In the heart of New York City, where the hustle and bustle of urban life often drowns out the stories of those working in the shadows, a somber procession unfolded after a brass band's last notes faded away. Sergio Solano, flanked by two fellow food delivery workers, silently guided a white bicycle toward an overpass overlooking the iconic United Nations headquarters. This poignant journey was a ritual they had sadly grown accustomed to—a tribute to a fallen compañero named Félix Patricio Teófilo.
In a city where delivering food can be a perilous occupation, the death of Teófilo was a stark reminder of the dangers they face daily. Whether navigating chaotic streets, contending with reckless drivers, or confronting the constant threat of accidents and crime, these unsung heroes traverse a treacherous path. Teófilo's life came to an end near the intersection of 47th Street and First Avenue, a fact memorialized by a spray-painted bicycle, now chained to the cold metal railing.
Sergio Solano, at 39 years old, found himself unexpectedly leading a mournful march through the drizzle—a ritual he never imagined organizing. The evening's purpose was clear: to shine a light on lives that had been relegated to the shadows. "We never thought we would be organizing vigils. That was never our objective," Solano lamented.
Just over three years ago, Solano, along with fellow delivery workers and relatives, initiated "El Diario de Los Deliveryboys en La Gran Manzana," translating to "The Journal of the Deliveryboys in the Big Apple." Initially conceived as a practical and informative Facebook page, it swiftly transformed into an online support network. It became a space where Spanish-speaking immigrants could share their experiences, from reporting bicycle thefts and traffic accidents to detailing discriminatory encounters.
However, the page took an unexpected turn. It evolved into a chronicle of a more profound narrative—the regular loss of compañeros on the job. Since its inception in late 2020, over 40 delivery workers have lost their lives, according to Solano's latest count. Each death becomes a painful chapter in a story that transcends the practicalities of their work.
While, for a brief moment, food delivery workers were hailed as heroes during the COVID-19 pandemic, providing a lifeline for those confined indoors, their sacrifice is often forgotten. The delivery apps that once offered a lifeline for those who faced job loss or struggled with immigration status are no longer enough to shield them from the harsh realities of their profession.
In this narrative, the white bicycle becomes more than a memorial; it becomes a symbol of resilience and a call to recognize the sacrifices of those who pedal through the chaos of New York City, delivering sustenance and enduring the inherent risks that come with the job. As the city continues its relentless pace, Sergio Solano and his fellow delivery workers persist in their mission—to ensure that the lives of these overlooked heroes are not merely a fleeting memory but an enduring legacy.
Amidst the relentless lurch of the pandemic, the hazards embedded in the high-demand world of food delivery became glaringly apparent. Activists, recognizing the urgent need for change, rallied together to form unions, advocating for improved pay and enhanced protections—a battle that extended well into 2023. Responding to mounting pressure, the city took a crucial step by instituting a higher minimum wage for app-based delivery workers, commencing at approximately $18 per hour in October. Yet, for many of these dedicated workers, the risks extend far beyond mere wages.
The "Deliveryboys" page, a digital sanctuary for those navigating the unpredictable streets of New York City on bicycles, now serves as a poignant memorial adorned with a stream of photos, each bearing the names and faces of the fallen. The majority of these unsung heroes hail from Mexico or Guatemala, forming a resilient cavalry of an estimated 65,000 food delivery workers in the city. However, this occupation, once celebrated for its essential role during the pandemic, has transformed into one of the deadliest.
A chilling report published by the city in November 2022 underscored the grim reality: the fatality rate among non-car-using food delivery workers stood at a staggering 36 deaths per 100,000 from January 2021 to June 2022. This surpasses the mortality rate in construction, historically considered the deadliest industry, with seven deaths per 100,000 workers. Funerals, vigils, death anniversaries, and requiems have become somber fixtures, etched into the community's collective memory by the self-titled journal, "El Diario de Los Deliveryboys en La Gran Manzana.
Tragically, the deaths documented on the page are not confined solely to work-related incidents. Some have met untimely fates in traffic accidents, while others, like Francisco Villalva, fell victim to unthinkable violence. In March 2021, Villalva, a 29-year-old delivery worker from Xalpatlahuac, Guerrero, was fatally shot by an assailant who coveted his bicycle. The chilling event unfolded at a park near 108th Street and Third Avenue in Manhattan, marking not only the loss of a life but the shattering of a community.
The "Deliveryboys" page has become more than a platform for remembrance; it has evolved into a rallying cry, a call for justice that resonates beyond the digital realm. Videos streamed live from the sites of these tragedies draw attention, garnering more than 132,000 views in the case of Villalva. César Solano, Sergio Solano's nephew and a page administrator, conveyed the devastating news in Spanish, adopting the cadence of a seasoned television reporter. As the follower count of the "Deliveryboys" page swells from hundreds to thousands, it wields newfound mobilizing power.
For almost a month, we did protests. We did vigils upon vigils upon vigils. People would come offering to donate food or provide live music. Every day that we did something, a ton of people would come," shared Sergio Solano. In the face of adversity, these delivery warriors, bound by tragedy, continue to pedal forward—fighting not only for their own safety but for the recognition and justice their fallen compañeros deserve.
