Public transit can suck, and it often does. Common complaints flood online forums, city council meetings and coffee shop conversations alike: the lack of personal space when crammed in with strangers, unpredictable schedules, inconvenient routes and fares that seem to rise without any visible improvements. Add that to the basic discomfort of being in close proximity to people you do not know—some of whom may be loud, rude or visibly struggling—and it is easy to see why many people dream of the privacy and autonomy of a personal vehicle.
These are valid concerns which affect tens of millions of people every day. But this is not an indictment of public transit as a concept—only of inadequate public transit. With proper funding and thoughtful urban planning, public transportation can offer timely, affordable and dignified mobility to a great number of people. But doing so requires a cultural shift, one that many Americans struggle with: the willingness to see themselves as part of a collective.
In the United States, individualism is baked into the national identity. We prize independence, privacy and personal control over our time and space. The car, therefore, becomes a symbol of freedom—the ability to go where you want, when you want, without having to adjust your behavior or schedule for anyone else. That same mindset, however, when applied to public transit, is exactly what hinders the creation of a truly effective public transit system.
We are already exposed to total strangers every day—at grocery stores, in public restrooms and on sidewalks. Many of them are unpredictable. Some make us uncomfortable. But this mingling of strangers is, in fact, a core virtue of public life. When implemented well, public transit becomes a microcosm of society: different people, heading to different locations, all finding the same service useful at the same time. That is a measure of a system that works; one whose ridership is as diverse as the community it serves.
Transit authorities are often pulled in many directions by pressure from specific groups: retirees want more accessible services, commuters want express routes, essential workers need off-peak service and so on. These groups, understandably, advocate for their own needs, and in doing so, often frame the needs of others as secondary. But when planning tries to cater to every group in isolation, the result is a fragmented, inefficient network—one that ends up serving no one particularly well.
Instead, we need to think collectively. Public transit should be designed with the goal of maximizing access to opportunity for the greatest number of people. This means planning around patterns of human movement, not just demographic or political constituencies. It means investing in high-frequency routes that serve dense, mixed-use areas. It means making transit affordable, reliable and pleasant enough that it becomes a viable alternative not just for those who must use it, but for those who could drive but choose not to. I spent this past summer at Vassar, taking the bus downtown to Poughkeepsie on most days. It was not a perfect system—frequently late—but it worked. The summer before, I was in the DMV area (short for the District of Columbia, Maryland and Virginia), where I relied on the Metro, which I consider to be one of the better public transit systems in the United States. There, I saw what a difference a well-funded, reasonably well-run transit system can make: It allowed me to live without a car—with just my bike—and still access everything I needed.
Public transit relies on an implicit social contract. Riders are expected to coexist in a shared space, behaving within reasonable bounds to make the experience decent for everyone. Of course, not everyone is able to uphold their end of the contract. In a country with a poor social safety net, people struggling with mental health or homelessness often end up using transit systems as shelters of last resort. Their presence can make other riders uncomfortable, but the real discomfort should come from knowing that these people have nowhere else to go.
Ignoring them or dismissing them as “problems” only deepens the alienation and inequality that makes public transit seem undesirable in the first place. If we want better public spaces, including transit, we must invest not just in infrastructure but in people. That includes mental health services, housing and addiction support.
For myself and many others, the environmental stakes are of deep concern. Transportation accounts for more than a fifth of the world’s greenhouse gas emissions. Private car ownership, while convenient, is not sustainable—especially as urban populations grow and the climate crisis intensifies. For this reason, I have no intention of buying a car, even if I could afford one. I want to be part of a system that works for everyone, not just for me.
Since the 1960s, the percentage of American workers who commute via public transit has declined from 12.1 percent to around five percent, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. Much of this is due to the postwar investment in the Interstate Highway System, which prioritized suburban expansion and car dependency over urban density and transit connectivity. The consequences have disproportionately harmed Black, Hispanic and low-income urban residents, who are three to six times more likely to rely on public transit than white residents and high-income residents, according to a study from Demos.
So yes, public transit can suck—but it does not have to. When we stop thinking like individuals and start thinking like a collective, we can demand systems that serve the public good—not just deliver record profits to corporate profiteers. Public transit should not be a last resort for those who cannot afford a car; it should be a first choice for anyone who values a more sustainable, equitable and connected society.