In the quiet hum of a crowded train, civil inattention plays out like an unspoken ballet. Stepping onto the Red Line, strangers make fleeting eye contact, carefully balancing the need to acknowledge others’ presence without invading the fragile boundaries of personal space. We sit shoulder to shoulder, yet worlds apart, our possessions tightly grasped – a choreography of glances and gestures that say, “I see you, but I won’t intrude.” It’s an unspoken social contract, born of urban life, a shared understanding that proximity doesn’t always demand connection.
But beneath the surface of this crowded anonymity lurks a subtle horror: the crushing isolation of being unseen in plain sight. We pretend not to notice the insecure selfie-taker in the corner, or the individual whose hands shake as they scroll through their phone, consumed by (what I assume is) anxiety. It’s easier this way, we tell ourselves, to maintain the facade of order and avoid the messiness of engagement. Yet in doing so, we surrender ourselves to the dance of isolation, in a world where everyone looks, but no one sees. We act as complicit figures, employing the same endless cycle of indifference.
This is the paradox of civil inattention—a survival mechanism that alienates us from the very humanity we share. Our ugliness does not stem from how we navigate social spaces, but from the burden of hiding self-interest behind politeness. We are audience members in this delicate performance of benevolent avoidance, haunted by the unspoken question: When does civility become cruelty?
Anisha Saxena is a first-year at DePaul University, majoring in political science. She has a passion for creative writing and enjoys reading murder mystery. Some of her interests including gardening, journaling, and public speaking.