Accessibility & Inclusion in Housing Design

Flexible, biophilic courtyard shared by George W. Davis Senior Housing residents and the attached neighborhood-serving community center, framed by Afrocentric design elements. (Bruce Damonte)

By Anne Riggs

In the United States, “accessible” has become a legally defined term denoting compliance with minimum required standards for programs, places, and products to be usable by people with disabilities. These standards include federal civil rights legislation such as the well known Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990 (ADA) and the 1968 Fair Housing Act, as well as various state and local building codes. The ADA and related laws have been critical in guaranteeing basic civil rights for people with disabilities. While compliance with these minimum standards does ensure a valuable baseline of access, the reality is that it does not result in truly usable and enjoyable environments.

This accessibility legislation uses a precise, narrow legal definition of what it means for an environment to be considered accessible and is based on anthropometric research and metrics initially conducted in the mid-20th century. As designers creating spaces for people under these guidelines, we can fall short of our ethical obligations to design with empathy, compassion, and awareness of how unconscious bias and/or ableism—the limitations of our personal experience—may negatively impact our designs.

In the design of homes, it is especially important to provide environments that support residents to carry out their daily needs with dignity and joy. Even new homes that comply with minimum requirements may not provide a level of access that truly acknowledges residents’ right to live full lives in their homes. For example, in ADA-compliant homes with more than one bathroom, only one fully accessible bathroom is required. In the other bathrooms, designers often fail to provide space for a wheelchair to enter the room and turn around. For privately funded homes that are only subject to the less restrictive Fair Housing Act, a wheelchair turning space in bathrooms is not even required. Imagine designing a custom home that did not allow your client to physically enter every room!

All aspects of the built environment—from stair height and door width to the design of doorknobs and handles— have evolved over time to accommodate a specific range of human sizes and abilities. As designers, we make conscious decisions about these and other items in all of our work that determine who we include and who we exclude.

Even communities that provide a high level of accessibility to individual homes can still contribute to the segregation and exclusion of individuals with disabilities. If all of the required accessible units and common spaces are on the ground floor, the ADA does not require an elevator to allow access to the upper stories of an apartment building. This excludes residents who can’t climb stairs from enjoying equal opportunities for relationships with their neighbors and community. It also means that guests with limited mobility may be unable to visit family and friends living in upper level units.

The concept of universal design, coined by architect and accessibility advocate Ronald L Mace in the 1970s, seeks to end segregation based on disability, and encourages environments that exceed the minimum requirements of the ADA and incorporate enhanced accessibility features as a core component of their design philosophy. Universal design promotes seven broad principles that designers should follow to create environments that allow for equity, flexibility, simplicity, and ease of use for people with a broad range of abilities.

The term “inclusive design” is often—I believe inaccurately— used interchangeably with “‘universal design.” As an affordable housing architect serving residents who have often experienced systemic injustice and trauma, I see inclusive design as a tool to integrate design for disability as a core component of an ethical commitment to justice, equity, diversity and inclusion. Inclusive design includes a critical shift from a prescriptive approach to a consensus-based approach, valuing and centering the voices of those most affected by the work. It benefits not only individuals with a wide range of abilities, but also extends those benefits to everyone, including people of different ages, family status, race/ethnicity, and socioeconomic backgrounds. Inclusive design incorporates concerns beyond physical access, recognizing the need for environments that are not only accessible, but also welcoming, dignified, and reflective of occupants’ identities and needs.

Through the inclusive design process, we invite and lift up the voices of people of all different abilities and perspectives, whose experiences and expertise are most relevant to those our buildings will ultimately serve. My favorite tool in this approach is the Inclusive Design Focus Group, a structured interaction following guidelines created by The Kelsey, a non-profit disability advocacy organization based in San Francisco. These simple but powerful workshops invite project-specific participants, such as local service and community organizations and neighbors—including individuals with diverse abilities—to an open-ended discussion of priorities and considerations that they believe are most important to a successful, inclusive community. Each workshop I’ve participated in has been a rewarding experience that successfully identified considerations specific to the project at hand, and also helped me become a better, more responsive designer moving forward on future projects.

The beauty of adopting inclusive design practices is the opportunity to learn something new with each conversation. It’s impossible to simply write a checklist of building features that can be incorporated to complete an inclusive design, you have to engage with the specifics of your project. That said, I can share some illustrative examples of what I have learned through this practice. The ADA requires a certain number of parking spaces to be accessible and for a certain percentage of those to be a wider van-accessible stall that allows wheelchair accessible vehicles to load and unload. Unfortunately, there is no special designation for vans that reserves the larger spaces for folks who need them. People who need to unload a wheelchair may be completely unable to access a facility if a van-accessible parking space is unavailable. These spaces are only 4 feet wider than a standard accessible stall, so I now recommend finding the space to make more stalls van-accessible whenever possible. Also, many individuals with disabilities use paratransit services, which need a temporary loading area to park while the driver collects passengers and assists them in loading. These vehicles may need to pick up more than one client, so providing a comfortable, safe waiting area with a bench near the loading zone is helpful while passengers wait. Accessibility regulations prioritize basic facility access for people with mobility, hearing, and vision impairments, which is, of course, critically important. However, the spectrum of ability is much more diverse and intersectional than what is reflected in these codes. Features that people might not associate with disability access can actually provide benefits to everyone, including people with diverse abilities. For example, countertops and floors that are easy to clean—without gaps or textures— make life a great deal easier for a wide range of people. They are great for families with pets or children; people caring for service and emotional support animals; people with increased personal hygiene or toileting needs; and neurodiverse individuals who benefit psychologically from an environment that is both easy to clean and that appears clean and orderly. As another example, intuitive and clear space planning and signage designed to support blind and low-vision users also makes it easier for language learners and neurodiverse guests to navigate in the environment.

As an architect working for a firm that designs hundreds of homes per year, my goal is to advocate for inclusive design practices in all our work. David Baker Architects has joined The Kelsey as a Committed Firm dedicated to promoting inclusive design for housing. We are currently undertaking several pilot projects utilizing The Kelsey’s new Housing Design Standards for Accessibility and Inclusion, developed through extensive work with a stakeholder advisory group. I encourage all designers working on housing, and anyone interested in learning more about inclusive design, to visit thekelsey.org for more information and resources.

Design for Everyone: Where to Begin?

By Jennifer C. Schmidt

We, as architects and designers, have the power to influence the public experience of the built environment. As professionals licensed by our jurisdictions with the aim of maintaining health, safety, and welfare, it is our duty to create spaces that everyone can access and enjoy. Accessible design is an ancestor of the current trend for wellness design and should be the foundation of every code-compliant space or building. The Americans with Disabilities Act has made significant contributions to mainstream design, but the regulations are the minimum, more can and should be done. Through our work, architects should reinforce the importance of accessible design as a holistic process, from the way we communicate with clients and the public to developing design ideas at all project stages and formal review of the construction documents, not just mandated code requirements integrated into the final building design. Prioritizing the incorporation of accessible design throughout the entire design process results in more equitable placemaking and supports the basic position that people with disabilities belong in every facet of modern society.

According to the World Health Organization, 1.3 billion people, or 1 in 6 worldwide, experience significant disability. The U.S. Centers for Disease Control reports that 1 in 4 adults, or 61 million Americans, have a disability that impacts major life activities. Whether congenital or through injury or aging, or as a caretaker, most people will experience living with a disability or assisting a loved one with a disability as they navigate the world. Despite being one of the larger minority groups, acceptance and accommodations often lack progress. Before Congress passed the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) in 1990, access to the built environment was not guaranteed or expected and was regulated by a patchwork of sparse laws and special one-offs as needed. As a result, to this day, many spaces are not accessible, and the work of confirming access is placed squarely on the disabled person as they maneuver the world and demand equal access.

Most states and jurisdictions have enshrined the ADA regulations into their own local codes, while others have their own unique regulations. Enforcement of accessibility codes can range from local plan reviewers to civil litigation. Where we practice, there is also compliance in overlapping scenarios covered through the Massachusetts Architectural Access Board (MAAB) regulations chapter 521 CMR. In Massachusetts, architects and designers should have a working knowledge of both, as they are complementary but not identical.

But who are the accessibility codes really for, and do they make the built environment equitable for everyone?

Accessibility codes have been a tremendous boon to provide access for many who had no previous legal recourse. Over the course of the twentieth century, acceptance of people with disabilities has dramatically transformed, in no small part due to the improved access and integration with society that the ADA supports. The ongoing development of access in the United States and other countries provides rights hard won, but there is room for improvement. Most accessibility code language focuses on people with physical disabilities, specific to wheelchair users with upper body strength or the wherewithal to afford a powered chair; and to a lesser extent, people with vision impairment. There is opportunity to go above and beyond the ADA regulations, and it is our responsibility as architects to make life better for the 26% of Americans with disabilities.

The ADA regulation language focuses on two groups listed above, however, the full legislation defines people with disabilities to include cancer patients, people with diabetes, asthma, PTSD, autism, cerebral palsy, food allergies, migraines, chronic pain disorders, deafness or hearing loss, low vision to blindness, epilepsy, mobility disabilities that required use of walker or cane, intellectual disabilities, major depressive disorders, and traumatic brain injury.

To assume that the built environment cannot respond to or support people with the preceding list of disabilities is tremendously limiting of a profession that thrives on creativity and problem solving in three dimensions. Merely meeting the letter of the current accessibility building codes does not equal making the lived experience of disabled populations comparable to a non-disabled person: a lot of people are left behind and left out. I challenge my colleagues, nationwide and globally, to go above and beyond, ask questions, and educate themselves.

How do accessible design features impact all our lives everyday?

Many everyday building elements are greatly influenced by the ADA regulations, and people born in the later decades of the 20th century and onward are used to seeing them in contemporary spaces without realizing they are important tools for access.

• Intuitive door hardware – following the passage of the ADA, round twist doorknobs are no longer allowed in public spaces. The lever-style hardware and standard force required to open is ubiquitous now, the experience of opening a door has become intuitive.

• Standardization of handrails on stairs and ramps minimize injury for everyone while providing a lifeline for people with extra mobility or balance needs.

• Increased elevator requirements – people in wheelchairs, caregivers, people who push children in strollers all benefit from increased integration into more spaces with the proliferation of required elevators.

• The single user accessible restroom, champion of multipopulation accommodation, is not just for people who use wheelchairs, but also great for people who need to change a diaper or their clothes, empty a colostomy bag, privacy to give insulin shots or do ritual washing for religious practice, for those experiencing gastric distress, and also a refuge for someone excluded by gendered restrooms.

Where does the code fail us?

People with disabilities did not ask for a default building standard that leaves them out, and they deserve to fully participate in society. While lengthy, building codes can only passively respond to accessibility needs. In many cases, policy needs to catch up as well. When we talk about the additional burden placed upon people with a disability, including but not limited to:

• Being forced to share sensitive medical information with coworkers/supervisors/ strangers, to gain access, essentially having to educate everyone you encounter on your limits and abilities.

