In the Harlem Park neighborhood of Baltimore, a restaurant worker rises at daybreak to commute to work. Located just two miles northwest of Inner Harbor, where the tourism business employs many local residents, the commute on public transportation remains an unpredictable one. Buses that run every 10 to 15 minutes are on-schedule only 65% percent of the time and no-shows are all too common. For employees who rely on public transportation the only options are to hope that the bus makes it on time, face the consequences of being late to work, or spend an hour and a half’s wages for an Uber or Lyft.
On the other side of town in East Baltimore, a medical student at Johns Hopkins University is preparing a trip to Inner Harbor as well. The Charm City Circulator (CCC), a new bus service that began in 2010 to relieve downtown traffic congestion, conveniently offers free rides between the East Baltimore campus and Inner Harbor. CCC buses are not entirely reliable either, but more so than MTA buses and are entirely free of charge. After waiting impatiently at the stop for a few minutes, the student contemplates ditching the wait and walking a few blocks to the metro station at the center of campus. In 1995, Baltimore’s single metro line was extended 8,000 feet at the price of $321 million to connect Johns Hopkins with the rest of the system. There is little doubt that the university’s political clout helped secure federal funding for the project.
The scenarios above illustrate very different experiences with transportation that residents of Baltimore and other cities across the country face. When politicians and planners talk about improving transportation, we must ask, transportation for whom? By targeting downtown and tourist-heavy areas of the city, the Charm City Circulator offers free rides in neighborhoods with median household incomes around $100,000. Meanwhile, Maryland Transit Authority (MTA) buses charge riders throughout the rest of the city but are plagued by low ridership and underfunding. And what about widening highways to relieve traffic congestion? Wouldn’t that benefit everybody? In Baltimore, 30% of residents lack reliable car access and highway construction has historically bulldozed inner-city neighborhoods to provide faster access between the suburbs and downtown.
It is time our streets and transportation policies reflect the dynamic and marginalized ways people navigate around urban spaces. Freeways and car infrastructure have become organizational elements in the city. Yet, transit-dependent populations find no use for them except as catalysts for disruption and displacement (Lost in the Transit Desert, pg. 25). All the while, public transportation facilities are falling in disrepair and transit agencies face increasing odds of staying afloat post-COVID.
Access to reliable transportation is crucial for healthy living and economic mobility. For individuals without personal vehicles, public and non-motorized forms of transportation (walking and biking) define the services and activities they can participate in. As suggested by the hypothetical situation at the beginning of this article, the ability to choose between alternative transportation modes is equally important. Imagine being disqualified for a promotion at work because you were late a few times due to no-show buses. Or being unable to take a job that is beyond the reach of existing transit routes. Urban sociologists and geographers define “social exclusion” as a process in which transit-dependent populations cannot access quality employment and services due to a lack of transit infrastructure.
How do we begin correcting the mistakes made in transportation toward minority and poor communities? The process begins on a personal level of reflecting on our biases toward users of public transportation. In the 1960s, efforts to expand public transit in Baltimore were met with heavy resistance from suburban residents. They saw the expansion of transit routes into their neighborhoods as potential sources of crime. Light rail trains were given the nickname “loot rail” by residents that believed “undesirable elements” from the inner city would use these trains to commit crimes in the suburbs before quickly escaping home.
Even today, misconceptions about crime and public transportation prevent expansions in service to take place. In Houston in 2017, suburban residents packed a meeting held by the local metropolitan transit authority to voice similar concerns. In situations like these, the fears of a few resourced elites prevent projects that would benefit a larger working-class population because of their knowledge on how to influence the process (while certain crimes do increase with poverty rates, and transit primarily serves low-income and communities of color, blanket statements that these services inherently makes neighborhoods less safe are speculative). Ironically, crimes involving cars—theft, vandalism, and road-rage violence—are more common than crimes associated with public transportation.
The narrative surrounding public transportation must be rewritten as a public good that generates economic revenue, reduces carbon emissions, and enhances personal opportunity.
Once we agree that public transportation is a collective good that poses minimal, if any, inconvenience to some, we need to turn beliefs into action. One strategy that urbanists and everyday citizens employ to improve transportation within their communities is known as DIY urbanism. Also known as tactical, or “guerilla” urbanism, residents can take matters into their own hands by building street furniture at a bus stop or painting their own crosswalk or bike lane. This might seem unfeasible and slightly precarious but there are significant resources by non-profit organizations to make this possible.
DIY Urbanism has arisen from the failure of budget-strapped governments to make much-needed change at the neighborhood or block level. Regardless, planners and municipalities are often receptive and willing to work with to residents formalize these changes. The construction or painting of a bench is a minimal intervention that improves and humanizes the experience of riding public transit astronomically.
Beyond the neighborhood level however, transportation improvements inherently require political involvement and cooperation. A new bus route requires funding and a good bit of traffic analysis to determine the optimal route. The good news is, in town halls and public meetings across the country, urban planners want to hear from residents on how to design and improve transportation within communities. Historically, these events are attended by the same few outspoken citizens or random community member that stumble upon a public meeting in the library. Given that many transit riders cannot participate in public meetings due to space-time constraints, we must all become advocates for more equitable mobility. This includes holding public officials accountable for decisions adversely affecting marginalized mobility.
In 2015, Maryland Governor Larry Hogan struck down funding for a new metro line in Baltimore that would have served as a crucial connection between the city’s east-west portions, including the Harlem Park neighborhood. Hogan refused $900 million in federal funding that had already been committed to the project. Former Maryland Senator Barbara Mikulski stated at the time, “I never thought, ever, in my closing year in the US Senate, I would see a letter saying the Baltimore region rejects $900m in federal investment.” Hogan felt as though the benefits of the project did not outweigh the costs to taxpayers. State funds allocated to the project—totaling $736 million—were instead reallocated for road improvements outside of city limits.
Hogan’s decision to divest funding from Baltimore’s Red Line to road improvements in the Washington DC suburbs brings us back to the question about whose transportation we choose to fund. A transportation economist cited in a legal complaint estimated that the switch from a subway line to the new highways initiative cost African Americans $19m in user benefits by 2030, while white Maryland residents stood to gain more than $35m in user benefits in the same period. From my own geospatial analysis, the Red Line would have situated high-frequency transit within half a mile to approximately 55,000 African Americans, or 15% of Baltimore’s Black population.
While sociologists often study the effects of residential segregation on communities of color, more research could explore how municipal governments weaponize transportation to maintain racial and economic hierarchies. For the time being, or until we all use our platform to get involved in the transportation planning process, the restaurant worker will continue rising early and praying that the bus makes it on time.