The train and Path cars are so overcrowded to the point that New Yorkers are opting for riding bikes to work.There is an eeriness that lingers through the NJ Transit, the Path stations, and the subways of New York. It’s like nothing any commuter has ever seen before in the over populated tri-state area. 

People who rely on public transportation for their daily commute are potentially exposing themselves everyday. After 4 p.m. during rush hour, social distancing doesn’t exist. Certain subway and Path lines still get stuffed like sardine cans. Everyone is obligated to wear a mask while taking public transportation. The MTA issues $50 fines to anyone not wearing masks, yet there are people who still refuse to follow the covid safety guidelines. Coronavirus cases are increasing each day in New Jersey and New York and many commuters are in constant worry of their safety.

Between the months of October and November, I rode NJ Transit from Elizabeth, New Jersey, to the Q subway line that takes you to Coney Island, and everything in-between to photograph what the new version of commuting looks like. Here is what I encountered above and underground. 

A person sits looking at their phone while riding the NJ Transit towards Newark Penn Station. October 26, 2020. Photo by Michelle Diaz

A person reading on the Path from New Jersey to New York. November 9, 2020. Photo by Michelle Diaz

A person carries flowers off the Path at Newark Penn Station in New Jersey. October 27, 2020. Photo by Michelle Diaz

A person sleeps on the subway in Manhattan, New York. November 17, 2020. Photo by Michelle Diaz

People on the subway in Manhattan, New York. November 14, 2020. Photo by Michelle Diaz

People on the D subway line heading to Coney Island, New York. November 17, 2020. Photo by Michelle Diaz

People coming and going from the Path at the World Trade Center Station. November 3, 2020. Photo by Michelle Diaz

A person sleeping listening to their earphones on the L train in Brooklyn, New York. November 20, 2020. Photo by Michelle Diaz

A family on the Q subway line going to Coney Island, New York. November 25, 2020. Photo by Michelle Diaz

The subway doors close as a person looks into the subway car. November 25, 2020. Photo by Michelle Diaz

A person taking the Q subway line to Coney Island, New York. November 25, 2020. Photo by Michelle Diaz

The view of Luna Park at Coney Island, New York though the Q subway line. November 25, 2020. Photo by Michelle Diaz

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When Paterson Public Schools shut down on March 17th, students were expected to either pick up educational packets at distribution sites or print them at home. Parents who feel that the packets are insufficient have voiced their concerns about them.

“Many parents in the district are now unemployed wondering where the next meal is coming from… An added stressor then is when they have to sit and homeschool their child or children,” said Griselda Polanco Guzman, a Paterson parent.

Guzman is the mother of a child in the Paterson Schools District who is under the Individualized Education Program. Often called IEP, this is a legal document under United States law that is developed for public school children who need special education.

Since the packets are not individualized, they can be hard to follow for IEP students. After coming home from her job as a nurse, Guzman has to try and help her child understand the schoolwork.

“What about some of us who are in healthcare and go out there every day to be on the frontlines of this pandemic and have to come home and homeschool a child without the teachers’ guidance or support?” she said.

City officials plan to provide 7,000 Chromebooks to all district high school students starting the week of April 19th, so that teachers can begin to use resources like Google Classroom and Khan Academy. But middle school and elementary school students are still left without them.

The American Community Survey estimates that about 30 percent of the people in Paterson speak English “less than very well,” as Paterson is a city made up of many immigrants.

This becomes a problem for children whose parents cannot help them to understand the packets, because they do not understand the language. The packets online are only available in English and Spanish.

Guzman believes that the students should switch to virtual learning, like other school districts, so that students have the ability to interact with their teachers. However, about 22.4 percent of Paterson residents do not have a computer, and about 35.6 percent do not have a broadband internet subscription, according to the U.S. census.

“I am home doing whatever I can, but I haven’t heard from my students,” said Therese Hipkins, a teacher at Eastside High School in Paterson. “I keep reaching out, but I know that they have many things going on in their own lives.”

Paterson Public Schools have an average math proficiency score of 16 percent and a reading score of 25 percent, versus the New Jersey statewide average of 41 percent and 53 percent, as designated by state tests.

Hipkins fears that the coronavirus will increase the disparity in education that already exists between low-income and high-income communities.

The lack of virtual learning is only one of the hardships that low-income families face at this time. Students’ parents are getting let go from their jobs. And if they still have a job, they often lack healthcare and are not guaranteed paid sick leave.