• Not given consideration for higher paying full-time employment due to stereotypes or fear of needing to take additional medical leave.

• Acquiring affordable personal or medical assistance, custom mobility devices not covered by insurance, equipment needed to stay alive.

• Needing to research/call ahead to verify if locations are fully accessible or not, having to locate unclear accessible routes, waiting for use of occupied accessible spaces/ facilities when they make up only a small percentage of options.

While the Americans with Disabilities Act was groundbreaking in the standardization of accessibility standards in the building code, it can be slow to update and, in some cases, entirely silent on some notable populations. There can be a mindset among some architects and designers that accessibility code elements are an extra when they should be baseline. The architect is not an ally to the disability community when some code loopholes are exploited, two examples are listed below.

• The ADA allows for separate solutions. Grand main building entries up a flight of monumental stairs were a hallmark of American civic architecture of the 19th and 20th centuries. If you are unable to climb stairs, you may find yourself having to circle the building until you locate a side or back entry, which is hopefully clearly labeled and unlocked, to gain entry via ramp or lift. An accessible route that is not intuitively located may meet the letter of the code, but the experience is not equitable. When designers accept a longer path, a secondary, circuitous “accessible route,” people with disabilities have been othered by architecture.

• In some cases, lack of access is allowed under the ADA. Some spaces are grandfathered in, or allowed to be exempt from certain requirements. In some jurisdictions, multilevel residential buildings do not have to provide elevators under certain conditions. However, many people do not plan on becoming disabled and will find themselves needing improved access. Best practices for integrating an accessibilitypositive mindset throughout the design process

• Educate yourself on politically correct terminology surrounding disability. Respect the terms used by a person with disabilities if they feel comfortable self-identifying. Examples of outdated terms include “handicapped” or “wheelchair bound,” aim for “person with disabilities,” and “person who uses a wheelchair.”

• Consider the accessibility of all design collateral produced during the design process. At completion of construction, the building should be accessible but in the course of your work, aim for inclusivity with every document, presentation, and email along the way.

• View the ADA, and in Massachusetts, MAAB CMR 521, as the code-minimum lowest bar of accessible design.

• Engage with people with disabilities in design meetings and throughout the design process where appropriate.

• If you are on the other end of the AIA contract as a property owner or developer, seek to hire architects who are committed to championing accessibility.

• Projects should be reviewed at all major milestones in project delivery for appropriate accessibility benchmarks. Within your firm, formalize an accessibility-specific QA/QC checklist parallel to your regular reviews. Accessibility code should be the baseline, not an afterthought.

• Building codes, including the full ADA language with graphic diagrams, are available on the internet. Everyone who works in design should prioritize developing a working knowledge. I encourage younger architects that memorizing door clearance, handrail extension, or tactile braille signage standards should be a strong part of your personal brand.

• If you are in a position to mentor younger people in the architectural profession, be the model of inclusion and equity; and maintain an actively positive attitude about the ADA. Design professionals inhabit a position of authority, we have a lot of power to shape the space that many thousands will occupy over decades. Use that privilege for good.

While the Americans with Disabilities Act was groundbreaking at its inception, architects should challenge and surpass the basic level of regulations. The accessible design regulations should cover a wider range of needs and should be enforced with fewer exemptions. Prioritizing the incorporation of accessible design throughout the entire design process results in more equitable placemaking and supports the basic position that people with disabilities belong in every facet of modern society. Architects and designers should be assertive supporters of wider accessible design, and advocate for the disability community in all of their work.

Inclusive Design & The Pursuit of Intimacy: Finding Connection in the Modern World

By: Aidan Borer and Risham Nadeem

Intimacy – what is it and why is love so hard to find?

As customer researchers, we often talk about universal human needs. Intimacy— romantic intimacy—in particular, is one enduring human need that we are programmed to fulfill. We’re hardwired to seek companionship, and the way we pursue it is a microcosm for all interpersonal relationships. But just because it’s enduring doesn’t mean it’s unchanging.

With people staying single longer, hook-up culture, a growing subculture around non-monogamy entering the mainstream, and the rise of mobile technologies in facilitating connection, it’s clear the way we engage with intimacy is evolving. Intimacy is also incredibly personal. In the interviews that informed this work, we heard a wide range of definitions. To some, intimacy is a connection made for a night, a week, or a month. To others, the search for intimacy is for life-long companionship. For some, intimacy = sex. For others, it’s the emotional connection that makes it worthwhile.

The pursuit of intimacy under capitalism has led to the creation of multibillion dollar industries; romance publishing, romcom television and film production, the wedding industrial complex, matchmaking and dating services, sexual wellness, and more. Historically, these are industries that have prioritized the needs of white, cisgender, straight, middle class, suburban, and vanilla users. The needs, desires, and purchasing power of people who fall outside of this “norm” have been ignored. In 2023, we conducted ten interviews with a wider range of users. Men and women of color, queer and non-binary people, religious and bi-cultural folks; people whose lived experience doesn’t neatly fit into this paradigm.

Our initial hypothesis was that marginalized peoples’ experiences in the pursuit of intimacy—specifically engaging with dating apps—comes with more complex challenges, and we assumed those challenges would be the focus of our writing. However, through our conversations, this focus shifted. Instead, we’re going to use this space to celebrate “non-normative” dating practices—learnings from kinky, queer, Black and Brown, disabled, and bi-cultural daters. In doing so, we hope to shine a light on some of the ways they’re finding love (or lust) on their own terms.

It’s an uncomfortable truth that the design industry does not reflect the populations who experience the world we shape every day. While we must work to diversify our field, shaping a better future can’t wait. As such, it’s even more critical to realize when we are not designing for ourselves, and to find ways to empathize with all of our users. Empathy is one of the most powerful tools in a designer’s arsenal because it enables us to see the world through the eyes of those with a different lived experience than us. We want you—regardless of your own identity—to empathize with the folks whose stories we have collected and reflect on what mainstream dating might be like if we borrowed from their practices.

Celebrating the weird and wonderful; begging, borrowing and stealing from the fringes.

Through these conversations, we took away several “hacks” that marginalized people are applying to make dating a more joyful experience. We encourage you to reflect on what you could learn from them.

Some striking learnings came from practitioners of kink. One interviewee, Pascale, talked about getting into kink after divorce in their forties. They pointed out that even the most casual of kinky hookups require a level of respect, enthusiastically expressed consent, and open communication. When you have all three, those interactions are more comfortable because everyone knows what to expect and how to stop or de-escalate play if they choose to. What might Tinder look like if casual trysts were negotiated the way they are in kinky spaces? Imagine how much better sex we’d have if we could leave shame at the door?

“Community” can mean everything and nothing, but to queer people, community means the blurring of platonic and erotic, where there’s a freedom to define the interaction in a number of ways —as long as everyone’s having a good time. You might meet someone on Grindr, fuck, and then become friends. Or you might date as a networking opportunity. Mina, a 35-yearold bisexual woman, said “My straight single friends were envious of the fun I had. If it wasn’t a romantic match, there was a sense of friendship or camaraderie.” This is in complete opposition to the old joke that men and women can’t be friends because sexual attraction gets in the way. Clearly, queer people are navigating those attractions in much more nuanced ways.

Let’s consider more traditional practices. We spoke to bicultural and religious people, who talked about their learnings on communication. Leaving societal expectations at the door, they’re happier being direct about what they’re looking for. Alice doesn’t want to have sex outside of marriage, so while she might not disclose that on her profile, she does address it early on. She and Caitlin—a 30-year-old East Asian woman, who is straight and Christian—both agreed that religious compatibility was important to them, and communicated so early. Laila, engaged to a man her parents introduced her to via a modern arranged marriage, recognizes that “it might sound crazy” to get families involved within a couple of months, with a view to move towards marriage, but “I didn’t want to ‘chill’ for a couple of years. I wanted to do things in line with my beliefs and boundaries.” What might dating look like if we could signal our intentions without fear of judgment? How much easier might it be if we could involve trusted friends and family in our search for a partner?

Finally, we spoke to two romance novelists, Nisha Sharma and Hannah Bonam- Young, who told us that romance has always been a genre that champions marginalized voices. First, a space for stories about women, written by women, it’s now becoming one of the most diverse genres, reflecting its audience. Hannah, a disabled author whose book Out On A Limb features two disabled main characters, said, “I would have killed to have this book when I was 20 years old and trying to figure out love and sex and intimacy, and I think the more people are able to write from their own perspective, it opens up empathy from others into their experience and helps elevate everyone.” She goes on to say, “I’m not writing books for disabled people. I’m writing books for romance fans and hoping they pick up on experiences that I have had. My characters are disabled, but it’s just one part of who they are.” Hannah had low expectations for how the book would perform, but it’s already outsold older titles, and it’s getting rave reviews. There is much we can learn about empathy from romance publishing. What would “mainstream” dating experiences look like if they were designed empathy-first?

Rebranding the Revolution

As designers, we pride ourselves on crafting experiences that are intuitive, engaging, and meaningful. Yet, in the realm of online dating—a space where human emotions, aspirations, and vulnerabilities intertwine —we find ourselves at a crossroads. Does our design genuinely encompass the diverse spectrum of humanity, or have we inadvertently perpetuated the societal biases we sought to overcome due to the inherent profit motives of these platforms? And where does responsibility lie to make it better—on the brands who power these platforms, or the individuals who navigate them?

In the words of one interviewee, “The problem isn’t the platform. It’s men.” And yet, that perspective cannot absolve platforms and those who design them from an inherent responsibility to be good stewards of the experience they create. Pascale, a former architect, said, “If I designed a building that excluded people or created a space that is unsafe, I would bear legal responsibility for that. Why isn’t the same level of rigor applied to the designers of these kinds of virtual spaces?”

More so, it’s imperative to understand that the issues our interviewees surfaced— fetishization, erasure, racialized “preferences”— aren’t accidental oversights that can be ignored. They’re emblematic of deeper systemic biases that we, as designers, may unconsciously perpetuate. If our algorithms can predict potential matches based on intricate preferences, surely, we can rise to the challenge of fostering genuine inclusivity.

In an age where design is as much about ethics as aesthetics we must recognize and address the silent barriers – for instance, filters. They seem innocuous, perhaps even empowering. Want a partner of a specific height, body type, or ethnicity? Filter away! But what begins as personal preference soon morphs into societal prejudice. A ‘preference’ against dating certain ethnicities, for example, is racial bias repackaged. Should our designs, then, facilitate this?

To create a digital dating landscape devoid of harmful filters that accentuate body shaming or racial biases, we need to reassess the algorithms. The code that predicts potential matches can be recalibrated to challenge, rather than reaffirm, entrenched biases. What if the algorithm occasionally nudged a user towards a profile outside their expressed ‘preferences’, gently broadening their horizons?

