Thinking About Accessibility in Cities

After Kristen mentioned it in class, it was interesting to look into the article “A New Yorker Rediscovers Her City, In a Wheelchair,” published in the New York Times a couple of weeks ago. While I have lived in NYC my whole life, and often have taken notice of when buildings, public spaces, and modes of transportation are inaccessible or could be improved, I’ve never fully envisioned what it would be like to live day-to-day as a wheelchair user. Komolafe’s description of feeling disconnected from the city and a multi-day excursion to reconnect with it in the way of a, now disabled, tourist, was such a valuable perspective to read about, as a testament to the wildly different accessibility experiences in spaces so close together, ultimately creating an unpredictability requiring constant adaptation. Many experiential aspects, such as the accessible entrance to a coffee shop a whole block away, the inability to take in art at eye-level, and the discordance of an A.D.A.-compliant room with individualized needs, are barriers I often don’t consider when navigating the city day-to-day, but that shape the city experience and sense of belonging in it nonetheless. I hope to be more conscious of even these minute details in the future, and continue to look for various navigational experiences, to better understand the city, the way it is experienced differently by individuals, and who it is truly designed for. From the overall experience, Komolafe emphasized the need to practice self-kindness, and self-grace to learn to adapt, which really seemed to resonate with the disability justice principle of sustainability and conversations we have had about rest and joy as resistance. Especially in such dynamic and chaotic environments, where access is unpredictable, having the time and space built in to be included and adapt is so important. 

This article, as a whole, made me think about accessibility disparities across the wider city. In this documented experience, Komolafe only traversed Manhattan, especially the midtown and downtown areas, which are some of the richest and most frequented areas in the city, particularly for tourists. Though these neighborhoods and associated spaces are often viewed as characteristic of the city and its quintessential experience, they are such a small piece, and are not representative of what navigating accessibility looks like elsewhere. Manhattan is the smallest borough, despite, for example, having the greatest number of accessible subway stations (66/161 according to the Department of Health Bureau of Environmental Surveillance and Policy). While even within these heavily financed areas of Manhattan, Komolafe described such unpredictability and frustration, despite simultaneous thrill and moments of belonging, I wonder how experiences of having a physical disability change or intensify elsewhere in the city, where there are not the same resources to put into public access. I also wonder how considerations of access can realistically be made more widespread, even without financial resources, and what communities are already doing to address navigational unpredictability.