Representation and Protection

Margaret Swan's death raises a question larger than MARTA: what do public institutions owe the people who depend on them?

Two years ago, while helping coordinate the 2024 WDI USA 3rd National Women’s Convention in Atlanta, I recommended MARTA as a transportation option for attendees.

The recommendation was hardly controversial. Atlanta traffic is legendary, and MARTA offered a practical way for visitors to navigate the city. The guidance described it as a convenient transportation option, noting only that travelers should remain aware of line closures and service hours. It was the sort of advice countless Atlantans have given visitors for decades.

Today, I would not make that recommendation.

That realization has weighed on me in the days since the death of 66-year-old Margaret Swan, the Atlanta grandmother who was stabbed to death while riding a MARTA train. According to authorities, the attack was random and unprovoked. Swan had been caring for her grandchild before boarding the train. She was not engaged in a confrontation. She was not participating in risky behavior. She was simply traveling through the city she called home.

At a vigil held in her honor this weekend, her daughters spoke through a grief few parents or children should ever have to endure. One daughter pleaded for greater security on the system. Another spoke of the surreal pain of reaching for the phone to call her mother before remembering she was gone. Taking in coverage of the vigil, I found myself returning to a question that extends beyond this single tragedy.

What exactly do public institutions owe the people who depend on them?

The answer should not be particularly complicated. Citizens fund public transit. They are encouraged to use it. City leaders promote it as an essential component of urban life. In return, the public expects a reasonable degree of safety. Not perfection. Not guarantees. But a system in which an elderly woman can board a train without becoming the victim of a fatal attack.

Margaret Swan upheld her side of that bargain. The question now confronting Atlanta is whether the institutions responsible for public transit have upheld theirs.

Her death did not occur in isolation. It followed a series of troubling incidents that have raised questions about safety throughout the MARTA system. Earlier this year, passengers witnessed shootings, stabbings, and violent assaults across the network. In one recent incident, gunfire erupted at a Midtown station during rush hour. In another, a stabbing left passengers scrambling for safety. Over the weekend, another shooting left a teenager injured at a Midtown station.

Yet what makes these incidents particularly concerning is that federal regulators were already asking questions before Margaret Swan was killed.

On June 3, the Federal Transit Administration launched an audit of MARTA's safety practices. According to federal officials, MARTA's rate of personal security incidents resulting in death or injury has been nearly twice the national average since 2024. On rail lines, the figure was reportedly three-and-a-half times the national average in fiscal year 2026.

No single crime proves institutional failure. Large transit systems inevitably confront crime because they serve large populations. But confidence is not lost because of a single event. It erodes through accumulation. It erodes when warning signs begin to form a pattern.

That erosion of confidence has unfolded alongside years of instability within MARTA itself. Since the death of CEO Jeffrey Parker in 2021, the agency has struggled to establish consistent leadership. The 2025 departure of CEO Collie Greenwood amid questions regarding his immigration status and work authorization only deepened perceptions of institutional uncertainty. Today, MARTA remains under interim leadership while searching for a permanent chief executive.

None of these developments caused Margaret Swan’s death. Yet stable institutions inspire confidence because they project competence, accountability, and direction. Institutions experiencing recurring leadership turmoil inevitably invite questions about whether they are capable of meeting the responsibilities entrusted to them. Still, the aspect of this tragedy that I find most revealing has less to do with MARTA’s executive offices than with the way political attention is distributed.

To be fair, there has not been complete silence. State legislative leaders have demanded answers from MARTA. Governor Brian Kemp has indicated that state resources are available if needed. Federal regulators have launched an audit of the system’s safety practices. Yet it remains difficult to ignore how differently political energy is often allocated.

Atlanta is not a city lacking political voices. Georgia is not a state lacking elected officials eager to comment on matters of justice, equity, representation, or public safety. Politicians routinely issue statements on events occurring hundreds or even thousands of miles away. They weigh in on legislation in other states, court decisions in Washington, and controversies dominating social media.

Yet a Black grandmother was murdered while using public transportation in Atlanta and, as of this writing, I have been unable to find public statements from either of Georgia's United States Senators addressing her death, despite their frequent engagement with issues supposedly affecting Black communities. The point is not that every elected official must comment on every crime. They cannot. The question is why some tragedies generate sustained public attention while others quickly fade from view.

Margaret Swan was Black. She was a woman. She was a senior citizen. She relied on public transportation. If public policy ultimately exists to improve the lives of ordinary people, it is difficult to imagine a victim who more clearly reflects the communities political leaders regularly claim to champion.

Conversations about justice often focus on representation. Who has a seat at the table? Who has a voice? Who is being recognized? Those questions matter. But representation is only one obligation of public institutions. Protection is another. An elderly woman riding public transit should not need a national conversation about identity to merit concern. The expectation that she arrives home safely should be enough. Yet her death has generated nowhere near the level of sustained political attention devoted to other issues.

Perhaps because some tragedies fit comfortably within existing political narratives while others do not. Perhaps because random violence committed against ordinary people offers fewer opportunities for ideological point-scoring than disputes over elections, legislation, or national controversies. Perhaps because institutional failures are often more difficult to confront than partisan opponents. Whatever the explanation, the disparity is difficult to ignore.

As Georgia’s political class increasingly turns its attention toward the 2026 Senate and governor’s race, voters are hearing plenty about the future of the state. Candidates are discussing economic development, education, healthcare, housing, voting rights, and transportation infrastructure. These are important conversations…but before we discuss expanding systems, we should ask whether existing systems are fulfilling their most basic obligations. Before we celebrate ridership projections, we should ask whether passengers feel safe. Before we market Atlanta to visitors arriving for the FIFA World Cup, we should ask whether residents trust the transit system enough to recommend it to their own families.

Public transportation remains essential to the functioning of a major metropolitan area. Cities need transit systems. Working families depend upon them. Economic growth depends upon them. But public confidence is not created through marketing campaigns, economic projections, or political speeches. It is earned through competence and maintained through trust.

Trust, once lost, is difficult to rebuild.

Margaret Swan was not a visitor passing through Atlanta for a weekend event. She was not a tourist attending a sporting match. She was not a convention guest relying upon a recommendation from a local organizer. She was a resident. A mother. A grandmother. A woman going about her ordinary life.

In the end, the most important question raised by Margaret Swan's death is not whether MARTA can transport hundreds of thousands of visitors during a global sporting event. It is whether the people who depend upon the system every day can trust it to get them home.

For a city preparing to welcome the world, that seems like a question worth answering first.