It’s well known that designing for “extreme” users has resulted in some of the most successful designs—look no further than the OXO GoodGrip, designed for users with severe arthritis. Similarly, if we were to design around the safety of transgender women of color, the most frequent targets of violence, all of us would be safer.

A confluence of responsibility and a call to action

Design isn’t neutral. It’s a powerful mediator of values, ethics, and aesthetics. Designers must recognize that this power bears responsibility. We’ve already seen this in the unintended consequences and psychological impact of Tinder’s landmark swiping feature, which has now been incorporated into most popular dating apps. When we made an endless pool of headshots available to daters, we dehumanized real people— disproportionately, marginalized people. In the domain of dating apps, where emotions run deep, design failures aren’t mere inconveniences. They are affirmations of exclusion.

As designers, we are in a unique position to inspire and cultivate a mindset shift. As we craft products, we also sculpt behavior and perceptions. Let’s remember that at the heart of every interaction lies a human being, seeking connection and validation, and love. With dating apps, we’re not just shaping an interface. We’re shaping human connections, perceptions, and, indeed, society’s fabric. By weaving inclusivity and empathy into our work, we make a potent statement: Every individual, irrespective of their identity, deserves genuine connection, dignity, and love.

Inclusive Design + Empathy: A Roundtable Discussion

Moderator: Emma Stone In Conversation Josephine Holmboe and Anne Petersen

Emma Stone:

To start off our conversation today, I want to clarify some terminology and definitions and really understand what we intend to talk about before we discuss the why and the how. Anne, I’m going to start with you. To help frame up the conversation, I want to hear from your point of view what the difference is between inclusive design, accessible design. What are we really talking about and how do these differentiate or differ from other terms and types of design that we often hear in tandem? So whether it be human-centered design or design thinking or DI at large, would love for you to kick it off.

Anne Petersen:

Absolutely. Let me take a step back and say these definitions often vary between people. Even in the industry there’s some variance on how people interpret them, but to me anyway, accessible design is a subset of inclusive design. We need both. We need to be inclusive by being accessible. You’ll also hear the term universal design, and that’s a very one size fits all approach. One solution will solve everything which I think is probably more often found in city planning or physical product design.

I am unconvinced this works as universally as we’d want, especially in digital contexts because something that might work well for one particular set of challenges may not work well for another particular set of challenges, but we can also find cases where one solution will apply to another. Things like captions, which I’m literally using right now. Captions, for example, are both an example of inclusive design and accessible design. I do not need them because I can’t hear, but they help me because of my particular neurodivergence. They help me follow along.

You can find lots of examples of this from curb cuts to many, many other cases, like other cases in which captions might be useful, might be like if you want to turn the sound off on a subway so that not everybody around you can hear something if you don’t have headphones with you. If you’re trying to soothe a crying child and don’t want extra noise. There are so many examples where something that benefits one set of folks will also benefit other sets of folks, but sometimes there are clashes. Again, you have to consider all of the cases to be as inclusive as you can.

Emma Stone:

Exactly. Thank you. Josephine, I was wondering if you could provide some examples at an organizational level. Do you have any specific examples of accessible or inaccessible design?

Josephine Holmboe:

Digitally in my world, we have a mandate to make sure all of our products are accessible for hearing impaired and vision impaired folks. As a designer on those products, you just immediately make sure a lot of things are implemented. This needs to be reader accessibility, this needs to be tactile, there needs to be some sort of feedback if someone is interacting with our app on a mobile device. We also do a lot of testing. Making sure that we have advisory groups made up of our customers who do have some of these disabilities. We’re making sure that they are continuously getting access to new features and being able to test them and give us feedback so we can learn and continually improve on how we implement our digital products and services.

Emma Stone:

Why do we care about accessible design? What value does it serve consumers, both those who do or do not identify as disabled? It’s probably more obvious for those that are disabled, but for those that are not, and I think Anne, you touched on this a bit with universal design, but then also designers, why do we care? As leaders and then policy makers as we start to talk about policy as well. I’ll let either one start. Who wants to take this first?

Josephine Holmboe:

It’s a big one. I think the word that you used was equitable. A reason we should care is that as designers, we are providing solutions for folks, for humans. When you narrow your mindset, when you are tasked with designing a product, a service, a digital experience, I always like to say you’re not the user. You might be one user, but you aren’t the all-inclusive user. As designers, I think we have a responsibility to have an understanding of who we’re designing for. It might be a more narrow audience, it might be a universal audience, but really getting to know who that is. 

I became a designer so I could help people and only worked on projects that were actually helping people in some form or function. I think to be able to care or why we should care is, it sounds really trite, but it makes everything better. I think the seed of where we can all start caring more is just straightforward empathy, making sure that whatever we’re doing, we’ve considered not what we’re making, but who we’re making it for.

Emma Stone:

Anne, I’m curious to get your thoughts on the sort of awareness around and the importance of education, whether that be within your organization, or more broadly. How do we raise awareness and how do we convince leaders to think and design in this way?

Anne Petersen:

That is also a big question. Also I kind of want to step back a second just to say that we are designing for humans, but we are also designing for the future. In terms of convincing leaders, I would say that I have found that the education piece is an important one, and I’ve heard this over and over and I’ve found it to be true, that leaders and policymakers and developers and those in charge of programs, all of them tend to respond well to really experiencing people who are having trouble with the current state of things. Videos are powerful even if it’s just someone’s voice or alternately quotes or a transcript, but the closer they can experience it, the more effective it is and the more it will hopefully provoke a sense of empathy if they hadn’t had one to that point. Hearing about or experiencing someone else’s frustration is really impactful and makes you realize how difficult it can be for people and for that matter.

Emma Stone:

Thinking about the role of policy, Anne, what types of guidelines exist today when it comes to standardizing accessible and inclusive design practices? And then, do you find the current state to be effective where you’ve seen them implemented? I’d love to hear some of your thoughts on that.

Anne Petersen:

Yeah, absolutely. There’s Section 508, which is part of the American federal requirement that information and communication technology be accessible to those with disabilities. Those are kind of the basics. Many other guidelines exist throughout government at federal, state, local levels. Another set of federal guidelines was just published a few weeks ago entitled, Delivering a Digital-First Public Experience, which for policy heads is M-23-22. That includes a hundred plus different actions for federal agencies, intended to improve the public’s experience with government online over the next 10 years. 

Policy guidelines and standards,unfortunately, often aren’t enough on their own to motivate people in teams to action. You can make something technically correct but the application can be less effective.

To cope with that, I would say, that showing the why, providing the tools, making it as easy as possible for the implementers to apply to their particular use case because there are many of them. Especially when you are standardizing across a wide variety of things, those are key to getting things more mature as a practice in terms of accessibility and inclusivity.

Emma Stone:

Josephine, do you have anything to add with regard to the role of policy standards? This could be along the lines of what else needs to be done to make these types of standards and policies and tools more widely adopted, more effective, or even just an example of something you’ve seen in your own organization that’s worked or didn’t work so well with regard to implementing this approach and embracing this mindset as well.

Josephine Holmboe:

I can only speak from my experience designing digital products. Fortunately there’s the W3C, the Worldwide Web Consortium, they’ve been around a long time. They develop the standards and guidelines to help everyone build, web-based on the principles of accessibility. Whether companies that develop digital products adhere to them or not does not get enforced. As I said earlier, it’s a mandate for my company. We adhere to them. But as Anne was talking, I was also thinking it’s a layered complex system for anything, getting anything done. What I think is really important and having this conversation is to help designers understand that it does start with them. If their responsibility is to provide products, experiences, services, to be more curious about how to help people and to understand what they can do or can’t do.

Emma Stone:

In this space, what are some of the greatest challenges? I think we’ve started to touch on them, but to get more explicit on what are the limitations when it comes to standardizing and relying too heavily on policy to make change. Because again, a mandate, an incentive, a regulation can only go so far. I want to hear from both of you what challenges you’ve seen and how that translates into an opportunity.

Josephine Holmboe:

Because I work on emerging technologies, I see challenges going into the future. We’re talking about AI, we’re talking about VR, we’re talking about a whole slew of technologies. We really haven’t had an opportunity to understand how to make those more inclusive. VR, virtual reality for one, you could put on a headset and experience something in the virtual reality space that is regardless of what your physical disabilities might be, you can walk around. In some ways that helps people with disabilities experience something they might not in real life, but at the same time, people who are vision impaired can’t access that. VR is not inclusive. I think that’s going to be the challenge of how to interpret some of those technologies for a wide variety of individuals. That’s the one that comes to mind first for me.

Anne Petersen:

Yeah, there’s a federal agency that’s doing testing on facial recognition, which they use for one of their products and that they have already noted that has difficulty recognizing people of various races. And so they’re testing to find out at what point does the technology advance so much that we can implement this. Some folks who have had a stroke have facial changes, where part of their face does not look the way it used to, so it might not match their license. There are many, many examples in which the technologies that we’re implementing that are fairly new might not work for everyone.

I would also say that kind of referring back to what I mentioned, standards are very much a least common denominator. They’re the minimum that you have to do and if they’re applied across a large organization or set of organizations or are a required standard across the board, that often can make it tougher for teams to apply to their particular use case or figure out how it applies to their particular use case. The way I’ve worked with this in the past is introducing things like a maturity model and providing those toolkits. I mentioned that teams can see how they can start with the minimum, but continue to grow in doing the right thing by adopting the mindset, not just the policy, not just the standard and thus doing better by the people who need the service and increasingly so over time.

Josephine Holmboe:

I love that Anne, because it isn’t a one and done, we should never think one and done because technology is moving so quickly and there’s so much we don’t know yet. The constant iteration, learning, pivoting, then making sure we’re attending to everybody as they evolve, as those technologies evolve. I think that’s a really important point.

Emma Stone:

Great. I think one of the things you said, Anne, as well,  just reminded me to step back and acknowledge that when we’re talking about disability too, specifically, there’s quite a range of disabilities. I think that’s really important to note when we’re discussing the different needs and maybe there’s different shortcomings of technology. We have physical disabilities, cognitive disabilities, sensory disabilities. Some folks identify as having a disability if they have a chronic illness. Just to recognize that we talked about disability at large, but there’s such a spectrum range, which adds to the challenge of thinking about what makes a product accessible when you have to adhere to policy that improves accessibility regardless of the disability. Again, challenge breeds creativity and design. I think these constraints and these factors can make us all the better as society and as designers.

Before talking a little more about the future, I want to make sure we don’t lose anything or nothing is lost in conversation. For either of you, is there anything that we didn’t really cover in this conversation so far that you think is really important to bring up? And it could be more broadly what typically gets lost in the conversation when folks are talking about inclusive and accessible design?

