Last summer, I visited the archives at San Diego State University for the first time. I was conducting field research to study how the streetcar facilitated cross-border movement. Having crossed the international border on public transit nearly every day during my high school years, I was familiar with the region's transportation system but knew very little about its history.

While I relied on the streetcar for school, my downtown internship, and my daily commutes across the border, the infrequent service made it difficult to explore the South Bay—a region of San Diego County that includes Chula Vista, National City, Imperial Beach, and the southernmost neighborhoods of San Diego. The only section of the South Bay that had good public transit was in the middle, along the Blue Line (a light rail line that connects the border port of San Ysidro to downtown). When I took the streetcar to school, ridership on that route was always very high, which is why I was surprised to learn during my internship that there is a local stereotype that no one uses the streetcar. I didn't understand this until I started venturing north of downtown.

I took the streetcar twice a week from H Street, transferred at the corner of 14th & Imperial, and completed my ride on the Green Line. The further downtown I went, the more I noticed a trend. In the South Bay, the light rail riders were predominantly Mexican workers going to or from work, but once I switched to the Green Line, the cars became emptier and more passengers were white.

As I dug into SDSU's archives on the region's transportation history and heritage, these observations and memories of my commute to school began to make sense. As the first American city to build a streetcar system in decades, San Diego had kicked off the second generation of light rail development across the country, at a time when Congress was wary of funding ambitious public transportation plans.

It was clear that local officials at the time understood how innovative this transportation project was, as evidenced by the nearly fifty-year-old memos, press releases and newsletters I combed through for my research. The original route began operations in 1981: it began downtown, passed through Barrio Logan, the Navy Yards and the South Bay before ending at the San Ysidro Port of Entry.

While politicians in the late 1970s promoted the light rail system as a mechanism to curb smog and at the same time promote cross-border tourism and the redevelopment of the inner city, many arguments for both And against this visionary transportation project. Several interviews with local news agencies were conducted to gauge public opinion. Many people expressed concern that the new light rail system would be used primarily by “Mexicans crossing the border – whether legally or illegally.” This skepticism about paying for “tourism” (as one interviewee called it) led to the racist nickname Tijuana TrolleyThe most vicious anti-transit publication was an undated poem in the San Diego Union entitled The golden goosewhich recommended: “[making] the journey is a non-stop express, directly to the social welfare offices, hospitals, daycare centers, schools (bilingual, of course), social housing, public defenders, [and] Prisons.”

The arguments for the new light rail system also assumed that most of the riders would be Mexican. In several public statements, officials emphasized that the light rail would need to run to the border to ensure its financial viability. Local politicians spoke very clearly about the light rail being a means of promoting tourism between Tijuana and downtown, but made little mention of how this system would benefit South Bay communities.

Most archival information about public perceptions in the region comes from interviews with business leaders and landowners. There are numerous examples of individuals claiming that Chula Vista businesses were “dependent on workers from Tijuana. [using] the trolley to get to work” and that the large number of green card holders made the South Bay an attractive place to set up business. One man interviewed expressed optimism about selling a 200-acre parcel of land near the Palomar trolley stop to potential business owners. Today, a Blue Line passenger heading toward San Ysidro would find that many South Bay stations are surrounded by chain stores and freeways, unlike downtown stations that are adjacent to important civic and educational institutions. In the interviews, Mexicans are portrayed as either an economic opportunity or a social burden – but never as neighbors or people deserving of dignity.

Anti-Mexican racism may also explain why the current transportation network serving the South Bay is such a patchwork. Although this area was recognized as a critical economic driver for the financial viability of the existing light rail system as early as the 1970s, most of SANDAG's transportation projects have neglected to improve connectivity within the South Bay. In fact, only two rapid transit lines have been built to serve this part of the district since 1981—the original Blue Line in 1981 and a rapid bus line that will begin operating in 2023.

Racism in the planning of the original track layout resulted in a transit system designed primarily to move people out of the South Bay, not around it. And the legacy of the San Diego streetcar isn't just racist—it's limiting. We only need to look at two current South Bay light rail initiatives—the Blue Line Express and the Purple Line—to understand the limitations this mindset imposes.

The Blue Line Express would provide expedited service between the border port of San Ysidro and downtown, while the Purple Line would connect parts of the South Bay to Kearny Mesa, an industrial and commercial area in northern San Diego. Neither of these projects is necessarily “bad.” In fact, both would undoubtedly increase ridership and reduce air pollution, and are necessary investments to build a world-class regional transportation system. However, it's also true that neither project addresses connectivity within the South Bay community; instead, they focus on connecting people to workplaces miles away.

It is now well known that investments in public transit typically have a positive economic impact on the communities in which they are located. Yet while ridership in the South Bay has been consistently higher than the rest of the county since the 1970s, there is rarely any serious discussion about extending the streetcar to Imperial Beach, downtown Chula Vista, or National City, Southwestern College, or various other local amenities. These connections would bring tremendous economic growth to this part of the county, but are never seriously considered in policy discussions.

This dissonance reveals the insidious legacy of racist infrastructure. By failing to challenge the original logic of laying the streetcar tracks, San Diego has created a system in which the South Bay subsidizes public transit for the rest of the county while receiving minimal economic and quality-of-life benefits in return.

Well-intentioned politicians and activists say they want equitable transportation for all, including the people of the South Bay. But without a critical examination of the streetcar's legacy, they will only build on the damage already done and push those goals even further out of reach.