Attending the Empathy Retreat was a unique and emotionally charged experience in every way. It was challenging, beautiful, exhilarating, frustrating, overwhelming, and profoundly emotional – all at once.
It was challenging because, while exploring the city with such a diverse group, I was reminded of how complex it is for someone with a permanent disability to venture out daily, performing everyday tasks like buying bread or strolling in the park. Naturally, from an architect’s perspective, I couldn’t help but wonder why we focus on aesthetics and often leave accessibility as an afterthought, tucked away like an unused “disabled ramp.”
On one of the days, we were tasked with experiencing a specific area of the city from the perspective of a person with disabilities. I had some understanding of the challenges involved in long-distance wheelchair travel, having accompanied my daughter Martha, who has spastic tetraparesis. However, I had never experienced life as a blind person, so I chose to use a white cane and donned opaque glasses.
I embarked on a journey from Habermann Square towards the city center, unable to see anything. The white cane alone wouldn’t have been enough if I hadn’t been accompanied by my teammates: Delia, Diana, Oana, and Gabi.
Gabi is blind, having lost his sight due to diabetes over twenty years ago. He guided me and provided instructions, but it was an incredibly daunting experience. I was petrified at a pedestrian crossing when the signal turned red as I was crossing. The drivers’ horns blared loudly at me, and in my hurry, panic set in. That’s when Delia grabbed my arm and assisted me in crossing. Tears welled up behind my opaque glasses. Our journey hadn’t begun smoothly.
As I continued, I encountered numerous obstacles: narrow sidewalks, uneven stairs, bollards, an attempt to find a railing (in front of which was a planter), and branches brushing against me (I’m tall, so they hit me in the face). Gabi guided me, and Delia watched over me. I depended on their assistance. The relief was palpable when, in the old town, I stumbled upon a pedestrian walkway and encountered the central rill! It simplified my progress, allowing me to walk in a straight line rather than zigzagging between curbs. How helpful tactile markings would have been! I only encountered them once, at a traffic light. Later, I saw Gabi’s photo, where he had bent down to feel them (a treasure, indeed!).
I felt excluded and powerless. Were it not for my teammates, I wouldn’t have made it through.
Experiencing urban space as a blind person is an entirely different perspective. It felt like a constant struggle, sapping my strength. It dawned on me how rarely I had considered blind individuals in my architectural projects. I suspect many architects share this oversight. Perhaps we should all participate in an Empathy Retreat from time to time.
Despite it all, I was left with a sense of unity and connection among all of us who participated. We have such diverse abilities, yet we stood together, a united front fighting against the dragon- the city.