I would love to hear from each of you one piece of advice or one recommendation. I’ll give you two options. Either one piece of advice that you would give to young designers or young policymakers based on your experience. Or one tangible action item, big or small, that can really help move the needle in this space that is directed at the audience here today. 

Josephine Holmboe:

I’ll go first. I have spent the last 10 years with interns and co-ops within our company. I see a lot of young designers. In the 10 years or more that I go out and I interview and I see their portfolios and I talk to them, I am so absolutely amazed and impressed and hopeful about the work I see them doing. What I’m seeing now coming out of schools are more approaches around real world problems. They’re not just trying to design widgets and apps and gamify everything. They’re really starting to think about real world problems, which makes me so very hopeful.

They’ve got so much that we didn’t have when we were going through design school because of conversations like this, because of policies that have been made, because of an awareness level that exists now that didn’t exist when I went to design school. I think we need to learn from them as much as they’re learning from us and really encourage those young designers to lean into problems that are really valuable to all people. So I learn a lot from them. I would say to young designers coming out of school, just keep being curious. Being curious about everything is going to make you a much better designer and it’s going to help all your designs get out into the world in a good way.

Anne Petersen:

I actually want to answer both if I can, and I’ll start with a piece of advice. I’ve learned that we need to design for those who need it most, not necessarily those who will be using it most. The folks who will be using it most, you usually have covered, but if you can cover those who need it most everyone else will benefit. Just bottom line, I would say fancier and flashier is not always better for usability or accessibility or equity or inclusivity.

The things that we can do, one thing that we can do to move the needle, I would say, is implement things like equity pauses. Equity pauses are a practice. You can find the questions for them online. It’s a practice introduced by equityXdesign. But these questions help you disrupt your usual way of thinking and resist the sense of urgency that’s typical of business culture, tech culture, and white supremacy, and consider those and that which is not present, whether that’s people history, words, nature, or practices.

How Can We Design for Disabled Joy?

Deaf-friendly curved seating makes signing easier. (Holst Architecture)

By Holst Architecture & Hannah Silver

We all deserve to take up space and participate in our communities! Unfortunately, for many people with disabilities (at least 26% of the population), barriers in the built environment severely limit where people can go. For someone using a rolling mobility device, encountering one step in the doorway of a beautiful flower shop may mean they simply do not get to visit the store like everyone else.

The ADA Standards for Accessible Design is a federal document that sets the minimum requirements for making buildings and other shared spaces inclusive of disabled people. However, many peoples’ needs fall outside the ADA’s requirements, and older buildings often have not been updated to meet code.

In 2020, Holst Architecture’s Inclusive Design Facilitator, Hannah Silver, began a research and engagement project called Design for Disabled Joy. The goal was to learn directly from diversely disabled people about how architects and others who design buildings can go “above and beyond the ADA” to meet peoples’ access needs. Most importantly, we asked people how designers can support disabled joy.

We asked people where they loved to go and where they wished they could go to have an enjoyable time in their everyday lives. Through surveys and interviews, we uncovered lots of great design ideas and areas for improvement. We distilled our findings into 8 Ways to Design for Disabled Joy. When we design to meet disabled peoples’ needs, we also benefit people pushing strollers, kids, short people, tall people, plus size folks, and many others! But it is also important to remember that sometimes peoples’ needs can be very specific to themselves, and that is still worthy of designers’ attention. People with very specific needs in space have the most to gain from newfound accessibility.

Eight Ways to Design for Disabled Joy

1. Better (and More) Bathrooms. You never know when you’ll need a restroom! It’s easier to go out when you can expect a comfortable bathroom experience. Bathroom needs go beyond using the toilet. Look for spacious stalls, adult-sized changing tables, and thoughtfully located grab bars.

2. Equal Entry. Secondary access doesn’t feel good – let’s make sure we can all get in the front door fairly, and move through the building or space without issue. Stairs and elevators should be near each other, and ramps can replace stairs.

3. More Chairs, Everywhere. Some of us need to rest more often than others, and providing a variety of inclusive seating types goes a long way. Look for different heights and widths of chairs, with and without arms.

4. The Space Between. The way we arrange furniture can help or hinder movement and access. The ADA doesn’t cover furniture unless it’s built into the building. As you move through a space or building, think about whether two wheelchair users could comfortably pass each other in corridors.

5. Clear Navigation. There are lots of ways to make space easier to comprehend and move through, starting with accessible signage and including creative ways to add multisensory cues to a layout.

6. Balance Sensory Inputs. We all process sensory inputs differently, and some of us don’t use vision or hearing. By applying thoughtfulness to finish colors, textures, and materials, as well as sound and lighting, we can support all of our sensory needs.

7. Dynamic Design. We don’t always need the same things – so malleability and options go a long way. Providing a variety of space types supports varying needs, especially for neurodivergent folks who need retreat. Providing furniture that adjusts, or control over a room, increases agency.

8. Digital Bridge. Sometimes the preferred way to access a space is remotely. We can also make space more accessible by simply letting people know what to expect before they arrive!

Extra-wide sidewalks help Deaf people, mobility device users, and plus size folks pass each other comfortably. Audible and tactile crosswalk signals help Blind and Deaf people cross the street. (Holst Architecture)

Let’s Do a Scavenger Hunt!
What Inclusive Design Can you Find in Your Neighborhood?

Want to find out if the urban design around you supports disabled joy? Bring this checklist, a pen, and something that rolls (a stroller, bike, or even roller skates) to test for “rollable spaces.” Check off the items below as you find them!

Disabled Joy

1. Publicly available family-sized all-gender restrooms support people with complex disabilities. BONUS: adult changing table!

2. Curb cuts with truncated domes (bumps) for wheelchairs and traffic safety for low-vision / Blind folks.

3. Buildings with automatic doors and level doorways for convenient wheeled access.

4. Dog-friendly design like water bowls to support service animals.

5. Safe crosswalks with audible and tactile (vibrating) signals.

6. COVID-19 design responses for our immunocompromised friends.

7. Sensory retreat space supports people with Autism and dementia.

More Inclusive Design

8. Fat-friendly furniture like sturdy benches, chairs without arms, moveable items, and a mix of seating options.

9. Queer-friendly spaces, usually indicated with rainbows/signage.

10. A street named after a non-male person or a statue of a non- male person.

11. Art that highlights Black joy or celebrates non-European cultures.

12. Indigenous language or art to honor local stewards of the land.

13. Kid-sized/-friendly design because parents and kids go everywhere.

14. Public drinking water since not everyone has a kitchen sink.

Courtyard at One North, a Holst building project (Holst Architecture).

Want to learn more about Design for Disabled Joy and other inclusive design strategies? https://holstarc.com/news/disabled-joy

Holst Architecture team left to right: Monse Fonseca, Rae Weston, Kate Brown with Fern the cat, and Hannah Silver.

Academic (Re)Design: Resisting ‘The Return to Normal’ in The Academy

By Jessie Male

I first proposed an online college writing class in spring 2017, a time when the virtual classroom was controversial and far from common: a “lesser” option, one allotted to “nontraditional” students with circumstances that placed them outside the mainstream. The course was “Introduction to Disability Studies,” which, like most classes at The Ohio State University– where I was a PhD student–was being offered in-person, exclusively. This policy did not make sense to me. How could I teach about disability identity and culture, and accessible practices, while also taking part in academic systems that often isolate and exclude marginalized and vulnerable people? Why should students miss coursework when a panic attack meant they could not share physical space with others, or lack of transportation meant they could not get to campus, or because their children had a snow day? This online course would mean expanded outreach; the alternative mode was not inhibitive but rather a mode of possibility, an equitable shift in which an inability to share common space does not mean isolation from community.

At the time there was resistance. “Being on a computer isn’t the same as being in the classroom,” one faculty member argued. “Discourse will be limited when not in an in-person setting.” And even after the proposal was passed, there was an understanding that this was the exception and far from the rule. Of course, no one could not know then, what we know now, that a pandemic would force everything to change, online coursework would become a “new normal,” and all of academia would evolve into hybrid–or entirely virtual–settings.

I did not excel as an educator the first semester I taught online. The Learning Management System lacked structure and organizing information was often counterintuitive and cumbersome. The course was asynchronous, and I struggled with how to assess participation or facilitate peer interaction when there wasn’t a shared environment in which we could verbally communicate. Though I encouraged students to meet with me during online office hours it was rare that students attended as their minutes were precious, readings and reflections conducted on lunch breaks or between hospital treatments, or during late-night hours after children had gone to bed. I missed the small moments in kairotic spaces, defined by Disability Studies scholar Margaret Price as “the less formal, often unnoticed, areas of academe where knowledge is produced, and power is exchanged.” These were those moments outside the classroom where students and I fostered added connections: walking together in the hallway; a chance encounter in an elevator; a chat over coffee. As someone who advocated for online education as equal to in-person classes, I worried the course was a model for the perceived failures of remote learning. And my understanding of “educator” was completely upended. Whereas I thrived conducting class through predominantly verbal methods, pre-recording videos and uploading materials were monotonous, my personality was flattened by awkward pauses as I moved between my cellphone camera and the script on my computer screen. I never knew where I should be looking. I could not see then—I did not have the skillset, the training, or the experience the ways that the online classroom can be dynamic and enjoyable, not as a replication of the in-person classroom but as a new type of scholarly journey.

Over the past three years, I’ve learned a lot about teaching online. I think we all have, whether educators, parents, scholars, or students—there is so much new knowledge about technology and pedagogy. Yet this isn’t just an article about the value of online education. This is about the remote classroom as a concrete example and metaphor for the ways that educational systems have been transformed due to global trauma, in many ways for the better, shifting away from classist and ableist gatekeeping practices that often isolate marginalized students, staff, and faculty–or prevent people from even entering the community. In 2023, many people in the academy–like in many workspaces–are promoting the “return to normal.” But I argue that higher education is not what it was in 2020, and to return to that state would risk destroying many diverse and equitable learning and engagement opportunities. For the university to truly be a common space, it must not return to a state that privileges physical presence, instead honoring the many forms (and formats) in which participation can take.

Campus Redesign: Building on What We Have Learned

In 2022, I began a position at The University of Pittsburgh as the Postdoctoral Associate in Disability Studies. In addition to teaching an in-person Disability Studies course, my primary responsibilities are developing programs to support disabled students and planning events around building a culture of accessibility. Having recently moved from New York City— once the hotspot of the COVID-19 epidemic—I remain struck by the more relaxed nature of policies such as masking. When in attendance at a packed college basketball game, I spotted only a handful of face coverings. In class one student out of 21 wears a mask, and though I can keep a six-foot distance, I too wear one due to my own health concerns, and out of solidarity. When I move through a lesson, I am acutely aware of the ways the ongoing pandemic informs my pedagogy and strategies from the online classroom entering the physical space. Building on the principles of UDL (Universal Design for Learning), students engage in multiple methods of engagement and composition. In addition to formal writing assignments, students give oral presentations and take collaborative notes. Through such moves, they support students who are absent or wish to return to previous information, by developing a classroom archive. The materials, too, have changed shape. Podcasts and documentaries no longer supplement but exist, in tandem, with formal academic scholarship. Almost all readings are available through hyperlinks. In class, most students review these materials on electronic devices, where they take notes while I move through our PowerPoint.

