Will the closing of Philadelphias only rec center for people with disabilities lead to lasting inclusion?
On paper, of course I support the citys plans to revamp its recreation centers to make them more inclusive to people with disabilities. But as someone who has participated in plenty of looks-good-on-paper diversity, equity and inclusion efforts, I also know there is a world of difference between paper and practice  especially when institutions arent held accountable. Hence, the perennial reckonings. Earlier this month, Billy Penn reported that Philly is closing the citys only recreation center designed for people with disabilities. Officials said the Fairmount Park building thats home to Carousel House has fallen apart. In its place, give or take several years, will be a recreation center that serves the entire East and West Parkside communities  including those with disabilities  who have long advocated for a recreation center in their neighborhood. Im sure it will look good on an upcoming report, too. But in a city thats scrambling to repair long-neglected recreation centers, and that is years away from meeting its goal of ADA compliance, Ive got doubts, and concerns. Despite agreeing that the segregated mission of the center is dated, I have to admit that I was sad to hear that the nations only city-funded rec center for people with disabilities was closing. While I cant argue with the sorry state of the building, I also cant argue with Carousel House staffers who say institutional neglect is why a building built in 1987 was in such bad shape. And what Carousel House lacked in aesthetics, it more than made up for in community. Before COVID-19, it was the regular monthly meeting spot for the support group for paralyzed gun violence survivors. It wasnt uncommon for someone from the wheelchair basketball teams playing nearby to wander into the room where we gathered, curious to know more about the group and no doubt lured in by the smell of good food routinely provided by the groups facilitator. So, I worry about the loss of those kinds of easy, organic connections, even if, compared to other centers, parks and rec officials said, Carousel served fewer people. And I worry about the burden placed on people with disabilities to locate and travel to programs spread out all over the city, but also to do the invisible labor of keeping the city honest in its efforts. I still remember going to the Mayors Office for People With Disabilities years ago in search of information about resources for people disabled by gun violence and finding mostly dusty pamphlets of programs that didnt come close to the overwhelming needs of the growing population. The burden is always on those with the most to gain, and lose. And its exhausting. Jaleel King, a long-time user of Carousel House who was also a member of the support group for paralyzed gunshot survivors, said hes used to the half-measures historically taken by the city for people with disabilities  whether its handicapped parking spots placed too close to bicycle racks, rendering the space unusable for someone in a wheelchair; city employees not aware or respectful of Americans with Disabilities Act policies; or any number of city spaces that advertise as accessible but arent in practice. Everything is hindsight and then it takes so long for things to get fixed, or done, he said. Heres something we can get ahead of: Lets fold these kind of support groups into the Parks and Rec department. Because, unfortunately, there isnt a neighborhood in the city that isnt affected by gun violence in one way or another. As with most reckonings, the moment that moved the department to commit to making sure the city didnt just have one ADA-accessible rec center occurred after Commissioner Kathryn Ott Lovell attended a 2018 summit for people with disabilities. To her surprise, frustration from many in attendance boiled over when she announced plans for a $1 million renovation the Carousel House. They didnt want to be segregated any more, with services concentrated at Carousel House. They shouldnt have to leave their neighborhoods to access programs and services that should already be available at every facility. After the initial shock of nearly being booed out of the room, Ott Lovell did what any leader worth their title should do: She listened, and then she acted. An inclusion working group was formed. Staff trainings, which are ongoing, were held. An employment program with young adults with disabilities was launched. Experts from Carousel Connections, Special Olympics of Pennsylvania, and the Jefferson Center for Neurodiversity will soon release a comprehensive plan on how Parks and Rec can provide a more equitable and welcoming experience for all residents. The department will be hiring a director of inclusion services for the first time. Sounds good, looks good, I told Ott Lovell, but well see. Actually, lots of people are watching. Anna Perng, a longtime disability advocate, was involved in the 2018 summit that sparked this reckoning. She recently wrote a compelling Op-ed in the Inquirer about the efforts. There is a perception that inclusion means you throw people in without support, like you sink or swim, she told me this week. But thats what compelled us in 2018 to say enough is enough. And part of that is holding the city accountable.  Ott Lovell said she welcomes the accountability, and Perng and other disability advocates plan to hold her to that. And if the progress stalls or stops, they have my number.