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Sunday, February 9, 2025

EDITORIAL: Why Can’t We Return to the Days of Trusting Our Neighbors?

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The porch light⁤ was left on late into the night. Shadows‌ danced in the glow, each one cast by an old friend or acquaintance making their ⁤way ⁣home after a weekend barbecue or evening⁣ game of bridge. ‍The⁣ swinging gate creaked on its hinges, a soothing hymn that announced ⁣an approaching visitor or bid farewell to a​ just-departed friend. It was a scene of ⁢communal ⁤warmth and an⁣ antidote to the chill ​of ⁣isolation that seems to hang ⁢heavy in the air of the town‍ I’ve called home for five decades.

Schenectady, New York; nestled⁤ in the ​loving embrace of the Mohawk and Hudson Rivers, it is a town once renowned for its embrace of neighborly trust. It’s a sentiment ⁢that seems ⁢a ⁣distant memory now. These⁤ days, it feels ⁤as if we’re‌ more⁤ likely to view our neighbors through the pinpricked lens ‍of suspicion than the‌ open ⁣arms of community⁤ fellowship.

But‍ why? As someone who’s seen the span of ‍fifty hard years here, the transformation leaves me puzzled, disgruntled even, and‌ desperately yearning for yesteryears. My ⁤name is Brian McCarthy, and lately, I’ve been wondering ⁤why we don’t or rather can’t⁣ return to the days of ⁣trusting our neighbors.

After ⁣a long day at the General Electric factory where I worked, I’d ‍trudge home and offer a weary wave to the Romano family⁤ gleefully kicking a soccer ball in their front yard. Their ball would inevitably make its way⁢ into my yard,⁣ and I never minded tossing it back with a ‍chuckle.⁢ That was the ⁤way of our neighborhood. We were documents of each ⁢other’s⁢ lives⁢ – witnesses to ⁣changes,‌ triumphant beginnings, and somber endings. But⁢ somewhere along the line, that strong, invisible thread ‌that connected each house unravelled.

Perhaps it’s the‍ evolution of technology and ‌social media that has made us more inclined to ⁤trust the people we⁢ know digitally than those who share our physical spaces. Our neighborhoods have ‌transformed ‌into ghost towns, ⁤where we ⁣only engage with others through ‍apps on our devices as we retreat‌ further into our digital cocoons.

When Rosanne Doyle’s cat, Whiskers, went missing back ⁤in ’77, word spread faster⁤ than you could say “mixer.” By day-end, a search party was in full swing, scouring bushes,⁤ shouting the feline’s name, and causing quite the ⁤neighborhood clamor. In stark contrast, when the Johnson’s terrier, Rufus, disappeared last month, a hastily typed Facebook post served as a replacement for communal search efforts. Technology has redefined our interactions, and regrettably, it seems to have done more harm than good for the communal spirit of Schenectady.

Evidence of this transformation is everywhere. Just last​ week, an unfamiliar car rolled up Walworth Street, prompting an immediate flurry of posts on neighborhood watch apps. An invading stranger? Hardly, ‌it was only Sarah O’Connell returning home in a rented car owing to her vehicle being in the shop.⁢ Such is the state of our town now—an unknown car raises alarms ​while a missing pet engenders little more than a scroll and swipe on social media.

Politics too plays ⁤a role; have‌ we become so entrenched in⁢ red and blue ​that there’s little room for the simple humanity that binds⁤ us all? Election seasons seemed like jovial affairs⁢ in the past, with friendly banter, ⁢heated debates that ⁢were⁢ robust but respectful, and the simple understanding that differing beliefs didn’t equate to enemy status. Now, a mere​ yard sign seems enough to delineate boundaries and breed mistrust.

I’ve seen Schenectady weather some of its absolute worst⁢ days, from the terrifying flood of​ ’66 to the double-digit job losses at General Electric in ’92. But we came through ⁣each⁢ of these,⁣ battered perhaps, but ‍unbroken, because we ⁢relied ⁤on each other. Through the highs and⁣ lows, we were Schenectady—neighbors through thick‌ and thin. That fabric‍ of ‌solidarity ⁢seems worn thin now, and the tatters are ⁢irrefutable.

Yet, I refuse to accept that​ this is our new normal.

Let’s start ⁢small; return a stray ball, offer a small‌ act of kindness, put technology on ​a ⁣leash rather than letting it ⁢dictate our interactions. ‍When a⁢ neighbor’s pet goes astray, let’s not just share the post, let’s step ⁤out and share the search. ‌

If you cut ‍through the hum of‌ technology and the cacophony⁤ of political discord, you can almost hear the echo of⁤ the⁢ Schenectady I remember – a lively town ​with the heart of a village. I have lived and⁣ worked‍ here, gotten married here, raised‍ a ⁤family. Schenectady is my home, and I sincerely believe we can restore it ⁣to the warm, interactive neighborhood ​it once was. We just need to remember ⁤that the embers of community spirit still glow within each of us and it’s high time we blew some life back into them.

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Brian McCarthy
Brian McCarthy
I'm Brian McCarthy! At your service to offer traditionally informed perspective on today's issues. Some call it out of touch; I call it time-honored wisdom.
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