Even definitions of classroom participation have transformed over the years, no longer privileging the most vocal participants. Who is asking questions of their peers during group work? Whose fingers don’t leave the keys during free writes? I’m more comfortable in the quiet moments of class, allowing students several minutes to ponder and reflect on critical questions and concepts. This semester, I declare—citing the value of a supportive head nod—that “active participation can also be listening.”

Though there is an institutional emphasis on coursework returning to what it was pre-COVID-19, I am comforted by continued extracurricular events over Zoom and other virtual platforms. A remote talk with writer and scholar Jo Hsu on “how disabled and other marginalized communities use storytelling to drive collective action,” had thirty attendees from around the country. Such audience diversity isn’t possible when all attendees live in close proximity. As a scholar, I, too, benefit from the support of online integration in event planning and curriculum design. From my home office in Pittsburgh, I spoke about my dissertation work to a Nonfiction class at SUNY Geneseo, and a Disability and Literature course at Pace University. Such opportunities for discussion reserve time and labor and cut the often-inhibitive cost of traveling.

What I am describing are expansive strategies for sharing knowledge, a practice that, during the height of COVID-19, was modeled in the institutional acquisition of open-access materials, increased journal subscriptions, and expanded relationships with local libraries and other colleges and universities. In this, we see how the common space must also be a reciprocal and collaborative space with public and private institutions coming together to support knowledge production. During the summer of 2020, I wrote my dissertation from my apartment in Brooklyn, relying almost entirely on sources that were open-access and newly digitized. And though this is an extreme scenario—a strategy built out of necessity—this system continues to aid student success, especially those who live off campus, who are still avoiding high-traffic areas, or who, for an array of other legitimate reasons, cannot enter a physical library.

Recognizing Institutional History and a Hope for Change

Although college brochures and websites are filled with images of jovial students in communal gathering spaces, it’s important to acknowledge the ways the university has historically been an unwelcoming—even violent—space for vulnerable members of the community. More specifically, many practices and policies around admission and retention risk isolating—or erasing the presence of— disabled and other marginalized persons. Jay Dolmage, Disability Studies scholar, and author of Academic Ableism: Disability and Higher Education, refers to such practices as the “steep steps” of academia, “enacted to keep certain bodies and minds out.” One such move is recruitment emphasis on standardized test scores, which are often impacted by access to high-cost preparatory courses and services; for example, The Princeton Review’s 1400+ course comes with a price tag of 2,199 dollars. During the height of COVID-19, when lockdowns were prevalent, hundreds of universities suspended their testing requirements, aligning with a more comprehensive approach to admission. And though many people have returned to in-person settings—enabling the reopening of testing sites— what if inclusive admission became the new academic tradition? What if a comprehensive redesign of academia also involved its entry point?

Yet it is also important to consider how breaking barriers of admission does not ensure academic protection. As Esmé Weijun Wang chronicles in her essay “Yale Will Not Save You”, later part of the New York Times bestselling collection The Collected Schizophrenias, institutions of higher learning often fail students with mental illness. The essay, originally published in Sewanee Review, addresses Wang’s experience of navigating mental health services while trying to adhere to the expectations of the “traditional college experience.” Wang describes taking a yearlong voluntary medical leave and returning to New Haven “for four interviews that would determine whether I was fit to return.” She writes: “I flew home to California and waited to hear back from them, and when I did, the answer was no.” Letters of support from therapists and professors did not deter their decision. She could never again set foot on campus without a dean’s permission.

Wang was a member of the Yale class of 2005. Thankfully, conversations about mental health on college campuses have expanded exponentially since then. This has emerged out of shifts in social discourse but also out of necessity. With over a million dead from COVID-19 in the United States alone, how many of those had children or grandchildren in college? How many students lost friends and colleagues? How many are navigating their own transformations of bodies/minds affected by the virus? Colleges had to acknowledge the impact of trauma and provide resources and policy shifts that enabled many students to return to campus. Even Yale’s policies have undergone revision. As of January 2023, students experiencing mental health crises are no longer being pushed to withdraw from the institution. In an email directed towards students who might otherwise not report mental health issues for fear of retribution, Dean Pericles Lewis wrote, “I hope these revised policies ease any concerns about your student status, allowing you (and the people supporting you) to focus on what is important.”

I hope to witness similar shifts at my own institution. By the midpoint of the semester, students and faculty are already exhausted. Most courses have returned to in-person formats, and even the labor of moving across a large campus can be grueling. Walking to the elevator, I spot a student sitting at a communal table, asleep with a book in her lap and her computer propped open. Midterms are approaching and I can feel the influx of anxious energy. In my inbox a story appears from The University of Pittsburgh Times revealing that student registration with Disability Resources and Services is up 200 percent since 2016 and up double since 2020—a number that indicates students are accessing necessary support systems, but also highlighting the need for added flexibility. I think often about former students who thrived when able to attend class from their beds with the camera off, sharing thoughts through the chat function on the side of the screen. Or students who preferred an asynchronous format where learning was on their own timeline and ideas could be shared with peers without ever having to speak. How are they navigating the shift back to “normal?” Do they feel their school is meeting their individual needs?

A year before the emergence of COVID-19, at a workshop for digital media scholars, I gave a presentation entitled, “Online Teaching is Not the End of the World.” The title strikes me, now, with bitter irony. When met with what seemed like—to many—the end of the world, we turned to online teaching. At that presentation, I spoke about the necessity of adaptation, more specifically about responding to student accommodation requests or making readjustments to group activities. I was thinking on a small scale and could not know what “adaptation” would look like when a deadly virus was happening. But educators, staff, students, and administrators pivoted in ways I could never imagine, utilizing tools for multimodal engagement such as Zoom webinars with transcription options and live captioning. What these moves prove is, even in a time of isolation, higher education can be a space to build community. Now, these adaptations need to become permanent fixtures—in fact, we should continue to expand upon them–thus continuing to break down the barriers between “traditional” and “nontraditional” students and forms of engagement. The university common space is vast and multi-dimensional, vibrant and complex, and made up of many different modes. I hope we can continue to embrace this altered form–and look forward to new possibilities.

Parks as Critical Infrastructure

Greenway Aerial. (Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy Greenway Conservancy/ Kyle Klein Photography)

By Cheri Ruane

Parks and open spaces are often conceived of as civic amenities, enriching their communities by providing places to gather, recreate, relax, and connect with nature. However, they are so much more than simply beautiful places – they can function as performative landscapes providing critical services that mitigate the effects of climate change while enhancing public health and wellness, especially in times of crisis.

With so many urgent needs competing for capital dollars, it is easy to understand how parks can be considered a “luxury.” People understand there’s urgency around having electricity, operational plumbing, and clean drinking water. By comparison, safe and inclusive places to participate in civic life seem less acute. But common open spaces are not luxuries, they are a vital part of a functioning society. By improving livability and resiliency, and supporting the sense of place in neighborhoods, they serve to support vibrant communities while also attracting businesses and local job growth. Parks help address critical infrastructure for public health issues and are recognized as a powerful tool to support modern cities and towns.

What is infrastructure and why should parks be included?

Infrastructure typically refers to the basic systems and services that a society needs to function. On a national level, it includes all the physical systems such as transportation networks, utilities, sewage, water, cell towers, and more, plus public services including those that support health, safety, welfare, and education. The Department of Homeland Security says, “Critical infrastructure describes the physical and cyber systems and assets that are so vital to the United States that their incapacity or destruction would have a debilitating impact on our physical or economic security or public health or safety. The nation’s critical infrastructure provides the essential services that underpin American society.”

These infrastructure systems, which require large initial investments, are essential for supporting quality of life and are considered a “public good.” A public good typically implies it’s provided to everyone equally, and usually paid for by the government through taxes, though this is not always the case.

While many agree parks are a “public good,” the lack of understanding around the significant impact these common spaces have on our lives allows them to be compromised and deprioritized when competing with public safety and healthcare. The irony is that studies from NRPA, APA, and NC State have shown an increase in public safety and general health when there is reliable and equitable access to public parks and open spaces. In the City Parks Forum Briefing Paper titled “How Cities Use Parks to Create Safer Neighborhoods” by American Planning Association these key points are worth noting:

• Time spent in nature immediately adjacent to home helps people relieve mental fatigue, reducing aggression.
• Green spaces are gathering places where neighbors form social ties that produce stronger, safer neighborhoods.
• Derelict or barren spaces are perceived as frightening and are more crime-prone than well-maintained parks.

The Environmental Impact of Parks

Parks have the ability to juggle several civic infrastructure systems. In addition to the health and safety benefits listed above, parks can mitigate floods and other natural disasters through resilient design strategies. City parks can be designed to act like sponges, holding water during rain events and slowly filtering stormwater after the event has passed. Cities use the natural capacity of green infrastructure to complement the traditional alternative of building and maintaining large underground networks of pipes and tunnels. Parks do this while improving air quality, reducing the heat-island effect, and creating close-to-home opportunities for outdoor recreation and experiences with nature.

Waterfront parks have an even bigger opportunity to protect neighborhoods by defending against sea level rise. At the 4.5-acre Langone Park and Puopolo Playground in Boston’s North End, the city implemented its first resilient design for public open space. Based on the Climate Ready Boston report released in 2016 the site was reimagined to protect and accommodate the rising tides, mitigate wave action, and recover easily from inundation. The park is an active outdoor recreation haven for the city’s most densely developed community and an important link within Boston’s Harborwalk, a network of publicly accessible corridors that provide the interface between public and private properties and access to Boston Harbor. By taking advantage of the outdoor recreational opportunities that the facility provides, combined with several engineered improvements to its ability to deflect and absorb the impacts of sea level rise, the neighborhood’s residents and many others will benefit from a stronger stance against the impacts of climate change. At the same time, it also can be a resource for physically distanced recreation during the pandemics that will follow COVID-19.

Ticket counter for Boston Harbor Islands with patrons waiting in line. Large scale map of the Boston waterfront to the left of the ticket counter. Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy Greenway Conservancy.

Atlanta has created the Atlanta BeltLine, a network of parks, trails and open spaces that include robust transportation options and stormwater management strategies. The 22-mile loop around the city connects communities and residents, while the parks along the BeltLine are engineered to manage stormwater and improve resilience to flooding risks. The original mind behind the proposal is Ryan Gravel, who was a graduate student in architecture and city planning at Georgia Tech in 1999 when he conceived the idea that was later implemented with the support of Perkins and Will. At the same time, Houston is improving resilience to flooding through the revitalization of Buffalo Bayou Park. Designed by SWA, the 160-acre linear park links a network of trails, open space, and public art while managing stormwater runoff, especially after major storm events.

