By Joanne Marcano, Community Outreach Director, InclusiV
Everyone deserves to dance. That should not be a radical statement. But for a lot of us, it still is.
I have spent a lot of my life navigating spaces that were not built for me. Showing up to an event and immediately calculating — is there an elevator? Can I get to the washroom? Will there be somewhere to sit when I need to rest? Will I be able to move through this space with dignity? Those questions follow me everywhere. They have for years.
As a Black woman living with a disability, those barriers have never been just one thing. Race. Disability. The intersection of both. Navigating spaces has meant carrying all of that at once.
Before my work in equity and inclusion, social services and the developmental sector, I spent years in the music industry. I was in the rooms. I was at the events. And I watched, again and again, as people with disabilities were left out. Not always out of malice. Often out of oversight. Out of the assumption that certain spaces simply were not for everyone.
I also noticed the seating. There was never enough of it. And I understood why — the goal was to get people moving, to feel the music, to be in the experience. But what about the people who needed a place to rest or be safe and still be part of it all?
Here is what I want people to understand. Accessibility is not only a disability issue. Any one of us could walk into a space with a bad back, arthritis, a broken leg, low vision or blindness or social anxiety. We are all one moment away from needing a space that works for our body. When we build spaces that work for everyone, everyone benefits.
I first attended InclusiV as a guest. And what I saw when I walked through those doors has stayed with me.
I watched people having the time of their lives. I watched caregivers exhale. I watched families and siblings feel safe, (truly safe) while their loved ones explored the space, visited the activations, and just existed freely. I watched smiles. I watched laughter. I watched people dancing under the Toronto skyline. I watched strangers become friends. I watched moments of connection and bonding that families told me later do not happen often enough.
That is not a small thing. That is everything.
When I came on as Community Outreach Director, those memories came with me. You see, when I sit with caregivers and service providers and hear them talk about InclusiV and what it truly means to the people they support, the families they walk alongside, the community that has found a home in this event; it confirms what I already knew. This is something people look forward to. This is something people need.
InclusiV is not the only space doing this work. But it is a powerful reminder of what is possible when accessibility is treated as the foundation and not an afterthought. Ten years in, and the impact speaks for itself.
My hope is that this becomes the blueprint. That more events, more venues, more organizers ask themselves the hard questions before the doors open. So that nobody has to calculate anymore.
Because everyone deserves to feel the music. To feel the vibe. To dance, move, or sway their cares away.
Come as you are. We will see you on June 29.
