They promised jobs. We got asthma. Diesel routes, sick lungs, and silence from the state. July is Minority Mental Health Awareness Month. For too many communities of color, the source of daily stress isn’t just racism or poverty—it’s the air. You can track asthma rates, premature births, and cancer just by following the freight lines. This series breaks down how transportation and infrastructure impact mental health in underserved communities.  Freight moves the economy—but it also moves through people’s lungs. In cities and towns across America, truck routes, rail lines, and warehouse corridors have been carved directly through Black, Latino, and Indigenous neighborhoods. This wasn’t accidental. It was designed. The result? Higher rates of asthma, cancer, birth complications, and cardiovascular disease. Children grow up wheezing. Elders die young. Entire families live surrounded by fumes. When Freight Comes to Your Front Door Ports, intermodal yards, and distribution cent...

You missed a fare. They called the cops. You crossed a state line. They pulled you over. Riding or driving while Black shouldn’t be a crime. July is Minority Mental Health Awareness Month. For many people, a fare check or transit stop is a minor inconvenience. But for Black and Brown riders, it can trigger panic, humiliation, or even arrest. Across America, transit systems are quietly criminalizing poverty—and disproportionately policing the people least able to absorb the cost. This series breaks down how transportation impacts mental health and what real equity means for underserved communities.  Fare enforcement should be about public service, not punishment. But across the country, transit agencies have adopted aggressive, militarized fare collection practices that disproportionately target Black and Latino riders. Armed fare patrols, surprise inspections, and surveillance technology have turned buses and trains into hostile zones for many riders. Riders are stopped, quest...

No benches. No ramps. No way through. This isn’t bad planning—it’s systemic neglect. July is Minority Mental Health Awareness Month. And for too many, simply getting down the block is a mental and physical battle. Cracked sidewalks, missing curb cuts, and unreachable ramps are not design flaws—they're signals of systemic disregard. This series breaks down how transportation and infrastructure shape mental health, especially for underserved groups like disabled people, BIPOC communities, and frontline workers.  Accessibility isn’t a favor. It’s a right. Urban design isn't neutral. It tells you who is welcome, who is expected, and who is ignored. In many neighborhoods of color, especially where disabled people live or work, that message is clear: you weren’t considered. Poorly maintained sidewalks, bus stops with no shade, crosswalks timed for the able-bodied—these aren’t just inconveniences. They’re barriers. And for BIPOC disabled residents, the message is loud: this cit...

July is Minority Mental Health Awareness Month. For millions of Americans, transportation is more than a way to get around—it’s a lifeline to work, school, healthcare, and community. But in too many BIPOC and low-income neighborhoods, transit is missing, broken, or actively harmful. These aren’t transit gaps. They’re transit deserts—and they’re leaving people stranded in more ways than one. This series breaks down how transportation impacts mental health and what real equity means for underserved communities.  No buses. No sidewalks. No way out. Transit deserts are killing opportunity. It's time to invest where it counts. In some neighborhoods, missing a bus means missing work. In others, it means missing a shot at stability. Transit deserts—areas with little to no reliable public transportation—aren’t accidental. They are the result of decades of disinvestment, discriminatory planning, and car-centric development. The consequences are deep and lasting. People in transit dese...