City Parks for Health

Beyond the physical infrastructure challenges, cities are also facing our national health crisis. Health inequities result from chronic issues of environmental justice in all its forms. While the COVID-19 pandemic exposed systemic flaws in the public health infrastructure of the United States, it also exposed stark inequities in access to healthy environments, and how people are policed within what open spaces are available to them. This continues to be a growing threat specific to the health of communities of color. Addressing health disparities in cities requires a more equitable parks policy. To support this goal, the health benefits of parks need to be considered alongside the critical infrastructure services they provide, services increasingly important under social instability.

Infectious disease experts predict that epidemics are projected to increase in severity and frequency. Climate change will continue to endanger our most vulnerable communities at a disproportionate rate. One aspect of making common spaces truly inclusive will involve developing flexible infrastructure to accommodate serious health challenges and envisioning public park systems that are more agile in the holistic support of public health for all.

Park with city skyline in the background. Adults and children having picnics and playing in the water fountain at the park. (Photo/Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy Greenway Conservancy)

Pale purple Allium with trees and city buildings in the background. (Photo/Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy Greenway Conservancy)

On good days, this includes designing and maintaining big parks and greenways with ample walking, biking, and running trails that extend into all parts of the city, with a particular focus on historically underserved populations. Based on the cross-section of worldwide research, we know that these improvements will help people focus, improve mood and cognitive function, reduce anxiety, help people recover from stress, and help young people build social skills. We must embrace the opportunity to curate safe enjoyment of our common spaces.

Many professionals, educators, and scholars quickly noted and wrote about the importance of green space during the pandemic. One particularly well-curated piece on Medium, “Urban Parks as Critical Infrastructure: Equity and Access during Covid-19,” highlights the fact that it’s not all about the big parks. “Smaller green spaces provide a range of social and ecological benefits as well, and may be integrated into the urban fabric in a less transformative manner. Creating pocket parks, and greener and more multi-functional streetscapes encourages people to exercise and get fresh air while practicing social distancing. These types of initiatives can be found around the globe, with cities in the United States and Europe opening streets to restaurants and bars and expanding pedestrianized areas. Cities may empower neighborhoods to develop green spaces through community block grants, and through even simpler measures like providing a patch of soil and having the gardeners who happen to live there grow what they feel is right.”

Our common space networks must also be reimagined to support social justice. More than a public forum for protest, these spaces must feel safe in ways that include access and also use by populations that are fearful of racial profiling. The murder of Ahmaud Arbery, who was jogging, and the harassment of Christian Cooper, birdwatching in Central Park, painfully remind us that equal “access” is not enough. For open and green spaces in cities to fully serve diverse communities, we must consider and address these threats to communities of color, including expecting diverse uses of parks and putting in place policies to safeguard the lives of people of color in all common spaces.

Organizations like the National Recreation and Parks Association (NRPA) believe that “our nation’s public parks and recreation services should be equally accessible and available to all people regardless of income level, ethnicity, gender, ability, or age.” Their work continues to support initiatives that will ensure universal equity and social justice in parks across the county. Golden Gate National Parks Conservancy goes even further stating “We condemn anti-Black racism and are allies for equality in our parks and communities.”

Approaches for Equitable Common Space Networks

Another key aspect of parks as critical infrastructure is their ability to promote social cohesion and community engagement. Parks provide a public space where people of different backgrounds can come together, interact, and form connections. They can serve as a safe space where community members can come together to discuss issues, plan events, and build relationships. This can be especially important in areas where there may be a lack of other common spaces or opportunities for community engagement. The very nature of their outdoor positioning allows them to be less encumbered by preconceived notions associated with buildings. Public buildings owned by the government can feel unsafe, as can places of worship.

In order to be truly “common” parks and open spaces must be equitable, and we must ensure they serve the needs of diverse communities. Linking large and small parks to dense urban neighborhoods through green corridors encourages equitable use of parks and generally increases use. By networking corridors and complete streetscapes in areas without parks where alternative transit connections are lacking, cities will begin to address issues of unequal access to parks.

Emerging Equitable Funding Strategies and Tools

Many of these common space efforts leverage multiple sources of funding from federal, state, local, philanthropic, and private sector sources. City Parks Alliance has commissioned two reports. The first, “Investing in Equitable Urban Park Systems: Emerging Strategies and Tools,” is part of a national initiative to help cities understand various sources of funding and the additional implications each can have on communities, specifically related to equity. Urban Institute led the research and published the report, which explores twenty funding models and their equity considerations in cities of various sizes across the country. This work is made possible with support from the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation.

The second, “City Parks, A Smart Investment for America’s Health, Economy & Environment” is a series of 11 case studies highlighting the impacts of common spaces across the country. The Greenway Conservancy, a non-profit managing entity for the Rose Kennedy Greenway in Boston, saw the abutting properties benefited greatly from their proximity to this ribbon of open space and were able to negotiate a Business Improvement District (BID) to support the care of the park. BID contributions are financed through an elective tax that is applied to parcels within a one-block radius of the park site itself. In this case, the BID provides $1.5 million in funding each year.

Conclusion

As globalization continues its steady march into our collective experiences, it is becoming increasingly important to find places where we can feel embodied and grounded in our own context. Public parks and open green spaces are critical resources and must be considered a vital part of the infrastructure that supports our human existence. Where else in our built environment can we find a forum for social, mental, and physical connection that can be identified as common? These are places to be nurtured, supported, and elevated as an inalienable human right. From parks professionals to community organizations, and from government funding to private equity, a new recognition is necessary to ensure these common spaces not only survive but thrive in the face of our collective uncertainty.

The Bodega A Common Space for the Community To Promote Health Equity

By David and Felice Silverman

A “bodega” is much more than a neighborhood grocery store. As Evelyn Brito of Bodega Makeover notes, “Bodegas are small businesses with BIG Impact, they are the heart of the community. They are community centers where people catch up with each other about their families and daily lives.” The Bodega Makeover project leverages the bodega as a community space, to address a critical issue: food deserts and food insecurity.

In 2020, our firm, STA Design, Inc., collaborated with the Bodega Makeover team on their pilot program, the redesign of Vega Brothers in Roxbury, Massachusetts. In doing so, we explored the issue of food deserts, and how to develop solutions for this important common space using community-centered design processes. We reconnected with Evelyn Brito to revisit the project, and understand the lasting community impact, lessons learned, and where support is still needed.

Bodega Makeover’s Mission

Bodega Makeover is a nonprofit organization whose mission is to help solve the food desert and unhealthy eating issues in lower-income communities by promoting healthy food options through the transformation of community bodegas.

Designing spaces for community impact and problem-solving through community engagement are core values of STA Design’s mission. Understanding the context of the food desert issue and the importance of bodegas in the community was the key to the project design and process. Despite the healthy eating craze, with urban farms and rooftop farming being built in every city, bodegas are lagging behind. Research shows that without access to healthy food, these communities suffer from higher rates of diabetes, hypertension, and heart disease. Evelyn notes that “According to the Massachusetts Food Trust Program, more than 80 percent of the city’s population lives in what’s called a “food desert,” defined by the CDC as having limited access to healthy options. Many communities depend on bodegas, but even if there is a bodega, they may not be providing healthy food options.”

Evelyn’s mission is to promote healthier options and to tell the stories of Hispanic / urban communities that have less access to healthy food, while simultaneously connecting families and communities. “As neighborhood demographics change, bodegas (corner stores) tend to be run by the incoming immigrant population, and those communities look to bodegas to supply not just everyday groceries, but also items that fit specific cultural needs and tastes that might not be stocked in major stores. Some bodegas are also experiencing pressure and fear of displacement as a result of gentrification. Seeing how these beloved bodegas are being neglected and experiencing challenging times, I decided to create a television show called Bodega Makeover to bring light to this issue. Bodega Makeover seeks to illuminate the cultural history of these neighborhood hubs and create a path for these businesses to engage community voices. With a sustainable design, wholesome food options, storytelling, and helpful resources, our aim is to keep the community’s heart beating. Do we believe that design has the potential to reduce food insecurity? Yes.”

The Project: Collaborating with the Vega Family

“I walked around the neighborhoods, around different bodegas and went in old-school style and asked them if they were interested – hey do you want a makeover,” said Evelyn on choosing Vega Brothers as the inaugural makeover project.

From the start, and throughout the whole process, collaboration with Javier and Millie Vega was key. We visited the store and talked about the challenges: the store was crowded, and unwelcoming, and there was little opportunity to market healthy foods. Through observation, listening, and inventorying products and shelving, we were able to evaluate product placement and make recommendations about consolidation and overall layout. We proposed lowering shelves, widening the aisles, and incorporating color and bi-lingual signage to make the space more welcoming. Perhaps most importantly, our design located a large new produce section at the front of the store, visible from the front entry as well as from outside. The idea was to make healthy food the first impression. Exterior improvements included the removal of a security grille, and replacement with a decorative grille that would still provide security, but feel more welcoming and consistent with the homes in the community.

Engaging the Community

A space for the community must engage the community. As Evelyn notes, “We knew we had to collaborate with the community and organizations to achieve the best possible outcome for the residents. We planned a block party and asked people in the area what they thought about the design.” At that event, STA shared preliminary designs and an animation video of the design. We also set up a table, with a large board and stacks of sticky notes, inviting community members to share their ideas for what they’d like to see in the bodega. One common theme rang through all the feedback – more healthy food options. The community was ready for the transformation!

“Engagement with neighbors and organizations, in our opinion, is essential for these projects to succeed. In these programs, food partners are crucial collaborators and stakeholders. Because funding for these programs is limited, it’s critical that we use everyone’s time and resources effectively. The Bodega Makeover series aims to foster a robust dialogue in areas where people may be looking for solutions to food insecurity,” said Evelyn.

Building During a Challenging Time

All remodeling and renovation projects are difficult, but this is especially true when one of the resources being renovated is a valuable community asset. Then the unpredictable happened: the pandemic. Construction of the bodega renovations began in 2020. During the early stages of the pandemic, the Vega family was committed to staying open to support their community during this challenging time. Construction schedules and funding also became a challenge, the project was delayed and the design had to be somewhat modified. But the team persevered and completed the project with the same overall design intent. We worked collaboratively to develop options for the highest priorities.

Mural inside Vega Brothers. (Photo/STA Design, Inc.)

Impact and Lessons Learned

It’s been over two years since the Vega Brothers transformation. We looked back with Evelyn to understand how the space is working now that we’ve moved beyond the ribbon-cutting and the store isn’t in the spotlight anymore.

