After Another Fatal Crash, He Drew a Crosswalk. Now He Might Face Jailtime.
Charlottesville, Virginia resident Kevin Cox drew a crosswalk. The city erased it immediately. Screenshot from WVIR News.
Author’s Note: Since publishing this piece, we’ve heard from Strong Towns advocates in Charlottesville and want to acknowledge we got this wrong.
After speaking with the city’s Deputy City Manager and Transportation Planning Manager, we’ve learned that Charlottesville is a leader when it comes to rapid, street-level safety improvements—launching a quick-build program and a rapid response team to tackle dangerous intersections like the one that claimed 64-year-old Mamawa Simai's life in October 2024.
Regarding the unsanctioned crosswalk painted by advocate Kevin Cox: staff said the location was unsuitable for a marked crossing due to site conditions. And because the earlier fatality occurred at a crosswalk, it’s a reminder that sometimes paint alone isn’t enough. A full redesign is planned, including more crosswalks and safety upgrades throughout the corridor.
Stay tuned for a follow-up story.
On a quiet Saturday morning in Charlottesville, Virginia, Kevin Cox did what the city wouldn’t: he drew a crosswalk. Armed with spray chalk, he marked out white stripes on an intersection near where just months earlier, a 64-year-old woman was hit and killed while walking to work. It was a simple act of public care—meant to draw attention to a deadly gap in the city’s pedestrian infrastructure. But it has landed Cox in legal trouble.
He now faces misdemeanor charges for the "intentional destruction of property under $1,000," a charge that according to Action 5 News could carry up to 12 months in jail and a $2,500 fine.
“They have provoked me,” Cox said of the charges. “It’s not going to stop me.”
Cox had long urged city officials to address speeding along this stretch of road. The lack of response—even after the latest fatality—was the final straw. On the same day he chalked the crosswalk, he sent an email to the City Manager that read: “There is a marked crosswalk now at Second Street and Elliot Avenue in spite of you… It’s chalk, not paint. Please replace it with a real one.”
But instead of responding with action—or even acknowledgment—the city charged Cox with vandalism. His temporary crosswalk was quickly painted over, and there's still no indication that a permanent one will take its place.
This punitive response is a stark contrast to the way other cities are embracing low-cost, community-driven interventions. Pittsburgh, for instance, is taking a different approach. In 2022, the city launched its "Neighborhood Traffic Calming Program," which not only permits but actively encourages residents to identify dangerous intersections and propose fixes—including temporary, low-cost solutions like painted curb extensions, plastic bollards, and chicanes.
An example of a traffic calming initiative in Pittsburgh. Image courtesy of the City of Pittsburgh.
The results have been promising. In a neighborhood where one of the early pilot projects was installed, the city documented a 20% reduction in average vehicle speeds. These are the kinds of small wins that, scaled citywide, can save lives.
The Bay Area city of Richmond recently took a similar step. In May, its City Council unanimously approved a permitting process that allows residents to install benches at bus stops that lack them—an overdue move that affirms what grassroots advocates have already proven: communities are willing and able to improve public infrastructure where local agencies fall short.
“This basic act of community care has been in a legal gray area,” wrote Sam Greenberg, an advocate who developed the legislation alongside Carter Lavin of the Transbay Coalition. “Without opposition, Richmond City Council just voted to establish a permitting process to allow members of the public to do something simple: place benches they built at bus stops.”
That push followed the success of the SFBA Bench Collective, a volunteer-led group founded by Darrell Owens and Mingwei Samuel. Frustrated by the persistent lack of seating across high-ridership corridors, they took matters into their own hands—constructing and installing over 75 benches across the East Bay. Each one complies with ADA and AC Transit rules, and costs just $70 in materials.
Their efforts show what’s possible when cities step out of the way—or better yet, step up in support.
Five elders enjoying a bench built by the SFBA Bench Collective.
Efforts like those in Pittsburgh and Richmond are not about offloading the responsibility of public infrastructure onto residents. They’re about listening—to what people like Kevin Cox are trying to communicate when they lay down a chalk crosswalk or build a bench from scrap wood. These acts aren’t intended as vandalism or vanity projects. They’re distress signals. And they’re the clearest possible evidence that something is broke and that the people who live with that brokenness every day are no longer willing to wait for change.
In Cox’s case, the data isn’t buried in spreadsheets or crash reports—it’s in the obituaries. A 64-year-old woman lost her life trying to cross that very stretch of road last October. She wasn’t the only one. The road is known for excessive speeding, frequent near-misses, and, in the worst cases, fatalities.
What’s needed is not punishment, but a more responsive system—one that recognizes resident insight as a form of expertise, and sees community-led action not as a threat, but as an opportunity for collaboration.
That’s exactly what the Crash Analysis Studio is designed to do. Built on the idea that community members know their streets best, the Studio equips advocates and city leaders with a step-by-step approach to identify dangerous locations, analyze crash patterns, and propose actionable, low-cost solutions. It’s a powerful model that turns mourning into momentum—and helps residents, city staff, and elected leaders work together to make real change.
Learn more about how to bring the Crash Analysis Studio to your community:
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A street where someone was killed is not just a data point—it’s a call to action. And the residents stepping in to fix it are not circumventing the system; they are pointing out where the system has failed. Become a member to help shift the narrative.