By Stephanie MacLellan
Andrew Morrison-Gurza travels north on Bank Street, shaking his head from the sidewalk as he passes a row of storefronts.
“There’s no way I could get into any of those,” he says.
Morrison-Gurza is a 19-year-old Carleton University law student with cerebral palsy who relies on a motorized wheelchair to keep him moving.
But the six-inch-high ledges that divide many small shops from the sidewalks keep him out of the stores — and out of Centretown.
We discuss this over hot chocolates in the Second Cup at Bank and Slater Streets.
Morrison-Gurza wouldn’t have been able to get into the coffee shop if Candice MacIntosh-Olesevich, who occasionally uses a wheelchair and works with him at Carleton’s disability awareness centre, hadn’t walked over the two-inch concrete step in front of the entrance to request help from the staff.
A server found a plank of particleboard in a storage room and helped Morrison-Gurza manoeuvre his chair up the makeshift ramp, while MacIntosh-Olesevich held the door open.
(The manager, Paul Meagher, later told me the store changed hands days before, and one of his priorities as the new manager was to get a real ramp installed.)
“If you look at a place like South Keys, it’s great because it’s all accessible,” says Morrison-Gurza.
He says he prefers shopping in the smaller, independent stores more likely found on the city streets, but he often can’t get into them, or move freely once he’s inside.
And he can’t go by himself, because without automatic doors or wheelchair buttons at most store entrances, he needs someone to open the doors for him.
“The majority of the time, I’m not willing to come down here,” he says.
Charles Matthews, president of Ottawa’s Disabled and Proud advocacy group, says the city core is one of many problem areas in Ottawa for people who use wheelchairs or walkers.
“Ninety-nine per cent of it is awareness,” he says.
He adds that most businesses don’t realize accessibility is a problem, since people with disabilities are less likely to complain to business owners than to silently take their wallets somewhere else. “If you can’t get into a store, you can’t talk to the owners to let them know about it.”
The owner of a Bank Street diner says in the two years he’s run the restaurant, he’s only had one person in a wheelchair complain about the ledge that kept him from entering. A bakery owner seemed surprised when I told him Morrison-Gurza couldn’t get into the store, and says he’s never had a complaint. Neither has the manager of a fast food franchise down the road.
“If more people would complain, it would heighten awareness,” says Matthews.
But sometimes, it’s not a matter of awareness. The owner of a framing store says he wishes he could install a ramp to accommodate people in wheelchairs, but he can’t get the building’s owners to pay for it.
“I can’t spend the money to fix it myself,” he says. “I can’t afford it.”
It’s a common problem, since many small businesses rent their space from rental companies.
And since the Ontarians with Disabilities Act doesn’t require private companies to be accessible, not every company will pay for voluntary retrofitting.
There’s no need for businesses or building owners to wait for a law, or for more customers in wheelchairs to justify paying for retrofitting.
There won’t be customers if they can’t get into the store, or like Morrison-Gurza, choose to avoid shopping in Centretown altogether.
And the costs of the minor modifications many storefronts require, like chiselling a concrete step into a ramp, purchasing a portable ramp, or installing a doorbell patrons can ring for assistance, could be easily recovered from the money thousands of people like Morrison-Gurza could spend in the stores.
The business community can’t truly boast of its diversity if it forces some people to drink their hot chocolate in the suburbs.
While some shops do everything they can to help people in wheelchairs get in the door, greater accessibility across the board is needed to make the neighbourhood as inclusive as it claims to be.