In the end, my research did not result in an objective case study in a purely anthropological sense, but became instead more of a subjective, journalistic reporting on life in a dynamic community in which I became more and more involved.
From the outset, I made it very clear to those living in the tunnels who I was, and what I was aiming at. I had the luck to come in contact with Bernard, a well-educated, reliable, and honest man with a great sense of humor, with whom I felt immediately at ease. Bernard was crucial as my guide, and in the course of my tunnel sojourn we became great friends.
Some people I showed some of my earlier publications as a form of reference letter. Others, for various reasons, were slow to understand the nature of my mission and only realized after months that I was not another homeless man but a reporter. Most people, however, accepted my presence, and the reasons for it, rather quickly. They were used to journalists but had never seen a reporter who would actually sleep in the tunnels and help with the daily—and dirty—chores of collecting cans, getting firewood, and carrying water. At first, some assumed I was crazy, but after a while most treated me with respect. A few people kept their hostile attitude throughout the five months, and closed themselves off to me. These were, however, primarily those heavily affected by substance abuse and mental illness.
The tunnel people portrayed in this book are therefore not representative of the tunnel population in general. At the time of my fieldwork in the mid 1990s, I estimate the total population of all of New York’s tunnel people to have been not a few thousand as some have claimed, but a few hundred at the most. Nor do the tunnel people represent the enormous group of people living on the streets. One of the principal differences is that most tunnel people had spent a considerable amount of time and energy in the creation of their own environment, and in this way showed a level of self-confidence and planning beyond the day-to-day that is nearly absent among street people. Most tunnel people did not even consider themselves to be homeless.
One of the most challenging things was reconstructing people’s pasts and obtaining an accurate picture of how they had slid down into homelessness. For most, it was a sad succession of bad luck, mistakes, stupid choices and dramatic, sometimes embarrassing, events. In America, with its strong focus on social achievements and personal responsibility, failure is extra painful and not a favorite topic of conversation.
Many tunnel people had mental problems to some degree, had repressed or forgotten certain events, and mixed fantasy with wishes and reality as they pleased. Substance abuse often heightened these tendencies. A few people told me a different story every time I spoke with them.
Others loved to play games with the journalists who visited the tunnel. They realized what journalists wanted and performed a well-rehearsed script for their modest fee—ten bucks, a sandwich, a six-pack of beer, or a few packs of cigarettes.
With most people, it took many, many meetings and talks to gradually overcome the suspicion and feelings of shame to eventually win their confidence. I was able to confirm some life stories with official sources, others I double-checked with information from fellow reporters. Some I simply took at their word. With a few, I realized that they would never reveal to me their true life-story. Even so, the way they chose to portray themselves and their invented life stories were in themselves very interesting, so I kept some of these narratives.
In some cases, I had the names and addresses of family members of tunnel people. I did not knock on their door to confirm certain information. My respondents would have interpreted that as an unacceptable intrusion into their privacy and a breach of trust. Apart from ethical considerations, in my view some bits of confirmed data were not worth the sacrifice of a relation of trust.
The tunnel people loved to gossip about each other. Some of the gossip and tall tales were true, but for others I never managed to establish how much was truth and how much was hearsay. Again, I have mentioned these tales because they illustrate the cognitive world of the tunnel people in such a colorful way. By taking notes and working them out as soon as possible, I managed to transcribe most of the interviews and conversations literally. Thus I was able to save some of the vibrant tunnel slang. I gave a small remuneration to most of the tunnel people for their cooperation. In decent journalism you are not supposed to pay your informants, but in anthropology we have the law of mutual reciprocity. It seemed to me plainly impolite not to give the tunnel people some form of compensation for all their efforts.
Sometimes I gave cash, but I preferred to donate small presents like food (even pet food), beer, cigarettes, batteries, candles, clothes, dinner, and, in the end, my bike. Helping them with their work and providing extra labor was another way I could give the tunnel people something in return. I also gave them my photos; some put them on the walls of their dwellings, others turned them into a small album.
Another rule in journalism is that a journalist should not cover their fellow reporters as subjects so as to prevent incestuous meta-journalism. Again, anthropology provides an excuse. The interaction between the media and the homeless is extremely fascinating and worth further research. There were sometimes hilarious situations in the tunnel, especially when journalists bumped into each other. I could not resist the temptation to mention some of these.
In the end, there were two other journalists apart from myself who, during their long-term projects, had managed to establish very close ties with the tunnel people. We had the privilege of functioning not only in parasitic roles, but also in helpful ones. Namely, we served as liaisons between the tunnel people on the one hand, and the organizations and authorities involved in providing alternative housing on the other. We helped the tunnel people with the paperwork, kept them informed about recent developments, and tried to give them courage and confidence whenever necessary to stay in the housing program. Both Margaret Morton and Marc Singer did great work, and continued to do so long after I had left the tunnel. For some people, it actually made the difference. Their shyly expressed words of thanks were heartwarming.
With other people, however, the best meant endeavors had no results. It was sad to see that some of the tunnel dwellers did not realize that eviction was unavoidable; by refusing to join the housing program, they actively choose the streets.
In a study about a social problem of such magnitude as homelessness, the author is supposed to make policy recommendations. I refrained from making any sweeping statements. As a European, I don’t want to tell the Americans what to do. In Europe, the situation of the homeless is completely different and varies even from country to country, so I could not comment on the situation in the Old World. Instead, I gave the stage to other people—case workers, city officials, sociologists, priests, seasoned homeless people—who had intelligent and creative observations and opinions, although I am afraid that some opinions vented by the homeless themselves are not the most politically sensitive ones, In the list of sources, I mention academics of whom I especially want to recommend Christopher Jencks, Peter Rossie, and Martha Burt.
The only intention of my book is to give some insight to the souls of the tunnel people. I hope I have succeeded.