Rising fuel costs are painful—but history suggests they can also reshape how our communities move.
Editorial Board
For many households, the latest rise in gas prices isn’t an abstract headline—it’s a weekly shock at the pump. In car-dependent suburbs like Richmond Hill, where daily life often requires driving, higher fuel costs land directly on family budgets already stretched by housing and groceries. There’s no getting around it: this hurts.
But moments like this have happened before. And while they bring short-term strain, they’ve also historically triggered longer-term shifts that reshape how cities move and grow.
The current spike is tied, in part, to instability in the Middle East—a reminder of how global events quickly translate into local costs. Yet this isn’t the first time geopolitics has forced a reckoning at the gas pump. During the 1973 oil crisis, fuel prices surged across much of the Western world, exposing how vulnerable car-dependent economies were to external shocks.
What followed wasn’t immediate relief—but change.
In car-dependent suburbs like Richmond Hill higher fuel costs land directly on family budgets already stretched by housing and groceries.
In several countries, particularly across Europe and parts of Asia, the oil shocks of the 1970s helped accelerate investment in public transit. Rail networks expanded, metro systems grew, and governments began to treat transportation not just as a matter of convenience, but of resilience. When driving became more expensive and uncertain, alternatives became more politically and economically viable.
Just as importantly, the crisis shifted public attitudes. High fuel prices didn’t automatically make transit better—but they made people more willing to consider it. Carpooling increased. Transit ridership rose where service existed. The idea that every trip required a car began, slowly, to loosen.
These shifts also played out over the longer term in how cities were built. Higher and more volatile fuel costs nudged some development toward denser, more connected forms—places where daily needs could be met without relying entirely on driving. The change was uneven and gradual, but it marked the beginning of a different trajectory.
The contrast with much of suburban North America today is stark. Communities like Richmond Hill remain deeply car-oriented, with limited transit options for many trips and land-use patterns that make alternatives difficult. That reality makes the current moment more painful—but also potentially more consequential.
If fuel prices remain elevated or unstable, the pressure to rethink mobility will grow. Not overnight, and not automatically. But over time, these kinds of shocks can shift what feels politically possible: more frequent transit, better regional connections, and communities designed with fewer forced car trips.
None of this makes higher gas prices “good.” For many, they are simply another cost in an already expensive region. But history suggests they are rarely neutral. They expose vulnerabilities—and sometimes, they push societies to address them.
What happens next depends on how governments and communities respond. Moments like this can fade without lasting impact. Or, as they have before, they can become the catalyst for building places that are a little less dependent on the next spike at the pump.