just not cricket

If Metrorail, South Africa's commuter train operator, is trying to win friends and gain passengers, they are not making much headway. An incident today provided a brilliant illustration of why they are failing.

I ride the train to work every day, and there are often things that go wrong with the trains. Sometimes - like when signal cables are stolen to be sold for scrap - events are beyond Metrorail's control. But the mark of a winning organisation is effective communication to help everyone through the bad patches. I would generally give Metrorail a rating of about 2 out of 10 for their passenger communication strategy. They do try to let us know when trains are delayed or cancelled; sadly, they are not very successful. But today they've just hit zero for passenger relations. Here's what happened on the 18:14 train from Cape Town to Simonstown this evening.

Leaving Cape Town Station, the third Metro Plus carriage was comfortably full, but not crowded. As we pulled into Newlands Station there was a large crowd of men in suits and ties, drinking beer. It seemed a bit odd - and probably illegal - for them to be drinking on the platform, but at first this struck me as a mere curiosity, considering that the station serves the Newlands cricket ground (no, I will not refer to it as "Sahara Park") and the train is convenient for spectators. Clearly, however, these men were not spectators, and their large number suggested a gathering of some signifcance.

Things started to get interesting when the carriage doors opened and a woman entered, asking the passengers to please get out and move to the next carriage. Nobody moved. The woman was behaving as if this was a perfectly normal request, but she wasn't getting much response. We were all too tired at the end of a long week.

So she raised the stakes. "These are International People," she said, apparently referring to the beer-drinking suits, "and they need this carriage."

A few people started shuffling towards the doors, but we were all a little confused after a hard day at work. They need our carriage? What are they going to do with it? Aren't they going to offer us drinks? I was thinking back to a few months ago, when Biggsy's Restaurant Carriage was still operating and I could enjoy a civilised glass of wine on my way home.

She tried again. "We need to clear the carriage; it was supposed to be reserved. Please can you all move along?" Oh, I see. These are Very Important People waiting to get on, and we are inconveniencing them. The Friday fog was starting to clear, and most of the passengers, compliant South Africans that we are, were getting out, and the suits were boarding.

I was still in two minds. Whether or not the carriage was meant to be reserved, it definitely was not. I had a right to stay where I was. But if these were Very Important International Visitors, would it not be a Good Thing to be hospitable and show them that we are Shiny Happy People who would love them to return to Sunny South Africa with their families and friends and euros?

But then the train whistle blew, and instinct took over. I made a dash for the next carriage.

To my utter amazement, the woman who had asked us to leave the first carriage was now in this one, asking us to move on to the next one. I stared at her in disbelief. Had I not already gone above and beyond the call of duty? Who are these people that we should be shunted around like sheep so that they could enjoy their beer-tinted tour of the False Bay coast? I turned from the woman's Metrorail label to look more closely at the badges on the suits.

They read, "Police Cricket". OK, these must be the players in the International Police Cricket Festival, on their way to Simon's Town Naval Base for the closing function of their two-week tour. Good for them. That makes me feel better. Not.

Ms Metrorail was pleading again. "Can you work with me?" What does that mean, work with me? That I should swallow my pride and acquiesce to the greater needs of international cricketers? That I should be stared down by a carriageful of policemen? Do we have any dignity, we public transport users? I stood my ground.

A man standing next to me was getting agitated. He was holding his train ticket, shaking it in Ms Metrorail's face. "I paid for this ticket," he was shouting. "I have every right to be here, and I am not moving again." She turned away, resigning herself to a partly cleared carriage, and tended to her brood like an agitated mother hen. "Are you alright?" she asked her charges. "Is everything OK?"

Of course it's not alright. It's a bloody disgrace. I tossed an expletive at a bemused cricketer as I jumped off at the next station. He didn't catch it.

[Update on 10 Nov 2007: Here's a thought from WorldChanging: transit riders' unions. Just imagine if those of us on that 18:14 train on Friday had an organisation representing our interests and providing resources for passengers. That could not only ensure that riders were treated with respect and equity, but could also help Metrorail understand passenger needs and how best to respond to them.]