“Accessibility.” Enough with “accessibility.”
The word has bifurcated Americans into two species: the able-bodied, and the others who need “accommodation.”
Consider the impact of our “accessibility” laws. We have ramps hidden around the backs of buildings, elevators down long corridors, special buttons to open otherwise almost hermetically sealed doors, special rest rooms, special hotel rooms, special … The list goes on. We have designed for two subsets of people: the majority, presumably able-bodied, and the minority, presumably limited in mobility, needing “special” stuff.
In “Extraordinary Attorney Wu,” the Korean television series about a young autistic woman navigating the intricacies of practicing law in Korea, one of the first challenges she faces is the building’s revolving door. I felt for her. I too, when carrying packages, struggle to maneuver my way from one side to the other — wondering why architects fixated on a door that, however graceful, is hard to walk through.
I concede the beauty, if also the unwieldiness, of the stairways, narrow doorways, minuscule bathrooms in Gothic, Colonial, Georgian buildings. Before knee replacements, mechanized wheelchairs, and repaired hips, those builders built for the able-bodied. The non-able-bodied didn’t mingle much. Nor did women pushing strollers, adults navigating in walkers, and frail older folk not keen on scaling long flights of stairs enter into those builders’ calculations. I give those builders a pass. And I am grateful to the “accessibility” laws that have opened those gracious places up to the people otherwise barred.
This column is directed instead to the builders and architects of today.
Statistically, almost 14% of Americans have trouble walking stairs; 11.6% use wheelchairs. But those statistics haven’t changed the mindset of too many modern architects and builders.
In fantastical new architectural marvels, you will find ramps too steep for wheelchairs, winding stairways, doors too heavy to push open without herculean oomph, escalators that offer dizzying views, and marble floors.
Of course, often the builders have attached buttons to outside walls that will, presto, open doors; but the hapless person must scurry to press the button, then rush through before the door closes. If you can’t handle an escalator, there is an elevator (sometimes too small for the number of people waiting) somewhere. Enter a restaurant in a wheelchair (assuming you can get past the threshold): watch the staff scurry to figure out where to put you, where to put your wheelchair.
Perhaps Walmart, Costco and your local supermarket draw hordes of customers because the owners know that many Americans, barred from a lot of places, will flock there, accompanied by their friends and families. We scoff at the boring layouts of Big Box stores. But design need not be pedestrian: the Apple store in my mall is exciting, with floor-length windows that turn into doors.
Most houses built within the last decade, even modest ones, are built for the archetype middle-aged-to-young able-bodied occupant. After the fact (more precisely, after the injury and/or after senescence) a builder can remodel a bathroom, widen doorways, lower kitchen counters, and remove thresholds, along with a a slew of “adaptive” renovations that the savvy builder might have included from the start. In upscale houses, architects have incorporated “smart home” features that set thermostats, turn on coffee pots, start a favorite CD. Not to mention the cameras embedded in doorbells — soon to be standard. How about some simple features built into homes from the start?
Universal design is not arcane. It asks of builders: how can we make some features standard, not extra? How about re-inventing the simple one-floor starter home, with no outside stairs? How about wide doorways? Levers instead of doorknobs? Comfort-height toilets (only a few inches taller than standard)? Curb-less showers? Electrical outlets at least 30 inches off the floor? Slip-resistant flooring? Sloped entrances?
We an an aging nation. In 2000, one in eight Americans were age 65 or older: by 2040, one in five will be. Credit low birth rates, low immigration, and rising life expectancy. The able-bodied may not need those Universal Design features now; eventually they well might.
Crucially, though, designs that bifurcate us into able-bodied and “handicapped” obscure the reality that we live embedded in communities of birth, of friendship, of work. We need structures that welcome all of us.
Joan Retsinas is a sociologist who writes about health care in Providence, R.I. Email retsinas@verizon.net.
From The Progressive Populist, December 15, 2022
Blog | Current Issue | Back Issues | Essays | Links
About the Progressive Populist | How to Subscribe | How to Contact Us