Curb Cuts: Small Changes, Big Shifts in Public Space
As a kid growing up in Oakland, I always walked around looking downward. There were probably a number of reasons, cracked sidewalks, lucky pennies, and the fact that no one picked up after their dog in my neighborhood. So, I remember clearly in the early 80s when the sidewalks at intersections began to be demolished and rebuilt to create slopes down to the street. First these “curb cuts” appeared in the commercial areas where we saw movies and got milk shakes, then along main streets and finally to most intersections by the time I was in high school.
To my burgeoning graphic sensibility, they looked cool, a simple curbline transformed into two sharp triangles reaching out towards each other without meeting. But most importantly, I knew why they were there and what they meant to those who fought to put them there.
Memory, Place, and the Fight for Access
Growing up, my best friend’s family was more to me than just the family of my friend. I spent more time at their house than any other place besides my home and school, and I had my own special relationship with each member of their family. And though their household was pretty different from mine, I felt completely comfortable, heard and welcomed in their home. Their house was full of serious talk and deep feelings- on topics sacred and profane and of both cosmic importance and personal significance, including ethics, politics, music, sports, movies, cultures and travel.
David, my best friend’s dad, was passionate, charismatic, and handsome with a deep authoritative voice. A kind word from David was like standing in the sunshine, but I still shiver remembering receiving the rare- but undoubtedly deserved- stern admonishment from him. Around the house and later when he was older, David rode a wheelchair, but for most of his life he got around town with the use of crutches after being diagnosed with polio as a child.
David met his wife Patti when they were undergraduate students at UC Berkeley, and he worked as a labor rights lawyer and ethics professor until his semi-retirement and second career as a Jazz DJ, seriously, this man lived. And though I could tell you what David’s favorite movie was- The Maltese Falcon- as a young kid I was only partially aware of his professional work and advocacy.
Through the countless hours I spent with their family, having fun, running errands and getting into trouble-I couldn’t help but notice and feel how design- changes in elevation, variations in surface type, and distance between elements would impact how freely and comfortably David could use a space. But I did not know at the time that David was working as part of the team of lawyers and activists crafting and supporting civil rights legislation for disabled people that started in the Bay Area and was later spread across the country into the landmark federal law, the American Disabilities Act (ADA), first signed in 1990.
Only recently have I learned that the movement for independent living and civil rights for people with disabilities largely began at UC Berkeley. And while today the movement includes broad and comprehensive advocacy to provide fair access to built and virtual facilities, housing, and work place and educational opportunities, the first constructed accessible elements were a handful of curbs cuts on the UC Berkeley campus. But they were not designed by the campus architect, or built by the campus facilities; the first curb cuts were built as night time guerrilla installations by the students and activists known as the “Rolling Quads”. Later, through the vocal and dedicated work by independent living activists, the City of Berkeley approved curb cut construction in fifteen intersections in 1971. The construction of curbs cuts spread though Berkeley and then into Oakland and the greater Bay Area before being included as a small piece of the American Disabilities Act.
Equity in the Public Realm
Today, as a landscape architect, I encounter ADA codes daily. While I have issues with specific aspects of the code, particularly the mechanisms of enforcement, overall the regulations remain inspiring. They represent equity in the public realm at its most tangible: a sloped curb or smooth path that turns exclusion into access.
At any moment, roughly 20% of Americans live with a disability. That number increases with age, meaning that nearly every family will experience mobility differences at some point. Accessibility is not an exception; it is a universal condition.
Designing for Universal Access
In my work, I aim to go beyond minimum compliance. Universal access is not just about ramps and clearances — it’s about designing spaces that feel radically comfortable, beautiful, and generous. Pathways are not simply acceptably lumpy, but instead are taut and smooth enough to be traversed while engrossed in a conversation. Ramps are integrated as proud design features, not afterthoughts. Materials, shade, lighting, and tactile elements all play a role in creating inclusive public spaces.
Accessibility is equity made physical. Curb cuts may seem like small adjustments, but they mark a profound shift: opening cities to all bodies, all ages, all abilities.
