Evangeline Ford
Features Editor
Historically, I have a poor sense of direction. I constantly lose my car in parking lots and I’ve been known to get lost in my own neighborhood. My internal compass desperately needs recalibration. When I came to UC Santa Barbara (UCSB) and began biking everywhere, I realized I would need to pick one central spot to lock up my bike the majority of the time, both to keep track of my bike and have a reliable landmark. After being on campus for about a month, I’ve been able to branch out to some other bike lots, but the one I began with was right behind the Arbor. I fell in love with this spot. It was perfect. It was right in the middle of where all my classes were and right by what seemed to be a bustling and exciting section of campus. I rushed into a committed relationship with the Arbor walkway, which I was walking through more days than not. I loved it. The sunshine, the people, the snacks — all of them greeted me. As these things go, however, the cracks soon began to show.
It all began one afternoon. I was happily looking around at the booths surrounding the walkway, people watching and enjoying the sun when I was quite forcefully taken out of my trance by a request to sign a petition. I was taken aback. I have to get to class! I can’t sign anything! The petition faded out of view but was quickly replaced by a man asking if I’d like to be a part of the cast of a production. God no! Would I like an energy drink? Yes, but what do I have to do for it? The people pleaser in me was quaking with fear. Having to say no to all these very nice looking people as I scuttled off to class was harrowing, to say the least. The next time I walked through, I put my sunglasses and my best game face on, careful not to make eye contact with anyone. I felt like I was walking through New York, my gaze strategically set forward, as to not invite any unnecessary interaction. This was not the community I thought the Arbor area fostered! This is a culture of fear!
The real wake up call came soon after, when I was walking through at a time of day I usually wouldn’t and hit what a kinder writer might call traffic. I would call it a 50-person cage-boxing match. I think that would give me the same amount of discomfort as that bustling thoroughfare did that day. This traffic (or fistfight) was made up of walkers, skateboarders, bikers, (Hey! Not allowed!) scooters, bike walkers, and even a couple runners. It was shocking. It was dense. It was unruly. There was no flow, no rhyme or reason. There was only blind, self centered movement. Each individual in the crowd had a place to be, no doubt more urgently than everyone surrounding them. All seemed to believe that they had discovered the secret sauce of the Arbor walkway — that through a complex pattern of weaving, ducking, and scowling, they could make it through faster than everyone else. In such an influential space of community, individualism was thick in the air. I emerged with a damaged nervous system and significantly less faith in humanity.
We could easily get into the intricacies and explanations of why the Arbor walkway is such a blatant hazard, but I’d much rather talk about what we can do to make it less of one. Large college campuses can be isolating places, and it can be easy to forget that the people walking with you are your peers, classmates, and potential friends. In reality, we are a collective, and if each person on the Arbor walkway started thinking about UCSB as such, we might dodge each other a little less. Next time you walk through a crowded area on campus, take off your game face and smile at someone. Sign that petition. Bump into a friend (hopefully not literally). Even the simplest of gestures, like walking your bike instead of plowing through pedestrians, can change someone’s day — or many days — and leave them, hopefully, unscathed.