“The makeover of Vega Brothers went well, and healthier food options are now available at the Roxbury location,” noted Evelyn. Community feedback has been overwhelmingly positive, and the space remains clear, easy to navigate, and brighter. The biggest transformation came from locating the produce at the front of the store, where it remains today. Simple tweaks and pivots like substituting plantains and yuca for apples and bananas have helped customize what the community wants to make it their own.

But bigger challenges were harder to overcome. The bodega received a lot of community resources and business support during the construction, (for example, Eversource provided new lighting that will continue to save energy costs), but that level of support across partners has not remained consistent. At the same time, rising costs for food have made it challenging to keep the costs affordable for the community.

The challenges were in fact too great for the family to overcome, and they have now sold the business to another bodega owner. While the renovated bodega will remain an important and impactful resource for the community, it’s unfortunate that the family no longer owns the business after all of their hard work to make the vision a reality. This demonstrates the importance of providing ongoing, sustaining support for community spaces, beyond the ribbon cutting.

Redesigned produce section. (Photo/STA Design, Inc.)

“An idea to take this to the next level is to rethink how we can connect community resources, local farms, and eco-friendly products to bodegas. It also gives us a vision and a plan for building a local food system that is strong, healthy, and sustainable,” said Evelyn.

Just the Beginning

The transformation of the bodega is just the beginning – with the success of this pilot program, Evelyn is now taking Bodega Makeover nationwide.

Evelyne shared, “The possibilities are endless…Our dream is for a reduction of food insecurity in local communities. Food costs are reasonable, and there are resources and food education available. We can all benefit from understanding how bodegas can be a flexible business model. This project can send a clear message to big box retailers that bodega culture is here to stay.”

The Bodega Makeover project was impactful to not only the community but to the STA Design team as well. We learned firsthand the importance of understanding and engaging the community, and how a community effort involves and impacts every person involved. We learned to flow with necessary adaptations – that it’s not important that the final outcome looks exactly as our renderings, but that the core elements of the problem-solving goals are achieved. We learned that donating our time can improve the community outcome, and we have continued to make this part of our mission and practice. Most importantly, we learned to recognize the power and responsibility of our role as designers and encourage the design community to seek out opportunities to drive toward community impact and equity.

Shared Spaces for All: An Inclusive Design Challenge for Airports

Biophilic-influenced exterior elements add beauty and functionality. Exterior curbside rendering of Appleton International Airport (Mead & Hunt, Inc).

By Anita Cobb, Ryan Dittoe, and Tonya Wood

Arriving at the airport, you cannot be dropped off at the access ramp due to traffic congestion. To find the ticket counter, you look up through the crowd for signage. After checking your bags, you go to the security checkpoint. You are subjected to a search as medical devices cannot pass through the body scanners.

Toward your gate, stimuli are overwhelming – people, lights, music, and food smells. You need to use the restroom before your flight, but find the accessible stall is occupied; the only place you can separate from all the cacophony. You rush back to your gate for extra time to board. You worry about whether you’ll make your connecting flight, since you will exit the plane last, with assistance.

Exhausted and hours later, you are at baggage claim where you rely on passengers to get your bag off the belt for you. You wait outside for your ride, who parks some distance from the access ramp. Finally, you are on your way.

Reclaimed materials, locally curated resources, celebrations of local culture and organic-inspired design combine for a timeless and inspired equitable interior environment. Exterior rendering of Appleton International Airport (Mead & Hunt, Inc)

Each element of this journey presents a different set of hardships for travelers with disabilities. It is the responsibility of the airport to ensure a universally accessible experience for all users, including those with visible and non-apparent disabilities.

Now more than ever, a sustainable and resilient built environment considers impacts to users’ health, safety, and in more progressive applications, personal identity including race, ethnicity, culture, and faith. Planners and designers are challenged to think and act beyond the present-day minimum regulations for building design to account for the rapidly evolving requirements and needs of various users, particularly in public or commonly used spaces. One avenue to address this is universal design – designing spaces to be accessible and functional for as many user types as possible. Universal design aims to acknowledge the needs of most people, instead of prioritizing non-disabled people – a practice that has created barriers and marginalization. Complex questions arise when considering the feasibility of universal design:

• How are users and their characteristics identified?
• How can we create a common space that captures the needs of users who have historically been marginalized?
• What strategies can we employ in our goal to design as wholly inclusive common space as possible?
• How can we incorporate the feedback of identified user types into our design process?

Universal designs, also known as inclusive designs, consider the lived experiences and intersectional identities of the end users, including ability, linguistics, and comprehensive skills among many other factors that inform how individuals experience spaces. A favorable anticipated result of incorporating inclusive design elements is creating a harmonious built environment for most users, including those that have typically not been considered in airport design. This includes designing with the needs of caretakers in mind as well as the needs of those who are aging, and those with cognitive or physical disabilities.

To deep dive into true universal design is to understand the benefits of consistently respecting others and their differences, providing access to those who need it, and celebrating the differences that make us unique. Practitioners in the planning, architecture, interior design, engineering, and construction industries have a duty to acknowledge the needs of all people for whom common spaces are created. While airports are required to comply with the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), these minimum standards do not offset traditional, ableist design. Airport designers are inherently restricted to their own lived experiences and the demands of their clients. This can perpetuate an unconscious bias, which leans toward prioritizing the needs of the majority passenger demographic – those who are non-disabled.

Mead & Hunt is an architecture and engineering firm that provides comprehensive services to address equitable built environments for our clients across a range of industries. The airport environment is one ripe for the implementation of universal design principles. It is also one of our most challenging environments – highly active, stimulating, and expansive buildings that present a variety of inclusive design opportunities. While this is a consistent learning process, our Aviation and Aviation Architecture team, already well-versed in the technical requirements of these spaces, now embraces design strategies to consider travelers with disabilities.

Airports feature countless touchpoints, such as curb front areas, check-in counters and kiosks, security screening areas, restrooms, hold rooms, concession areas, facility wayfinding and auditory messages, and more. As planners and designers, we consider sights, sounds, and smells throughout the facilities that may be overwhelming for some travelers. Customized planning approaches remain crucial to a client’s needs, but the incorporation of various lighting types, textures, and open space into project designs can be a simple way to start and aid in universal access. Examples of this include:

• Service animal relief areas (SARA) include low maintenance, cleanable turf, a pheromone-scented fire hydrant, specialized exhaust ventilation, a hand washing sink, waste bag supply and disposal, and ADA accessible pet water supply.
• Wellness rooms should be acoustically sound and include high-Noise Reduction Coefficient (NRC) rated ceilings, additional sound insulation where available, carpet, and soft lighting. Incorporating biophilic elements and natural materials are preferred. We recommend keeping the palette soothing and neutral with blended hues.
• Sensory rooms should accommodate those with Autism and/or sensory processing disorders and address various characteristics including the need for stimulation and quiet. This can be achieved with a zoning approach within the space and providing furniture that allows for privacy, noise-reducing headphones, and soothing components such as bubble or lava lamps. We recommend avoiding blended colors, busy patterns, dark colors, and loud, reflective surfaces. Provide visual opportunities for focus, fidget spinners, and tactile materials. High-NRC ceilings and lighting controls are encouraged.

One of the biggest challenges we face is not only incorporating universal design principles into each individual project but creating a consistently inclusive passenger experience across the aviation industry. Part of how our firm strives to accomplish this is by creating forward-thinking considerations for the built environment and educating our colleagues about inclusive planning, architecture, and engineering. We have built a collaboration with Project Confluence, a team of environmental justice thinkers and doers from Arizona State University, Carnegie Mellon University, and Partners in Participation. Project Confluence has helped Mead & Hunt incorporate environmental justice into our work and offer tools for how we can strengthen our advocacy for just and equitable outcomes with our clients.

As a result of Project Confluence, our Aviation and Architecture groups collectively created our Inclusive Design Studio with specifications for interior features that can be used to showcase inclusive options to our clients. This also has become a repository of resources and educational tools that can be referenced during project work and used to empower our project teams to contemplate how accessibility issues may be addressed in our daily work.

Sensory Room space for passengers to enjoy their wait time. Fort Wayne International Airport Sensory Room for travelers that are neurodiverse. (Mead & Hunt, Inc.)

Our clients and communities are not homogenous—nor should be the spaces we design for them. Each airport we encounter has a unique perspective and capacity to incorporate universal design based on factors that include resource availability, space constraints, stakeholder expectations, and strategic goals for operations. We believe it is imperative to meet clients where they are to understand how best to highlight the inclusive design opportunities in their projects. Our clients desire to build spaces that are inclusive and accessible. Mead & Hunt strives to educate our clients on universal design principles with the hope that they will continue to practice them post-engagement.

From a regulatory standpoint, many organizations are unaware of impending requirements relative to their facilities’ compliance with universal design and access laws. With limited funding and general unfamiliarity can come a misunderstanding and low prioritization of such regulations as the Architectural Barriers Act of 1968 and the Air Carrier Access Act’s Airline Passengers with Disabilities Bill of Rights. Our world is evolving and to be at the forefront of such change can be overwhelming, but it is necessary to design more intentionally for current and future users. Regulated spaces are already being incorporated within airports, such as lactation and adult changing tables and SARAs, but there is a gap in non-regulated spaces like multi-faith spaces and meditation rooms. Some of these spaces can be used for multiple functions, depending on the allowable square footage. Given the statistics that drive the need for these spaces, it is for the benefit of many that they are incorporated early in design planning.

Regarding feasibility concerns, it is easy to assume that expanded accommodations result in a higher-cost project and bring no return on investment. The truth is that revenues increase when shared public spaces are designed holistically. The basis of design costs, which are a small portion of the overall project costs, become negligible when the customer base is expanded. Customers who feel appreciated, are less stressed, and have a sense of belonging, are more likely to become loyal patrons.

In all project types, there is no substitute for early engagement with client and community stakeholders. The continuous feedback loop throughout the planning and design processes holds the design team accountable while ensuring the needs of the end users are effectively, practically, and economically met. Several of our projects embrace these improvements on several levels, such as Fort Wayne International Airport, Appleton International Airport, Cedar Rapids International Airport, and more. These expansion and improvement projects have recognized the need for additional terminal amenities to improve passenger and employee experiences.

It is important to empower airports with tools for accountability to inclusive design. Metrics for key performance indicators include a number of users, comments from individuals who experience airport facilities, and a number of reported adverse incidents. These measures provide data to help assess a space’s effectiveness. Another strategy in development is engaging with academics on research projects to obtain metrics and data on designs – for instance, measuring physiological responses to assess the implications of the design of a given space. Biometrics can also be used to better understand the eye movements that occur when looking for signage and wayfinding elements of a space that are meant to guide a user to certain features.