Many students in Paterson rely on their schools to provide meals for them. The schools now have pick up sites for students to get food, but this is inconvenient for many and it also risks spreading the disease.

“It’s not easy for them to go out and get them,” said Hipkins. “This is a hardship for low-income families.”

Oasis, a social service organization for women and children in Paterson, was forced to close down their after school educational program, which aims to get students’ math and reading proficiencies up to the statewide averages.

Currently, Oasis is unable to keep their after school teachers because they are losing funding due to the pandemic. Their main focus right now is to provide food for those who are in need.

They serve over 500 meals every day. On a typical pre-COVID day, they would serve around 150.

“These people are in very dire straits because they often do not have a large reserve at savings, if they have anything,” said Laetitia Cairoli, the Director of Development at Oasis. “And so they need food.”

Right now, the focus is on making sure that students’ and families’ most basic needs are met.

“We want to think about what’s going to happen weeks from now,” Cairoli said. “But we don’t know what’s going to happen.”

Shaina Ahmed is an NYU undergraduate journalism student.

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The houses on Moonachie’s East Joseph Street were gutted yesterday, their contents spewed along the sidewalks and curbs. Items once valuable in residents’ lives and homes—car seats; kitchen appliances; children’s toys—were now thrown into the streets as trash.

Paul DeRobertis, 29, surveyed the destruction stacked on his driveway.

“I have nothing,” he said. “All my furniture is just out here.”

Moonachie’s residents attest that the town has not flooded for as long as they can remember. So when Hurricane Sandy struck on October 29, causing waters to burst through a nearby levee, nobody in the small New Jersey town had flood insurance. Now, their homes and businesses destroyed by water damage, they are struggling—both emotionally and financially—to put their lives back together.

DeRobertis, who lives in a first-floor apartment, described the shock he experienced when Sandy’s waters inundated his home.

“It was crazy. It was like Titanic,” DeRobertis said. “I was in my living room and I just noticed there was an inch of water on the floor. I looked outside and there was two feet of water on the exterior. I could see the line against my glass door. It started gushing in from under the back door and through the garage.”

Fran Imbriaco, 60, another resident of East Joseph Street, could hardly comprehend what she was seeing when the waters surged down her street.

“We were sleeping, and I heard all these cars beeping, you know, the electronics were going off, and I looked outside, and all I could see was nothing,” she said. “I thought it was fog, but it was water, and it was above the cars.”

From her second-story bedroom, Imbriaco and her husband Tony, 65, had no idea that the water was not just in the street.

“We ran downstairs, and there was water all over,” she said.

The flood left Imbriaco with a first floor that was nothing but a shell of her former home. The drywall was ruined and wooden support beams stood exposed. All that remained of the large kitchen were a few cabinets on the wall; the appliances, countertops, and furniture lay discarded in the driveway due to mold growth. The bathroom no longer had a working sink or walls.

“All we want to do is just fix it up, and start living a little bit, like we used to,” Imbriaco said. “Right now we have no intention of doing anything other than rebuilding downstairs.”

But that might not be as easy as Imbriaco would like. Though she received donations of food and water from friends and family, she said that the Red Cross, the National Guard and FEMA were providing minimal aid in terms of manpower, finances, and supplies.

“FEMA hasn’t been here, nobody’s been here to help us, other than food and water,” she said. “It’s just my husband and I doing everything. We have no help from any Red Cross or the National Guard, every time they came here, they told me, ‘Sorry, we’re empty. Sorry, the trucks are empty.’ So we never got anything.”

Imbriaco does not know how she will overcome the financial obstacle of putting her life back together.

“We have insurance, but it doesn’t cover the flood, because this is not a flood area,” she said. “We don’t have the money. That’s the bottom line. We have no help.”

And along the town’s main drag, Moonachie’s business owners were faring no better than homeowners. Shanti Panchal, 59, is the owner of Moonachie’s Quik Mart, at the corner of East Joseph Street and Moonachie Avenue. His shop—including thousands of dollars’ worth of unsold merchandise and electronics—was destroyed by Sandy’s floodwaters.

The destruction took a heavy emotional toll on Panchal, who immigrated to the United States from India 12 years ago.

“I have worked my 59 years of age,” he said. “Now it feels like I am new in America and with nothing again.”

Having lost his entire store—and his livelihood—to the storm, Panchal does not know how to move forward.

