Accessibility at TD Place is sub-standard. Will Lansdowne 2.0 change that?

Pam Fitch didn’t expect to become an accessibility advocate. But after she and her husband attended a Volleyball Nations League match at TD Place earlier this month, she is sounding alarms about what she says is an embarrassing lack of access for anyone with limited mobility. 

Fitch is a registered massage therapist and former instructor at Algonquin College. As an educator, Fitch taught about legal accessibility requirements, usually from a therapeutic perspective — if they were to open a massage clinic, what would be required for accessibility?

She and her husband have attended other sports and entertainment events at Lansdowne Park in the park, but Fitch said her husband has only recently begun experiencing mobility issues, leading him to depend on a cane. 

“It just put everything in stark perspective for us.”

The event began with a struggle to find parking that was close enough for the couple to avoid walking a long distance to the stadium. Once they arrived, they found stairs at the entrance without reliable handrails.

“We don't necessarily identify as people needing accessible accommodation when we go to events, or we didn’t used to,” explained Fitch. “I didn't know that TD Place’s policy is basically that it's an old facility, so therefore if you need an accessible entrance, you should essentially figure out how you can get into the place on your own.”

The couple slowly navigated the flights of stairs up into the facility, then down to their seats, where they were meeting a family member. Fitch’s husband doesn’t require a wheelchair-adapted seat, but reaching their assigned seating was challenging.

When Fitch’s husband needed to use the restroom during the match, they were directed to an usher a few rows away. Once they reached him, the usher pointed them towards a security guard. There were no accessible restrooms on their level, so the security guard escorted them to the closest ones.

 Fitch said two security guards needed to walk with the couple to the elevator and guide them to the restroom, then wait with them before bringing them back to their seats.

“By the time we were finished in the bathroom, the second set had started, and we couldn't cross the court, so we had to sit at the bleachers on the opposite end from where we were sitting,” explained Fitch. “Our family members are wondering where we are and if we're okay, and there's a 15-minute break between the matches, so it took us more than 15 minutes to find the usher, go upstairs, use the washroom, and come back down.

“And then when they wanted us to sit to wait, the bleachers were really full, so now they’ve told my husband with a mobility issue, ‘you can sit up there, sir – across three benches and up towards an empty seat.” 

They eventually were reunited with their family, but at the end of the match, Fitch said her husband was frustrated and “didn’t want to bother” the usher, so he fought his way up and down the steps again.

“By the end of it, I turned around, and he's crawling up the steps, holding on to the back of each of these chairs to get himself to the top because he's having trouble navigating the stairs without handrails,” said Fitch. “How is it that we don't have handrails to get ourselves up these stairs? Don't tell me it's an old facility. Every facility has handrails.”

TD Place’s online accessibility information includes maps of specialized accessible seating and details on first-come, first-served accessible parking spots. Because Fitch’s husband has only recently been facing mobility challenges, he has not previously been eligible for disabled parking spaces or permits. 

Some of the stadium’s entry gates have accessibility teams on standby or provide ramp access, but locations can vary by event and may be far from seating. There is also only one elevator serving the north-side stands, and it is shared by staff, food services, and customers.

At Algonquin, Fitch often taught about universal design, the practice of designing spaces that are accessible to and usable by people of all ages and abilities, eliminating the need for specialized adaptations. The policy emphasizes the need to make inclusivity and accessibility standard features from the beginning rather than adding adjustments later. 

“It's not just about people who have lifelong disabilities. It looks like what they've done is created an accessibility policy for the people who are not able-bodied,” said Fitch about TD Place. “In other words, they have othered a whole segment of the population.

“That other population is not consistently people with lifelong disabilities, it's pregnant people, it's people who have just had eye surgery, or suddenly they can't hear because there's an injury, or they can't walk because they've broken their leg.”

The City of Ottawa has developed its own Accessibility Design Standards, which apply to both new construction and rehabilitation projects and align with the Ontario Building Code and Accessibility for Ontarians with Disabilities Act (AODA) accessibility requirements. 

The physical stadium and arena are owned by the City of Ottawa and operated through a public-private partnership with the Ottawa Sports and Entertainment Group (OSEG).

But OSEG has also been advocating for change. In October, while plans for Lansdowne 2.0 were still under debate at city council, OSEG held a guided tour led by accessibility advocates to highlight the challenges at the current facility. 

The field was first cleared for sporting events in the 1870s, but the facility, in its current form, was built in the 1960s and 70s, then renovated in time for the first Ottawa Redblacks home game in 2014. 

Since then, city councillors and advocates have shared concerns that the current facilities are outdated, particularly around accessibility. 

John Redins, a local disability advocate and employee of TD Place, said the different sides and areas of the stadium are “night and day” depending on when they were built or last updated.

Because of the facility's layout, both employees and event attendees often have to take long routes to reach elevators or washrooms, as Fitch and her husband experienced.

Redins said accessing the facility from outside is also difficult because some of the Para Transpo-designated spots are occupied by rideshare and Uber or Lyft drivers. Whether he’s at the stadium for work or to attend an event, he said it makes it even more difficult to access the facility.

“It's very hard to control because there are so many cars coming in and out at events,” he explained.

Beyond the practical challenges, Redins said there are social and personal impacts of inaccessible design.

“We're supposed to be a team that works together,” he said. “But at times, I feel sad because I can’t get that social impact working with fellow employees, because I can't go into the [staff] room just before we go out and socialize and get to know people.”

For people like Fitch and her husband, who have not always relied on accessible standards, there can be a feeling of indignity or isolation when the city is “no longer meant for you.”

“It’s easier not to go out, it's easier not to support festivals,” she said. “If I want to go to the jazz festival, my first question is, Where do I park, because how far do I have to walk with a chair on my shoulder? And we just can’t do that anymore.

“We used to. What about people who’ve never had that ability?”