This will be a long one, but I do hope you’ll read it.

Today marked my final meeting as chair of the City of London’s Accessibility Advisory Committee. It’s a role I’ve served in for five years and three month, being re-elected three times. In total, I’ve sat on ACAC for nine years. I leave the role with mixed feelings and I wanted to share the good, the bad, and the ugly of my experience.

I will also start by saying that it has been a privilege to support the community in this role. But, unfortunately, this opportunity and others like it is only for the privileged. To have the time and luxury to attend mid-day meetings requires support. I’ve been lucky to work for a company that values this work and have a supportive wife who has encouraged my efforts. But not everyone is that privileged. Many of our community engagements have a degree of sameness — the same people attending, the same voices being heard. We need to do better at getting out to where people actually are, opening up the process so that those who are working shifts, facing financial and technological barriers, or who may be coming from areas where speaking to truth can have the support and confidence they need to have their vital voices heard.

Until we do that, we’re going to hear the same privileged voices over and over. I honestly hope that the status quo is because of systemic and unintentional barriers that are in place — but I can’t be certain it’s not by design.

I have had the pleasure of working with some amazing community advocates and supporters. I have seen first-hand how hard some people work behind-the-scenes, diligently striving each and every day to make an impact. They do this not for financial compensation or recognition, but because they care. I have all the respect in the world for these people.

Conversely, I’ve seen the worst of community advocacy. More often, I’ve seen self-appointed advocates who have never met a photo op they didn’t like. I’ve been exposed to self-professed advocates who chase titles and recognition, but do very little other than stand on the shoulders of others to advance their careers. These people I have no time for and I honestly don’t know how they sleep at night using other people’s inequity to further their own career goals.

I have seen how hard City staff work. I see the hours, days, and months of effort that go into planning, execution, and reporting. I see genuinely good people trying to make a difference. And I can’t say enough about our wonderful Clerk Jerri. Any success I’ve had in this role are directly attributable to her patience, diligence, and support. As well, Melanie Stone has been such a positive force for accessibility in this city. We are so lucky to have her advocacy on staff.

And then I see these efforts be dramatically compromised in the name of personal gain, grandstanding, and, often, a lack of depth of knowledge.

I’ve seen councillors who care. Whether it’s reaching out to me on their own to discuss issues or ask questions, or attending our meetings to learn, first-hand, what they can do to help. I have seen councillors who value community input and are willing to take a stand that may be unpopular with “influential” constituents because it’s the right decision.

And, unfortunately, I’ve seen the exact opposite. I’ve seen councillors who talk a great game about inclusivity, only to fold when those who can influence their political aspirations push back. I have seen strong advocates against racism, sexism, and homophobia — willing to (performatively) stand at the fore of those fights when cameras are around — who are all too willing to ignore, or, worse, support ableism, because it comes at less of a political cost.

I have read community advocates who ask, in print, “do we want to be the first people to pave The Green?” or who oppose making Medway Valley pathways accessible (mainly because they didn’t want increased visitor traffic to their neighbourhoods), without caring that having parts of our community remain inaccessible to certain groups is discriminatory.

(Also… you know what accessible paths in environmentally sensitive areas do? They have this really odd habit of ensuring that people STAY ON THE PATH and not wander off and trample environmental sensitive or at-risk species.)

How about the former councilor who said, “Why do we need sidewalks in this community. There’s nothing for [people with disabilities] there — there’s no churches or community centres” not realizing that maybe a person with a disability might like to live in that community. And, by extension, be able to move around safely.

Or the deep-pocketed pillar of community who said, “We don’t need sidewalks here. Our people with disabilities are just fine being on the street.”

As a result, I’ve also seen wonderful people — including the two chairs who preceded me — leave this role because they felt they could do more in the private sector than they ever could have as part of the organization. I have seen council neuter the impact and importance of other committees — and I firmly believe the only reason AAC/ACAC is still around is because it’s provincially mandated under AODA. And even we had to threaten to resign en masse to get any traction.

I’ve always been uncomfortable being chair of this committee. As a person without a disability, I always felt the role would be better served by someone with lived experience. But through the generosity of the group, they kept asking me back and voting me chair. I believe that my role has always been to amplify the voices of those with lived experience and use my skills in communications to effectively advocate with them and ensure the right message is delivered to the right people in the way that best resonates.

I also don’t know how successful I’ve been. Here we are in 2025 and, under AODA, Ontario is supposed to be fully accessible. We’re not even close. We have elements in the vaunted London Plan that mandate inclusion of sidewalks in areas that don’t have them, when road work is planned. But those mandates are paper thin and have been repeatedly ignored when privileged members of those communities don’t want their curb appeal impacted.

And those councillors who would take up arms if a BIPOC or LGBTQ2S+ member was being prevented from fully participating and accessing the community around them, stand silent and complicit in perpetuating systemic ableism.

There are two words I dislike: accommodation and accessibility.

Accessibility is too easy to write off as an element on a spreadsheet. It’s easy to cast aside because it doesn’t truly reflect what the challenge is — and that’s systemic ableism. I’ve been working very hard over the years to ensure that whenever we discuss these matters, we view it through the lens of ableism. That is a much harder thing to defend, as opposed to the more corporate accessibility term.

The second term is accommodation. People love to talk about accommodations, but the term implies that we are doing something “special” or out-of-the-norm for someone. We are not accommodating people, we should be providing the tools and resources that enable everyone to fully participate in all parts of the community around them in an equitable fashion. It’s not doing something “more” or “special” but rather just being equitable.

The most important experience I’ve had over the past nine years, though, is the honour of people with lived experiences sharing their stories with me. It’s not always easy to hear. Accessibility issues may pop into the news cycle every once in a while for the majority of us, but for many with lived experience, they’re dealing with discrimination and barriers — both unintentional and intentional — each and every day. Just living is a struggle. These stories can be frustrating, heart-breaking, and even infuriating to hear — and I can’t even pretend to understand how they must make the person feel. These community members aren’t asking for more or better than anyone else; they’re asking for equitable access to enjoy the community around them. No different than anyone else.

They’re the reason I continued in my role — after all, if they’re forced to fight day in and day out, who am I, with all my privilege, to tap out? As an able-bodied CIS-gendered white guy, “I” am part of the problem. So I firmly believed that I wanted to be part of the solution — ideally amplifying the voices and concerns of others using my skills, and never simply grinning like an idiot for a press camera taking a photo of me at a monument to my, and society’s, failures.

So I don’t feel good about where we are in terms of accessibility, but I hope I’ve made an impact. I fear I haven’t, but I’ve tried my best. I have watched term limits go whooshing by me and as I approach yet another one, I’m going to join my predecessors in this role and try to continue to make a difference outside of the council confines.

My biggest fear is that I’ve taken more than I’ve given back. I am a better person today than I was nine years ago. The people with whom I’ve worked and the issues for which we’ve advocated have made me more aware, more considerate, and more inclusive. I have the honour of seeing issues through a more-informed prism. I know I make better day-to-day decisions and my work is better, because I’m looking at things through the lens of equitability and inclusivity.

I continue to advocate for universal accessibility because it benefits us all! From language use to built environment; from customer service standards to web design, embracing accessibility makes us all better. At the very least, I hope I’m able to continue to make incremental improvements and have been honoured to be trusted with this responsibility for so long.

Thank you for these past nine years.