In conversation: Daniel Troia in search of kindness in a fractured America

Daniel Troia, disillusioned, hopeless -- and perhaps a little bored - decided to bike from California to New York, from coast to coast, on a desperate last attempt at connection. Sick of watching big news channels regurgitate much of the same talking points - how divided the people are, how the culture has become irredeemably laden with hatred and political fragmentation, the misery of it all -- Troia bikes across the US with nothing but a bike, camping gear, and a sign. He does this by relying on the help of others, on the what might seem -- at first -- delusional hope of connecting with the people the political landscape actively tried to convince him to distrust. We watch Troia in We Are All in This Together, a self-made documentary that offers a touchingly humane account of culture via hidden camera glasses, interact with people from wildly different backgrounds and with compelling (often tragic) stories of their own, as he bikes 4.690,0 km and back in search of kindness. 

LY: The documentary starts with a declaration, what your mission is - and you say you want to understand human connection, are we connected at all? What do you mean by connection here - do you mean a sense of fraternity, of shared existence, of looking out for one another...? 

DT: Yeah... In the US, in the last 10 years, it’s like the division has really just amped up, and you can feel it so much more. And you know, part of me believes that news stations and politicians, they’re spraying division and hate because they make a profit from it or they’re trying to get elected. News stations, especially in the US, they make money off the advertisements, and they try to get people to watch the news -- so what they do is, they find the worst stories they can find, and they put those first to get your attention -- it just causes so much division. And I was really starting to feel that and feel angry, and I wanted to harness that anger and create something positive... this was in some way a protest saying, “We’re not nearly as divided as you try to make it seem, and I’m going to prove it”. 

LY: It’s interesting, because by saying the country is so divided, they make it come true... 

DT: Exactly, they control the narrative. So, I wanted to prove them wrong; show them that there’s more that brings us together than what separates us. As we spoke earlier, when you’re traveling on a bicycle you’re really out in communities - you really get to know people because you attract curiosity with your bike. So, I thought, if I went on a bicycle ride, that would connect me with people; and then I thought, if I didn’t bring any food or money with me, that would give me the opportunity to witness compassion and kindness from people. 

LY: And this was your first time doing a bike tour? 

DT: No, second, but first time without any money. Because again I thought, if I have a sign that says “Biking across country. Ran out of food. Anything helps.” I thought, people will approach me, and hopefully, if I’m fortunate to receive help, I could ask them: do you have a story about when somebody helped you when you really needed it? And again, the idea was, to show, connection kindness compassion, as a protest against the hate and division that politicians and news stations were spreading. 

LY: How did you find being alone for an extended period of time? Was it difficult? 

DT: You know it’s interesting because when I left, when I was more clean-cut - I left without a beard, and I was fresh physically and mentally - I didn’t feel lonely. And honestly, I received a good amount of help from people...but as time went on, my beard started to grow longer, and I started getting treated differently. And it wasn’t just the beard, but also the lifestyle I was living. I was trying to find places to sleep, to bathe, trying to get enough food and money to keep going. And then there were some traumatic experiences that happened as far as sleeping in dangerous places... the warehouse, you know. After that, I was putting out a different energy; I was pushing people away. I could’ve shaved, and I would’ve been treated differently. But if I wasn’t a white man, if I was black, or even a woman, this wouldn’t have been the same experience. There were certain privileges I knew I had going into this that I used to my advantage. 

LY: It’s interesting that you say that because I wonder, race and gender aside, do you think you would’ve received the same sort of reception if it wasn’t for being able to talk a certain way (because of your level of education, for instance), communicate a certain way, etc.? Do you think you proved the point you set out to prove? 

DT: That’s a great point. Touching on that again, towards the end I was putting out a different energy, and when I needed help the most, I wasn’t receiving it. If I had some kind of mental illness or tons of trauma, I mean people who are living on the street, it’s so much more difficult for them. 

LY: That was also really interesting to me - this willingness to help a traveler and not necessarily a homeless person. 

DT: Exactly. My sign was unique and interesting - it said “Biking across country”. If it had said “hungry” I wouldn’t have received as much help. That’s the truth. 

LY: Also interesting was the fact that most people that helped you had either gone through something or were at a place where they needed help themselves - or even just religious. 

DT: That was definitely a common theme. The majority of people that helped me had been through challenging times in their own life, and sometimes, if I was fortunate to receive help, if it was someone who had more money, usually they didn’t give me the time to talk. But more so than money or food, it seemed that people who experienced adversity in their lives, they saw me as a person, and they acknowledged me as a person, and then gave me a chance to talk to them. You know maybe the others would give me 5 dollars and think “I did my good deed for the day, but I don’t want to talk to you”. But the connection was much more important to me.