“I am a highly educated man,” he said. “I have three Masters degrees, three college graduations. I have written books about management, but I am a stupid guy here. Right now, against mother nature, I am stupid.”

Though Panchal is struggling to get assistance from FEMA to rebuild his business—they say they are giving priority to homeowners—he is pleased to be receiving their help for his house, which was also severely damaged by the flood. Regardless, his family is still suffering emotionally.

“We feel like crying,” he said. “When we are alone, we cry. In my house, everything is gone. We have no water, no gas for cooking—nothing. Today we went over to my brother-in-law’s house and took showers, so it is really hard—especially because I have two daughters, and I have my wife. I feel like I have to give them help, emotional help. They are crying, crying. It is very tough, very tough, very tough.”

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Kathleen Callahan was relocated to the Jersey City Armory storm shelter after falling in her powerless Hoboken apartment. By Alyana Alfaro and Jordyn Taylor.

Wide-eyed and pale, Kathleen Callahan sat shaking in a wheelchair amidst the rows of green cots that lined the floor of the Jersey City Armory. Less than 24 hours ago, the 75-year-old was lying on the floor of her unlit apartment, firmly believing she was going to die.

In the early hours of Saturday morning, five days after Hurricane Sandy left Callahan’s Hoboken apartment without power and heat, the woman awoke with an unusual numbness in her legs.

“I got my cane nearby and I went to step on the floor and I went down,” she said. “I have arthritis in my knee, so I was on the floor in the dark, and I didn’t know what to do so I said ‘God, help me.’ I had a dim flashlight that was kind of going dead. It was like everything was going dead, including me.”

Despite a mandatory evacuation notice prior to Hurricane Sandy, Callahan chose to stay put; she had no family, and nowhere to go. In the days following the storm, she was trapped in her apartment, struggling to live off her dwindling supplies. But after suffering a fall on Saturday morning, she was rescued by paramedics, brought to Christ Hospital, and was eventually relocated to the Jersey City Armory—currently serving as a storm shelter for approximately 220 people. Unsure of when and how she would be able to return home, Callahan sat in the Armory feeling shocked, alone and defeated.

Callahan had weathered countless hurricanes, snowstorms and power outages over the course of her life. But she had never seen a storm like Sandy.

“I have survived many storms, but this was like a river in front of my building,” Callahan said. “The block was all flooded, the power was all out. I never saw anything like it in all my 75 years, never.”

And even after the rivers receded, life did not get easier for the ailing Callahan. With the arthritis in her knees acting up during the storm, she was unable to leave her apartment to collect the free meals being distributed a block away in Church Square Park. From Monday night when the power went out, to Saturday morning when she fell, Callahan was trapped in her apartment with no light, no meals and diminishing supplies.

“There was no hot water,” she said. “The refrigerator didn’t work. The water was getting really dirty; I was scared to drink it anymore. I had some bottled water in my refrigerator, but I wasn’t thinking there was going to be much of that for too long. My candles were getting kind of low, and I knew if this kept on another week I wouldn’t have any candles and the batteries in my flashlight would be gone.”

Ironically, it could have been the fall that finally saved her. After crashing to the floor, Callahan dragged herself around her apartment for hours in the dark, searching for a spot that offered cell phone service.

“I don’t know how many times I checked that cell phone,” she said. “So finally Saturday—all the days are starting to meld together, you begin to not know what day it is anymore—so Saturday, that was yesterday, I got a signal on my cell phone and I called 911.”

On Saturday evening Callahan was taken to Christ Hospital for a brief examination, and she was later transported to the Jersey City Armory at 1:37 a.m. on Sunday morning.

Callahan, though visibly shaken, said the staff and military personnel at the shelter have helped her cope with her ordeal.

“The young people here, the air force, they are really lovely people,” Callahan said. “The men, the women, they couldn’t be nicer. They try to comfort you—really lovely, lovely young people. I said to one young man that I glad to find out we had this great of an air force.”

Still, it will be hard for Callahan to forget the experiences she endured in the wake of Hurricane Sandy.

“I am so shocked,” she said. “I still can’t believe it. I woke up this morning—I think I got about a half hour of sleep, if I got that—and when I woke up, for a minute I thought, ‘Where am I?’ I couldn’t believe it. I thought, ‘I cant be here, no. This didn’t happen.’ But now it sunk in really well.”

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