A few days ago I was on the Blue Line coming back from O’Hare, where I had dropped my oldest off for her return to graduate school in Austria. I was one of the last people to board the train and grabbed a seat near the door.
Looking around, I observed the people around me. A flight attendant still in uniform, an airline mechanic, a handful of weary travelers, and a middle-aged woman with a beautiful smile and bright blue hair wearing a surplus Army jacket. She sat a few rows away, turned her back to the aisle, and pulled out a sandwich, which she devoured in no time. Then she began talking to herself—not in the distracted, earbuds-in way we’ve all grown used to, but in the way that suggests someone is wrestling with things the rest of us cannot see.
Standing in front of me was one of the weary travelers, a young woman holding a large reusable shopping bag, bracing herself against the grab bars as the “L” lurched along. She, too, had noticed the woman with the blue hair. After a moment’s hesitation, she walked over.
“Do you have enough to eat?” she asked. “I have some extra food. Would you like it?” The woman’s face lit up. She accepted a bag of nuts and a few other items with visible gratitude.
Watching this unfold, I rummaged through my backpack, found a few dollars, and stepped over. “I don’t have any food,” I said, “but I have a little cash. I hope this helps.” Then the flight attendant across the aisle stood up. “This is really good chocolate from my airline,” she said, placing it in the woman’s hand. “I hope you enjoy it.”
The joy among the four of us was palpable. You could almost feel the temperature of the train car shift—an easing, a softening. For a moment, we were no longer strangers sealed off in our own bubbles. We were connected.
This is what Adam Serwer calls “neighborism.” Serwer, a staff writer for The Atlantic, introduced the term in a January 29th article. He defines neighborism as “a commitment to protecting the people around you, no matter who they are or where they came from.” In writing about Minnesota, he argued that when communities are tested, they often defy narratives that paint them as weak or divided. Instead of fracturing, people frequently come together—across differences—to support one another in quiet, resolute, and often nonviolent ways.
We sometimes call this “Midwest Nice.” But it’s more than regional politeness. It’s a kind of civic courage.
Consider what happened recently in Phoenix, Arizona. An Amber Alert was issued for a young girl allegedly abducted from her home. A group of movers noticed a child entering a convenience store who resembled the girl in the alert. They called 911 and then decided to do something about it. They blocked the suspect’s vehicle in the parking lot to prevent it from leaving. Police arrived minutes later. The child was recovered safely. Her abductor was taken into custody without incident. Everyone involved had been a stranger to her only moments before. Just like we were on the Blue Line.
As the flight attendant exited at her stop, she caught my eye—and the eye of the young traveler with the reusable shopping bag. We smiled and nodded at one another, a silent acknowledgment of what had just happened. It had started with something small: one person summoning the courage to approach a stranger and offer kindness.
The world feels frightening right now. Headlines amplify our divisions and our worst instincts. But that train ride reminded me that fear is not the only force at work among us. There is also generosity. There is attentiveness. There is the willingness to step forward instead of shrinking back.
As Fred Rogers famously said, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” Or better yet, maybe the point is not just to look for them—but to become one.
Heather McIlvaine-Newsad is a Professor of Anthropology at Western Illinois University. Her research focuses on collaborative action for sustainability.
The opinions expressed are not necessarily those of the university or TSPR.
Diverse viewpoints are welcomed and encouraged.