When a subway platform is a trap
Last Tuesday afternoon at 2, during a heavy rainstorm, the Columbus Circle subway station shut its doors — at least on me. That’s because I depend upon a wheelchair, and, as I sought to exit the station, I discovered all the elevators were out of service.
That was a mere inconvenience to some, but it was a major problem for the woman next to me on the platform, with two small children in a double-wide stroller. And for anyone with a walker or heavy suitcase.
It was a crisis for me. Yet nobody seemed to know the elevator had been shut. Worse, there was no plan to get us out.
I was on my way home from work, headed to pick up my children from the school bus. When I got off the uptown A at 59th St/Columbus Circle, I was met with a handwritten sign and yellow tape informing me that the two elevators I needed to reach the street were kaput.
When I told token booth clerks and maintenance workers I might be stuck, they only made unworkable suggestions: “Try that elevator way down at the other end,” and “Isn’t there one on the downtown platform?”
As each successive option proved mistaken, it became clear my only option was to go up to 125th St or down to Times Square — the nearest stations with elevators. That would mean I’d run a real risk of missing my kids’ bus.
A police officer and maintenance worker — once they acknowledged the problem — could only suggest that I should find “someone” to carry me out.
“What about you two?” I asked. They shrugged, each telling me he would like to but could not, citing risk of injury and unspecified “regulations.”
By now, nearly a half hour had passed. I was exasperated and worried I’d be late. So I decided to call 911 — something I’ve never done before.
When I told the officer I was preparing to do this, he suddenly felt the need to jump into action. Another officer materialized, and together they braced my chair against an escalator step so I could reach Broadway and get to the bus stop just in time.
I’m grateful they helped, even if I found their initial reluctance disappointing. But much more alarming was the lack of understanding — from the MTA personnel and the officers alike — that a major transit hub had become a trap for me and others.
For most New Yorkers, the subway is fairly reliable and efficient. But the MTA has almost completely failed the city’s large disabled community.
A stunning 80% of our 468 subway stations are not accessible, period. And as this incident showed, even for those stations that are, the needs of wheelchair passengers are frequently not understood, let alone seen as important.
So what to do? For starters, the MTA needs to know when an outage makes a station inaccessible for those who need elevators and take immediate action — just as it would if exits or stairways became impassable for the general public.
It needs a protocol to instantly communicate that there is a problem, so riders know before we leave, not when we arrive. And staff need to step up to help disabled passengers reach their destination — or at the very least, get out.
The status quo is disenfranchisement, plain and simple.
The long-term fix, of course, is making many more stations accessible, and maintaining them so they remain so. That will take time, money and work.
But it’s necessary: In complying with the Americans with Disabilities Act — which became law nearly 25 years ago — New York is far behind other large U.S. cities.
Boston and Washington have entirely accessible city rail systems, and Chicago public transit is about three-quarters accessible.
This is not a failure of ability, but of will. The ads blanketing subway cars tell us that the MTA’s many ambitious projects include wireless internet, digital map displays and infrastructure reinforcement after Hurricane Sandy.
Why are the daily struggles of people like me not a priority?
Columbus Circle elevators suddenly shut down