2 Because I Don’t Know You, But I Do Rebecca Fisher, Sociology The subway hums by me—I look over and there you stand—I don’t know you, but I do. I get on the train and look back as you hold your little girl’s hand. She looks at you as you lead her to the subway car. You are dressed in your uniform; do you clean at the hotel? Where does your little girl stay? Every day at the subway many people congregate, and I wonder…what research sociologists would conduct to assure reliability of the results taken from this group. What makes these people sense it is their turn to get off the subway as they read their book or drift off to sleep? Would it be as simple as non-material culture? How do these same people sense the overpowering man will let everyone ahead of him, or the small, dainty woman will dominate the sliding doors out? How many people have a destination? Would sociologists have to develop an operational definition to define the steps it takes to objectively measure it? How many times will the cars jolt forward before the man standing at the pole every day, holding tightly, decides it’s enough and sits down next to the elderly lady who looks over and smiles knowingly. How many people have met here? How many have encountered hurt or violence? Would these questions be answered by field research, stepping out and observing those you are so familiar with but don’t know? As I watch those around me, the windows are telling a story of people; people looking at their phones, people waiting, people talking, and will these people be here again? Will they pass on, get their big break, move away, or decide it’s enough and never come back? As I depart the subway, I reflect on how our culture brings us together, how we learn from each other. How every day we communicate in a silent way. Because I don’t know you, but I do.
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