The tragic death of Francisco Villalva, a delivery worker in the heart of New York City, ignited a collective response within the close-knit community of compañeros. Pausing their delivery apps, they gathered for events that transcended mere memorials, marking a shared commitment to remember and celebrate the life of their fallen friend. A Catholic priest led solemn prayers, families and friends arranged for comforting food, and a group of musicians composed a heartfelt corrido—a Mexican folk ballad narrating Villalva's journey in the bustling streets of New York, concluding with his unsettling end.
Villalva's killer, identified as Douglas Young, faced justice as he was eventually convicted of murder. In a courtroom decision that echoed the gravity of the crime, Young, a 41-year-old man from Queens, was sentenced to serve 41 years to life in state prison. The page, "El Diario de Los Deliveryboys en La Gran Manzana," with its impressive following of 51,000, has played a pivotal role in ensuring that each fallen compañero receives a dignified remembrance. This practice has become almost ritualistic, reminiscent of the farewells offered to police officers who have fallen in the line of duty.
The burden of organizing such poignant events often falls on the shoulders of the grieving loved ones. However, the page, under the leadership of Sergio Solano, acts as a unifying force, bringing the community together. At Félix Patricio's vigil, César Solano livestreamed a sidewalk performance by a band, capturing a powerful moment of collective grief. Despite a limited timeframe imposed by police officers responding to a noise complaint, dozens in attendance savored the tributes, indulging in traditional Mexican fare and embracing the melancholy melodies, including a folksy interpretation of Frédéric Chopin's "Marche Funèbre.
The page's comprehensive posts, while some may perceive them as invasive, serve a higher purpose according to Sergio Solano. The focus on tributes aims to offer the fallen delivery workers "a proper final goodbye" and provides loved ones with the opportunity to grieve, even from a distance. As he expressed in Spanish, "If they loved and adored him back home, we show that he was loved and adored here as well.
The page's impact extends beyond digital realms. In some instances, it carries live video coverage of a compañero's body arriving in their pueblo. Villalva's return, for instance, was broadcast in a livestream—a poignant moment connecting the urban tragedy to the rural roots of those who embarked on this perilous journey in search of a better life. The legacy of these fallen heroes lives on through the shared grief and the determination of the community to ensure that their stories are not forgotten.
In the heat of last summer, tragedy struck once again as the vibrant city streets claimed another life—Eduardo Valencia, a 28-year-old delivery worker, became the focal point of the poignant narrative on the Deliveryboys page. Hailing from Guerrero, Valencia had ventured to the city as a teenager, driven by the dream of amassing enough to secure a comfortable life in his hometown. His vision, shared by many of his compañeros, was to build a home, return to Mexico, and bid farewell to the relentless hustle of New York.
However, fate had other plans, and Valencia's journey back to Guerrero was not one of triumph but of sorrow, his return marked by a coffin. Guadalupe Nepomuceno, his mother residing in New York City, could not physically attend her son's burial; her final goodbye played out on a small digital screen, a heartbreaking farewell transmitted across more than 2,000 miles.
These efforts, documented on the Deliveryboys page, stand as a poignant recognition for individuals often overlooked by society. According to Solano, "In the eyes of society, they don’t exist. They start to exist when you start to give them visibility." As the vibrant rhythms of city life gradually revert to pre-pandemic patterns, food delivery workers find themselves fading into the background. In response, Solano and his compañeros, symbolic custodians of these unsung heroes, continue their mission.
The planting of a "ghost bicycle" at the site of a compañero's tragic demise serves as both a tribute and a stark reminder of the contributions made by deliveryboys and the ultimate sacrifices some endure. With the memorial for Félix Patricio securely in place, Solano, accompanied by two compañeros, adorned their helmets, mounted their bicycles, and cautiously approached the intersection. Casting wary glances in both directions for passing cars, the trio embarked on their journey into the bustling cityscape, the clock striking 7:40 p.m. on a Monday—a solemn reminder that, despite the tragedies, the resilient wheels of this essential service continue to turn. Time to get to work.
As the cityscape regains its familiar pulse, the stories etched on the Deliveryboys page linger as testaments to the unspoken struggles and final journeys of New York City's delivery warriors. Eduardo Valencia's tragic tale, shared alongside those of Félix Patricio and Francisco Villalva, serves as a poignant reminder of the silent sacrifices made by these unsung heroes.
In a city where their existence often goes unnoticed, Sergio Solano and his compañeros have become custodians of memories, planting "ghost bicycles" at the intersections where their compañeros met untimely fates. These memorials not only honor the fallen but also illuminate the profound contributions made by deliveryboys and the steep price some pay for their service.
The efforts documented on the Deliveryboys page extend beyond digital remembrance; they represent a collective voice proclaiming that these lives, often dismissed by society, are significant and deserving of visibility. As the page's following grows, reaching 51,000, it becomes a platform not only for mourning but for advocacy, ensuring that each fallen compañero receives a dignified farewell.
Yet, as city life resumes its pre-pandemic rhythms, the echoes of resilience persist. Solano and his compañeros, donning helmets and mounting bicycles, continue their journeys through the bustling streets. In this final act, as they cautiously navigate intersections, the clock ticking towards 7:40 p.m., a poignant message reverberates—time to get to work. Despite the tragedies, the indomitable spirit of these delivery heroes propels them forward, ensuring that their unseen stories remain eternally woven into the fabric of the city they tirelessly serve.