Project Confluence Team gathers to celebrate successes and plan future events. Team of academics partner with Mead & Hunt to learn about how to incorporate environmental justice into project planning and design of the built environment

Internally, our firm’s Interior Design team collaborates with our Employee Resource Group (ERG) – created to help shape and execute diversity, equity, inclusion, and belonging initiatives within and beyond the company – our sustainability and resiliency group, our technical and lighting engineers, and our architectural team to develop standards for these specialized spaces so that the needed inclusive goals are met successfully on a consistent basis within each project.

Along with the design aesthetic, integrating sustainable finishes and selections plays an equally important role in the overall success of the space, which is why we conduct eco-charrettes for each project. Throughout the design process, our design and sustainability professionals work with stakeholders and shareholders to examine the best practices for the built environment and passengers at each airport facility. It is a thorough and enjoyable process during which several options for sustainable and inclusive design options are presented for discussion with dashboards and visuals – graphs, imagery, metrics, and charts – to describe the benefits of each option.

Change occurs in increments. Start by considering what universal design looks like at your facility and where near- and long-term improvements could strengthen the quality of our industry and travelers’ lives. Designers can be curiously enthusiastic about reshaping airports and other buildings across the country by responding to the challenge to create inclusive facilities with shared spaces for all.

A Place to Belong: University Housing Shapes Community-Building at Penn

Lauder College House, University of Pennsylvania. (Penn/Jeffrey Totaro)

A Conversation with Cam Grey, Mitchell Holston, Karu Kozuma, Kathryn McDonald, Dana Reed, and Peter Sterling.

Thoughtfully designed common spaces are essential to the long-term success of residential housing on college and university campuses. Surrounding context and evolving student and programmatic requirements impact how these spaces are successfully woven into a building, offering support and opportunities for community members to engage and interact.

The University of Pennsylvania’s residential College House community offers interesting insight into the dynamics of building community and shared spaces, where two recently completed projects provide immersive experiences for students and faculty. Lauder College House, Penn’s first purpose-built college house, provides residences for 350 students, as well as apartments for faculty, staff, and graduate students, arranged around light-filled, double-height common areas. Gutmann College House, located at the western edge of campus, weaves city and campus together through the thoughtful treatment of building mass, materials, and neighborhood-friendly outdoor spaces.

We convened a conversation with representatives from the architectural firm responsible for the design of both projects, Bohlin Cywinski Jackson, and the Penn College House community to explore the design process behind these projects and how the University community uses them now that they are open.

Peter Sterling: What does common space mean in a university setting and especially in an urban campus like Penn, that has a close relationship with the city that surrounds it?

Cam Grey: I think that an institution like Penn, an educational institution and a residential educational institution in a city presents a really powerful opportunity to blur the boundaries between the lived life experience and the learning experience. One of the things that I’ve always felt about the college house experience at Penn is that it’s the place where that boundary is most deliberately blurred. And where, as a consequence, we hope – with our fingers crossed – that our students not only do their real learning, but actually practice their intellectual learning in environments that are not score-based, that are not for a grade.

So my sense about what the communal spaces on a campus like Penn are implicitly, and I think with our two buildings, explicitly designed to do is provide opportunities not only for the development of community sort of writ large, but also the opportunities for our students and our residents to practice adulting – to practice what it means to participate in adult conversation; what it means to be part of a community where you are mindful of other people’s needs as well as your own; how to transition from being in a family with all of the dimensions that has, into a world where they don’t know everybody in that same way. I think that the college house community is a very particular sort of transitional space. It’s a space of opportunity. The community spaces are then necessarily quite multidimensional. They need to be able to do a variety of things.

They need to be spaces for our students to sit quietly on their own to study. But they also need to be able to be nimbly transformed into spaces where they can purposefully interact with staff members or with other members and leaders in the community. One of the things that I especially like about our building: they can be teaching spaces; they can be spaces where the formal parts of the university’s educational mission are practiced and performed as well.

Mitchell Holston: When thinking about community, I think a lot of it really starts within their own suites. Within Lauder, each suite has its own community space. That is, to me, the ground level of where the community building begins. Because currently we’re a four-year house, but now I’m thinking about next year being a first-year house where we’ll have our first year students, that ground level community is more than likely going to be the people that they’re living with. They all have common spaces within their own individual suites. But then outside of that, we have lounge spaces on each floor. That served as a main community space that, I think, primarily our RAs within the building use to build community amongst their students.

We straight up call them community builders; they do at least one community builder on their floor per week. Those lounge spaces really serve as a conduit for them to be able to do that. And the lounge spaces on the floors, for the most part, are outside of the RA rooms on that floor. But then outside of that, we do have other larger spaces within our community. I primarily would pinpoint the living room where we gather and do a lot of our larger, more social programs. It serves as a space that we’re able to catch all students. It’s an open space. Most students, when they’re coming within the building, they can see it regardless of where they’re going within the building. And students can see it and know that if there’s people there. If there’s a commotion, if there’s noise, there’s some type of community building that is happening that we want them to be a part of.

Lauder College House, University of Pennsylvania. (Penn/Jeffrey Totaro)

Kathryn McDonald: The heart of community building to me is figuring out ways for students to engage and connect with other individuals. So whether that’s through learning, whether it’s having a casual conversation that turns towards more intellectual things, whether it’s grabbing some food together. We have all these multidimensional spaces that do that. And I think one of the unique things though, at least at Penn, is it often feels like we belong to the community at Penn too. The building does. And I think part of that is because of how the access works and what Mitchell was talking about where these two buildings in particular are very open and visible and obviously visible because they’re new and people were excited about new things.

They’re designed with windows everywhere. We have spaces that are purposely meant to be high visibility. But I think that’s what makes it interesting about community building is because it doesn’t always feel like everyone at the table is a Gutmann resident. That helps create more interesting conversations and moments. That’s a unique thing about Penn. Other places I’ve worked, we don’t have the same types of access that we have here at Penn. Every undergraduate student has access to every building on campus, residential building, which makes it unique.

Dana Reed: And students take advantage of that? You feel like people feel they belong to the shared spaces if they don’t live there?

Cam Grey: That’s the hope. Karu, you and Mitchell and I were talking about this just a week or so ago, the notion that as we are thinking about being a first year community, but even now in our four-year community, there’s that interesting tension between this is my place, this is where I am, this is my space, I am a part of this community and it’s bounded and we all share these experiences. But it’s also sort of permeable and open and there’s people that are coming in for other purposes: they’re coming in for learning, they’re coming in to be eating in our cafeteria. It’s doing both of those things and that’s mostly opportunity, but there’s also occasionally tension where those multiple types of community rub up against each other in ways that we might not have anticipated or that we need to think about managing in the moment.

One of those tension points: it’s a building that has one entrance, apart from fire and exits; it’s a controlled entrance, especially in the last sort of three or four years. In the early days of the pandemic and the aftermath, the buildings have become somewhat more difficult to access for people that are not part of the Penn community. We have this really interesting tension, I think, and an ongoing unresolved one, I suspect.

But on the one hand, this building and Gutmann are physically and philosophically designed to participate in the Philadelphia community. Our building sits there with this big open armed hug of the downtown part of Penn. It’s designed in that regard in its physical architecture and then also in the way that Michael thought about the exteriors of the building and the ways that Dana, you broke the harsh lines of the exterior of the building. It’s expressing the permeability of Penn’s relationship to Philadelphia, and yet it’s a building that has one entry and that actually has some obvious reasons why there’s one entry. In the past, we’ve done community events, we’ve done events that are open to the whole of the Philadelphia community. We’ve had the Philadelphia Orchestra bring groups into our living room and open it up to West Philadelphia. But getting people into the building, getting them access to the building in those moments can present a challenge. I think it’s a tension between a philosophy of openness and availability to all on the one hand, and then a need to control and know who is in that space and in that building.

Karu Kozuma: Common spaces are also an interesting experiment to see how students understand their place in a community. How they treat it, how they leave it, how they share it; do they see there are other people impacted by their behaviors, i.e. the housekeeping staff if they leave things? So it gives us a lot of opportunity to be able to see how students understand their role in the community. And then it gives us a chance to be able to think about, well, how do we go along that journey with them so they can recognize that in the one or two or three or four years they’re part of college houses or they’re part of Lauder and Gutmann, what do they learn when they’re sharing this space with others? It’s most certainly not their room from home.

How do we align these opportunities with our mission, which is actually for students to learn more about themselves and others so they can grow and they understand that they do play a larger part in a community. It’s these little things: do they leave things a mess, do they take a piece of furniture away from the common space, are they willing to sit in a common room with a complete stranger and be okay with that? It just gives us so much richness that it makes it fun to see how students respond and gives us a chance to be able to actually shape how they exit Penn. And it may be something as simple as using a common space, but it really touches on a lot of things that we’re trying to impart on these students when they graduate.

Cam Grey:

The piece that we haven’t talked about is dining, communal eating and shared eating. In Gutmann you all have a fairly constrained version of that. And ours, I think, was imagined as a really intimate experience with the notion that you eat together more or less as a family. And we spent a lot of energy and time in those early years working to create a family dining experience. And that, I think, was a real feature of those early years of our community. Now interestingly, there have been various developments on Penn’s campus, which have meant that the dining facilities are now under quite a bit more pressure. There’s a lot more demand for dining, which on the one hand is fantastic because eating together is an ace thing to do, but it also means that the community feel of our small dining space is undergoing something of a transition.

Dana Reed: Okay, does everyone know the story about dining at Gutmann? We started Gutmann and it was hush, hush and we were told, “No dining. No dining. No dining. Maybe a cafe, no dining.” And this very important person said, “I can’t sleep at night unless there’s dining in this house, and I know that you’re about to build the building, but find a way to put it in.” And so it’s hard to balance, I guess, the pedagogical mandates and I suppose, the economics of running of a dining operation.

Cam Grey: I think they travel in the same direction, I do. I think that the pedagogical and the economical elements of eating together travel in the same direction. Community building, needing to feed people that are living on campus and it being a pedagogical opportunity, they all work together … Our hospitality services folks have now opened up the Lauder College House Dining Pavilion as a lunch space for students to take their mentors. It’s supported by the Provost Office and so it’s a free meal for a student to bring somebody. But again, what’s awesome about it is that the initial contact is a mentoring or a support relationship. And then they eat together and they develop the intimacy of their relationship in that.

Mitchell Holston: In thinking about both Gutmann and Lauder together, I really like the use of the outdoor spaces that are inside of our communities. The courtyard within Lauder is a big part of the students’ experience. The courtyard is right in the center, and a lot of our students live on that side of the building where they have to walk through the courtyard to be able to get to those elevators. The courtyard plays a very integral part to what we do here, knowing that it is a big, wide open space so people can go outside, get fresh air. But it also provides a pretty big programming space for us because we do a lot of our larger programs out there.

I really like those uses of space; you’re still within the community, you’re still in our building, you’re still past our access points, et cetera, but you can still have those outdoor components to your experience.

Gutmann College House, University of Pennsylvania (Penn/Jeffrey Totaro)