Not only that, but I enjoy it. I often look around and the people, and I think each one of these people have a story. I don't know who they are, but here we are together.

For me, I think that's the solution is that we connect. When we do have these scenarios, and when you spoke about women who are exposed and not being cared for, there have been times when I've seen people, and sometimes women who were, I think, in challenging situations, and I would just stand nearby. Oftentimes, I know I'm '6'2. I can scare somebody off. [chuckles] It may not be obvious, but at least I do it. If I do it, I am sure there are a lot of people who do it.

I just think that, yes, horrible things happen, but on a normal day, to have thousands of people that get on the train, sit there for 15 minutes, and then get off, and nothing happens, I think right there it just tells us that if we can just learn to connect, I think a lot of our problems just fade away.

Bryan Doerries: Thank you so much. I really appreciate that.

[applause]

[music]

Bryan Doerries: That was it. We put on our coats, gathered up our bags, and we headed home, many of us on the subway. You've been listening to How a Subway Killing Divided America from Theater of War Productions presented by WNYC. Theater of War Productions is me, Bryan Doerries, and producers Marjolaine Goldsmith and Dominic Dupont. Adam Iscoe wrote The New Yorker article and is also a producer at Theater of War Productions at WNYC.

This was produced by Emily Botein, Ryan Wilde, Jason Saul, and Megan Ryan with support from Kenya Young and Bill O'Neill. Technical support by the entire team at the Green Space. That's Chase Culpon, Liv Nazare, James Cronier, Eric Weber, Daleelah Saleh, and Rachel Hacking. Sound design and editing for the broadcast was done by WNYC's Jared Paul. We want to thank the Laurie M. Tisch Illumination Fund, who made this production possible through their generous financial support. This is WNYC. Thank you for listening.

[music]

 

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