The kindness of exclusion
Accessible spaces need enforcers who will go out of their way to make sure the space is available for the people who need it. Even if that risks offending others.
The two women on the GO train looked annoyed when I explained they were sitting in a wheelchair-designated space. They huffed and muttered but took the stairs to the upper level of the train car while I turned to latch Janneke’s chair for the start of our trip.
Let’s go to the Ex!
In August, one of our respite nurses and I took Rachel and Janneke on the GO train to visit the Canadian National Exhibition (CNE) in Toronto. It’s Canada’s largest community fair, with midway rides, games, shows and amazing (albeit deep-fried) food. Rachel and Janneke love riding the train, so the journey is part of the adventure.
There’s one train car identified as the accessibility coach, and over the years, we’ve travelled with older adults who use walking assistance and other families who use wheelchairs like ours. There are times when my girls are the only individuals riding who need mobility support, and the seats are filled with those who might be travelling with luggage or young families with strollers and wagons.
On our way to the CNE that Thursday morning, the accessibility coach filled up quickly. Subsequently, the Customer Service Ambassador made announcements at each station stop, reminding passengers that the coach was for those with mobility challenges. He went so far as to physically point out the other train cars and encourage boarding further along the train.
All welcome?
The theme of the October 2026 issue is hospitality, and the experience of the accessible GO train car reminded me of a particular chapter of Priya Parker’s The Art of Gathering: How we meet and why it matters. In her chapter “Close Doors,” Parker highlights the kindness of exclusion, something I needed to read several times in order to fully understand. Parker writes, “The thoughtful gatherer understands that inclusion can in fact be uncharitable, and exclusion generous.”
While the Customer Service Ambassadors hadn’t formally invited anyone to ride the train that morning, many of us did gather on the accessibility coach with the intention of visiting the CNE. Had he not gently but firmly excluded individuals who do not have mobility challenges at each station stop, there would have been no room for a family of eight, which boarded at the halfway point with individuals using a manual wheelchair and a large power wheelchair. In that moment, I was thankful the two women I had asked to move were the only ones irritated with the nudge.
For the second half of our trip, those of us in the accessibility coach worked to fit everyone safely, as if we were tasked with a giant puzzle. My respite nurse remarked on how amazing it was to meet strangers and feel instantly acquainted through a common goal.
The train ride moved me to wonder: if, at its core, hospitality is about creating a space where people feel welcome and safe, then sometimes intentionally closing the door actually helps create the necessary room.
It’s not quite the same thing but. . . . I was once riding a city bus in Vancouver on the way home from UBC when an older person boarded the bus but all the front seats were full. The bus driver got on his microphone and told the two younger people in the front bench-style seat to move right away and respect the new (old) passenger by giving up their front seats. When this didn’t happen immediately, the driver added, “This bus isn’t going anywhere until you two people move.”