Onley’s long road to accessibility a lesson for us all
We all complain, habitually and self-pityingly, about punishing snowfalls. Especially lately.
But for David Onley, the snow banks and other barriers never truly melt away.
For a time, as Ontario’s lieutenant-governor, the obstacles were magically cleared away. Enveloped by an entourage, cocooned by bodyguards, he surmounted the roadblocks.
An elevator was installed in the vice-regal suite at Queen’s Park, and a ramp was retrofitted in front of the legislature. Thanks to the superhuman powers emanating from the Crown — which he embodied from 2007-14 — Onley not only made his way, but also paved the way for other wheelchairbound Ontarians.
Ensconced in his scooter, chauffeured in a specially outfitted van, backed by his band of official enablers, his disability — or inaccessibility — seemingly diminished. But after a lifetime spent grappling with the fallout from a childhood bout of polio, Onley always knew it was only a matter of time before he was on his own again.
Now, Onley no longer speaks for the Crown. But he still has a voice.
He is using it to describe what he sees at ground level — and getting a hearing from the powers above. Appointed last year by Queen’s Park to conduct a formal review of accessibility in Ontario, he has just submitted his findings to the Progressive Conservative government.
There is still a stunning disconnect for the disabled, and a growing gap in how the able- bodied perceive the reality of inaccessibility.
Onley wouldn’t tip his hand about the details of his report, which will be shared with the public later. But he didn’t disguise his disappointment.
“We still have a very inaccessible society, a built environment that is very inaccessible,” he told me. “The people who believe it’s accessible are members of the able-bodied population.”
A longtime believer in the original legislation, which passed with all-party support, he now fears that its 2025 target for full accessibility will go unfulfilled.
Onley points a finger not only at politicians but bureaucrats, architects, developers, administrators and inspectors who fail to do their duty to the disabled.
And all of us. For the disabled are us, sooner or later.
The older we get — and our population is aging fast — the more likely we are to find ourselves in their shoes: First with canes, then walkers, then wheelchairs.
Eligible, ultimately, for those special parking permits in our windshields that confer priority access to reserved spots. Paradoxically, the advent of priority parking has helped to distort the reality of disability today in Ontario.
Those signs are ubiquitous, serving as a symbol of access and open doors. But the typical reserved parking spot is a dead end — leading only to barriers that leave the disabled out in the cold at most malls and public buildings.
“It’s shocking the number of places that are fully inaccessible and yet out front, you’ll see a wheelchair sign,” he said. “It depends on how angry you want to be.”
The problem isn’t just the false signal it sends to the disabled on the spot, but the facade it conveys to society at large that access is everywhere.
Onley is especially vexed by the lack of foresight from the self-styled visionaries who make up the architectural community. He points to new buildings that win architectural awards but get a failing grade for accessibility, which should surely disqualify them from recognition.
Over the years, I had watched Onley’s handlers help him navigate unforeseen obstacles and predictable impediments. This week, I watched him flying solo again, when he wended his way to a Ryerson University democracy forum I hosted for Onley and his successor as lieutenant-governor, Elizabeth Dowdeswell: A Conversation with the Crown.
Without government officials to smooth the way, it fell to Ryerson organizers to ensure that he didn’t stumble on his journey. In preparation, Onley patiently walked me through his detailed checklist to overcome any obstacles.
Yes, they had a ramp leading onto the stage, but had they verified its dimensions to ensure his scooter could mount the slope? Was the platform wide enough for him to pre-position without toppling over? Any stairs along the way leading to the campus venue?
Where was the nearest parking? Was it underground or at least sheltered? Was there an underground passageway leading to the event? If not (and there wasn’t), what about the weather? Who would shovel any snow in the way?
Presciently, as it turns out, Onley reminded me of the perils of ice and snow for someone in a scooter. Even a few centimetres can gum up his wheels, and a serious snow bank is a dead end.
Even before Toronto’s unexpected 20-centimetre snowfall that came after our chat, Onley had confided that he typically refuses all winter speaking engagements — too unpredictable and insurmountable. But he was making a rare exception to be with his successor, Dowdeswell.
Practiced in both logistics and logic, Onley made it onstage without a hitch, and expounded on vice-regal arcana without a verbal stumble.
While it’s always an education hearing him talk about the abstractions of our constitution, he also delivers enduring lessons on the reality of inaccessibility.