LY: I want to harp on the religious thing just for a bit now. It’s interesting how, often, religious and communist values intersect: sharing, a sense of community and family. How did you deal with people telling you they were helping you because of God, or some sort of higher plan for them, or because it was their duty as someone religious? 

DT: That’s something that I did notice for sure. I was in Dayton, Ohio, and there was this homeless man - his name was Shorty - and he gave me a couple of dollars. And I asked him, “Hey man! Do you have a story about when somebody helped you?” And he said, “I’m currently homeless, I’m currently jobless, but God got me”. That’s a great example of someone relying on religion to keep them going; thinking there’s a bigger plan for your life. He said, “throughout ups and downs, you got to keep on smiling and help a brother out”. This experience revealed a lot of my judgments of people: whether it was religious, the way people dressed or spoke. I was in a very conservative part of Kansas - I don’t agree with them politically of course - and this man with a big truck and big beard, chewing tobacco, he’s spitting, and he walks up to me. And I think “Oh no, this looks like trouble.” And he asks me, “did that man just give you some money?” I said yes and he started to tear up and said, “That makes my heart so warm, to see that he helped you out”. He was just this emotional man who was moved by this man helping me out. 

LY: Was it discouraging, or sad, seeing the state of the country, how people are living across the country? The food waste? 

DT: As far as sad stands out to me - this isn’t in the film because I didn’t get to film it - but the thing I was the most discouraged about was the racism in America. There was a black man who was biking from New York to California, so the opposite way. We were sharing stories, and he asked me: “Where are you sleeping most nights”? And I said most nights I sleep in baseball fields, and he asked: “The cops don’t bother you?” I answered no, they just told me to leave early in the morning, and he said he was sleeping at a campground, where you’re supposed to sleep, and the cops still got called on him. And it’s hearing stories like that that makes me sad... As for food waste, I read a book on dumpster diving, and I knew that was going to be an option, but I had no idea there was going to be that much food being thrown away; you saw in the film, dumpsters full. It was shocking and so revealing, how in the US, everyone is scared about getting sued, so they don’t want to risk anything and just throw everything away. I was reading this book, and 30% of food that gets produced, is thrown away, in the US. 

LY: Two of my favorite people that you ran into were Larry, and Mama Starfish. People are unbeatably defeated by this idea that one can’t possibly change much, this helplessness in the face of a late capitalist society that treats human lives as if they are secondary or disposable. But this idea that one person can make a difference both individualizes and gives hope, this idea of radical hope, what’s your take on it? 

DT: Larry lived in a specific part of Montana where a lot of people travel by bike, and he hosted 500 travelers. I saw a guestbook - 500! He built these bicycle camps to encourage people to travel by bicycle and stay and meet them, saying that then we have a better understanding of each other’s cultures, and you have less judgment. And he thinks that would make the world a better and safer place by doing that. He believes a different world is possible, just one person at a time. It’s overwhelming when we think about all the issues in the world... you know, can I solve the climate problem? Poverty? But with Mama Starfish, her whole message was “let’s work on an individual level”. I witnessed firsthand people like Gary, or Tom, or Mama Starfish, they showed me as an individual you can change somebody’s life. Sometimes it’s just one person in our lives who believes in us, that shows up for us, that can change our lives. On an individual level is where it starts. I think it’s more sustainable that way. 

LY: Has this experience influenced the way you live now? Your day-to-day? 

DT: Absolutely, for the last year I’ve been living in a tent in the woods. I don’t live in traditional housing anymore. Housing is really difficult in California, and in some ways, I don’t want to take away from someone who needs the housing more. So, I’ve chosen to live in the woods, just a tent and some water. Another thing is the day-to-day interactions; I wasn’t aware of how important it is just to feel like you exist, to be seen and acknowledged as a human being. As I was getting harassed more and getting stuff thrown at me, that really made me think about how important it is to be present with someone and let them know that you see them. If I see an opportunity to check in on someone, I just step in, and I wouldn’t do that before. If I see someone with a sign, I still feel uncomfortable around it, but now, even if I don’t have anything to give, I just let them know that I see them: I smile and say have a good day! 

Proceeds from screenings of the We Are All in This Together go to the Regenboog Groep and sometimes, to Tony, one of the homeless men Troia met on the road. The documentary will be available on Apple TV in the Netherlands in November. All proceeds go towards raising money for shelters.