The Calculus of Crossing the Street
(Source: Flickr/J Stimp.)
I’m gearing up for a sprint. It’ll be at least 30 seconds until I’m given the green light to cross, but the bus with 20-minute headways—pretty good for this city outside of rush hour—is fast approaching on the other side of this intersection. I left home with some time to spare, but evidently, the bus is two minutes ahead of schedule and if I don’t catch it, I’ll miss my transfer. If I miss my transfer, I’m screwed.
Fingers extended and arms waving, one leg in front of the other with both knees slightly bent, the ball of my left foot bouncing on the curb, face apologetic and anxious, awaiting an opening to make a run for it: I’ve mastered the choreography of desperation. My entire body is contorted to elicit pity.
If the next motorist is so kind as to slow down, I’ll make it just in time. If the bus driver notices I’m a prospective passenger stuck on the wrong side of the street, maybe they’ll pull in and wait a couple of seconds. I have no right to be upset if neither concedes to my unspoken wishes; they’re doing exactly what’s expected. I’m the one hoping they’ll conspire to allow me to break the law.
At some point, I make a run for it and make the bus. The first two minutes of the ride are spent wheezing while catching my balance, yet relieved I’ll make my transfer.
“Why Would You Be Out in the Street at That Time?”
Should I have misjudged a motorist’s speed or been invisible to another turning, I could’ve ended up face first on the pavement. Being in the wrong, I would’ve elicited little sympathy, much like Michael-Luther Black in Charlotte, North Carolina, whose decision to cross the street was baffling to so many. It wasn’t to me: he needed to catch the bus.
When I talked to Charlotte-based civil engineer Chris Miller about that fatality, he recalled something the friend of the victim shared. It hit me especially hard:
Something the nominator of the crash (a friend of the person fatally struck) did was estimate why someone might cross the street. Normally, I stay away from these sorts of deductions because they can easily inch toward victim blaming, but in this case, understanding why someone would do what they did gave an important insight into the crash site, itself.
He pointed out that the person was trying to catch the bus. This is a bus that comes once an hour. Think about it: you've got 30 seconds to run across six lanes to catch a bus that comes every hour. If you see the bus approaching, you have one opportunity to catch it because if you miss this bus, you’re pretty much screwed. This is the type of risk that’s set up by design.
During the Crash Analysis Studio session that analyzed this crash, photos simulating the motorist’s perspective clearly demonstrated how limited their visibility would be, especially at speeds of 45 mph. A motorist traveling forward in the center lanes—as the one who struck Black was—is flanked on both sides by vehicles awaiting or making turns, clear zones, and unprotected bike lanes. It’s hard to imagine that even the most hawk-eyed motorist would react in time.
Not to mention, Michael-Luther Black reportedly crossed when he didn’t have the signal to do so. To put it bluntly, he jaywalked. The fact that the intersection offers only 30 seconds to cross 106 feet with no median is secondary, and whatever motivated him is irrelevant. By the accounts of officials and locals compelled to opine, Black’s decision was irresponsible and he paid the worst price for it. “Why would you be out in the street at that time?”
I can only imagine that, like me, Black had done this a dozen times before, and calculating his chances was second nature. He probably knew it was “irresponsible” to cross ahead of the green light, but he probably didn’t think twice when he saw the opportunity to make the bus. He didn’t think he wouldn’t make it.
Jaywalking Is a Sign of an Unmet Need
In his book Confessions of a Recovering Engineer, Chuck Marohn lingers on the tragic death of 7-year-old Destiny Gonzalez. She, her mother, and her 8-year-old cousin were struck when crossing State Street in Springfield, Massachusetts, at 5:30 p.m. on December 1, 2014. Where officials saw an irresponsible mother, Marohn saw a design flaw.
Down the grand staircase spilling from the library’s main entrance, she walked directly across the street to the parking lot. There’s no crosswalk there. The nearest one is nearly 300 feet away, a distance that’d compel most to try their luck and simply cross where the stairs meet the street.
She’d probably done this a dozen times and the nearby desire paths evidence that many others routinely do the same. In 2014, she lost her daughter. Years later, more have died in that same spot. Years later, Springfield residents are still asking for a crosswalk. Years later, they’re still jaywalking.
This is from 2023. Notice where the stairs deposit library goers and where the bus stop and parking are located across the street. Take note of where the grass is worn and where it isn’t.
In 2009, the Google Car even happened to catch a child and their caretaker consider crossing the street on camera. Lucky timing, sure, but also a common enough occurrence.
When it isn’t a calculated risk, jaywalking is unremarkably quotidian. When most of us do it, it’s totally forgettable. Where I live now, when my neighbors cross mid-block with their dogs to enter the park, they’re not seeing what they’re doing as reckless. In the public housing complex where I grew up (and where my mom continues to reside), accessing the playground and boardwalk directly across the street (I can call it that now, but it was a definitively a stroad for most of my life) involved first walking over 600 feet in the “wrong” direction. I can assure you that nobody did that. Even now, whenever I visit my mom, we reflexively cross where it makes sense and where it’s convenient.
In New York City, where surprisingly, jaywalking is actually illegal, the city’s Department of Transportation found that over 70% of people jaywalk on a regular basis. I’m surprised the number isn’t higher. In Philadelphia, where I’m writing this, I’m looking out at Fairmount Avenue from a café window. In an hour, I’ve seen at least two dozen people cross between the crosswalks. Maybe it’s because the construction next door is blocking the sidewalk or because the distance between crosswalks is approximately 400 feet. Maybe it’s both or neither. In any case, two dozen people broke the law by crossing where it made sense, rather than in the few places they’re legally permitted to do so. (I’ve actually done the same at this exact location because of the construction.)
My point is that jaywalking is not an active attempt at endangering one’s self or engaging in criminal activity. That may seem obvious. Yet, time and time again, the way jaywalking—as if it were separate from simply walking—is vilified in media, police stations, and comment sections betrays that many misunderstand why someone would make the choice. Never mind that it sometimes doesn’t feel like a choice, at all.
To me, jaywalking signals an unmet need. In Springfield, worn grass at the foot of the Springfield Central Library’s steps surely signal a need that current infrastructure is not meeting. The rising death toll demonstrates what’s at stake. Darting across the street to catch the bus might not signal the need for a new crosswalk, but it speaks to how a bus’s (in)frequency innervates risk-taking. Families crossing mid-block signals a need for more access points and slower speeds, best expressed through physical interventions and not just a bright yellow sign.
When Chris Miller, the civil engineer I quoted earlier, told me how reflecting on the victim’s motivation was actually key to understanding what need was unmet, and ultimately why Michael-Luther Black died, I thought to myself, “of course.” Ignoring the “why” risks miscalculating what led to the crash. Yet, neither police reports nor the public asked why. They asked how. “How did this happen?” And the how was easily answered: because Michael-Luther Black allegedly entered the road when he didn’t have the signal. Because Destiny Gonzalez’s mother jaywalked.
Strong Towns asked why. Moreover, Strong Towns is inspiring others to start asking why. And if we start asking the right questions, we’ll get answers that’ll actually make a difference.
Asia (pronounced “ah-sha”) Mieleszko serves as a Staff Writer for Strong Towns. A dilettante urbanist since adolescence, she's excited to convert a lifetime of ad-hoc volunteerism into a career. Her unconventional background includes directing a Ukrainian folk choir, pioneering synaesthetic performances, photographing festivals, designing websites, teaching, and ghostwriting. She can be found wherever Wi-Fi is reliable, typically along Amtrak's Northeast Corridor.