Why Paratransit Systems Keep Failing — and What It Actually Takes to Fix Them

The Tell: Defensiveness

Here's what I'm listening for. When I sit down with a team, I want to hear people who have a command of the primary measures and parameters of the service — the things that are part of any decent operational analysis. I want people who talk in terms of performance, of customer satisfaction, of how the service has been functioning over time. Trends. Patterns. The service as a living thing they understand professionally.

What I too often hear instead is something very different. People who talk about what they can't ascertain, what information isn't available. People who talk about themselves — whether they personally did what was expected of them. They're defending their own role, their own actions, their own performance, as if they're bracing for criticism instead of simply describing the service objectively.

"That defensiveness is the tell. When the conversation keeps collapsing back to 'here's what I did' instead of 'here's what the service is doing,' I already know the data isn't driving decisions. A person is. And usually that person is protecting themselves."

Where the Fear Comes From

Defensiveness like that doesn't start on the day I arrive. It builds over time, and one of the strongest influences on it is the tone leadership uses when it thinks it's enforcing accountability.

There's a world of difference between a manager who asks questions about performance and a manager who comes in looking to find a mistake so they can lay blame on someone — especially if they do it publicly. When failure is punished that way, the whole staff learns a lesson: the next person to make a mistake is going to be exposed, embarrassed, blamed. So everyone starts looking for ways to avoid being the one who gets identified as the problem.

People shift blame onto each other. They go out of their way to exonerate themselves. And while they're so busy protecting their own position, they're making other mistakes, because nobody's actually concentrating on solving the operational problems anymore. That's what a punitive tone does. It creates an environment where failure is punished instead of learned from, and the service quietly deteriorates in the background while everyone focuses on self-preservation.

The other big driver is simpler: leadership that doesn't equip the team with the tools and the training to do their jobs well. When people know the steps to make the service run, they don't have to live in fear of being blamed. Give them neither the tools nor the training and then punish them for the results — that's a system at war with itself. And in that war, the customer becomes almost invisible.

Getting People to Tell the Truth

So I walk into that environment as the outsider. Everyone in the room has already learned that honesty gets you punished. How do you get anyone to tell you the truth?

Being an outsider is actually an advantage. I can tell the team, plainly, that I'm there to diagnose and to help everyone be successful — not just to fix the service, but to help them succeed inside it. I tell employees that what they share with me stays confidential, especially if they ask it to. And I explain how it works: there are ways to use what they tell me without ever revealing where it came from. We take the information, strip the attribution, and turn it into recommendations. Nobody gets exposed for being honest.

If you talk to people respectfully and you explain your process, it usually isn't hard to get cooperation. And the ones who won't cooperate tell you something too. When someone simply won't share, that's very obvious, and it flags an issue with that individual — maybe a conflict with a particular manager, maybe someone who doesn't have the skillset or the attitude or the training for the role. I make a note and circle back. The person who won't talk is a diagnostic all on their own.

Telling Leadership What It Doesn't Want to Hear

Eventually you have to bring the diagnosis back to leadership, and that's where it gets delicate.

If I'm telling executives that some of their middle managers need more training or a more collaborative approach, that's usually not too hard. Executives tend to know who their stronger managers are and who needs to improve. It gets much harder when the executive is disengaged — or when the executive is part of the problem. Now you're not passing along information; you're trying to convince someone that they need a completely different approach to a system they're in charge of. A lot of executives don't like hearing that. They push back. They get passive-aggressive.

When I sense the problem is at the executive level, I try to be frank — as frank as I'd want them to be with me — and tell them directly where I see the issues. I do it diplomatically, but I don't hide it. And I don't just say 'you need to change' or 'what you're doing is creating a problem.' I give them the benefit of the doubt that they want the operation to run well, and I frame everything as constructive recommendations: here's something new you could implement, and here's how it puts you in a favorable light with both your bosses and your employees. You give them a way to win instead of just a list of what they did wrong. That's the difference between a consultant who gets implemented and one who gets ignored.

When the Person Is the Problem

Sometimes the hardest version happens: the executive isn't just disengaged, they are the reason the system is failing, and they can't or won't see it. I've been in that situation. And more than once, the executive essentially eliminated themselves.

When I come in to make improvements and everyone else starts doing what they're supposed to do, executive inaction becomes visible. It stands out. The chief executive sees it and makes the decision, without any need for a confrontation from me. That happened recently on an assignment — I came in to work with an executive who was philosophically out of step with the rest of the team, and within a week the chief executive removed that person. Then they asked me to step into the role and get things back on track.

Stepping Into the Seat

Going from diagnostician to the person who actually has to run it — walking into a team that just watched someone get removed — the first thing I do is bring everyone to the table and listen. Really listen, which means giving people the chance to say the things they weren't able to say before, and then confirming back to them that I heard it and telling them how I intend to act on it.

I involve people in the decisions and recognize their value as contributors. Where I can, I let them lead the charge on the very things they suggested — give them a leadership role they weren't afforded before. Some people, especially if they're insecure, won't want that, and that's fine; it tells me who I shouldn't put in charge, and they can still contribute in a supporting role. But giving each person the chance to speak up, offer recommendations, and help choose the role they'll play going forward creates something far more empowering than anything a command-and-control approach ever will.

You have to demonstrate it every day, consistently. When you tell people you'll listen, 'listen' can't just mean hear. It has to mean confirm, respond, and act. Do that, and you're not just changing the management style. You're changing what people believe is possible inside the system — and that shift in belief is what actually moves the operation.

"These systems don't fail because of bad routes or bad technology or even bad funding. They fail because the culture forgot who it was built to serve. Fix the fear, and you can start fixing everything else."

Key Executive Takeaways

Christian T. Kent ("Mr. Paratransit")

Founder & Principal Consultant at Transit Management Consulting, LLC with nearly 40 years of public transportation leadership, former WMATA Accessibility Chief, and Executive Recruiter with KL2 Connects.

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