Dignity, Inclusivity and Walkability: How Public Bathrooms Help Cities Flourish
Is there anything worse than spotting a public bathroom at the moment you need one, only to find that it’s locked? Okay, of course there are worse things than that, but it’s up there, isn’t it?
Since having kids, I’ve become particularly attuned to the availability — or lack thereof — of public bathrooms in most places. It’s an amenity that’s treated as optional when it should really be treated as utterly vital.
It’s kind of funny; over the years I’ve been lucky to visit family across Canada, and some of the memories that stand out most are well-done public bathrooms that were there for me when I needed them. A tucked-away public bathroom in Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario, was in the basement of a building on the main drag. If you blinked you might miss it, but once I knew it was there, I wouldn’t forget it. Or the beautiful, spacious and spotless public bathroom in the historic village center of Ladner, British Columbia…that was a good one, too. I especially remember the cleanest Port-a-Potty I’ve ever seen, which we found at a playground in tiny Caronport, Saskatchewan (population 994). After a long day of cross-country driving with three young kids, it was a merciful oasis. I couldn’t believe my luck.
That great toilets stand out in my travel memories as much as great museums, meals and music says something, doesn’t it? Whether we want to think about them or not, they’re essential.
I think about the quality of public space a lot, and the opportunity to observe this frequently arises for me as a transit rider in a place with not-great transit. Because I hate being late, I often build a buffer into my transit plans, in case I hit unexpected delays. And because of this, I sometimes wind up with time to spare at my destination or while waiting for my bus home to arrive. In the time and space between my home and my destination, I’ve noticed that I’m often waiting in spaces that have no shade or shelter as a reprieve from sun or rain. No place to sit and take a load off, except perhaps a dirty ledge or sill. And no place to use bathroom facilities or even just wash my hands. Even outdoor water fountains used to be somewhat common when I was a kid. Now I can’t think of the last time I saw one.
It seems to me that, over time, there’s been a real degradation of the human experience within public space. The seemingly little things that make being out and about a little easier and more pleasant…or downright possible.
That’s the thing with the public bathroom scarcity: It’s not just an annoyance. It really affects people’s lives. A 2019 report out of the U.K. included some grave findings. The study found that 20% of people don’t feel able to go out as much as they’d like to, specifically because of bathroom access. When my kids were young, I would have absolutely counted myself in that 20%. For those with medical conditions requiring frequent toilet use — like diabetes or bladder, bowel, or prostate conditions — this rose to 43%.
And distressingly, the study found that over half of the public practices deliberate dehydration (restricting fluid intake) because of lacking public toilet facilities, something that “can seriously affect health and exacerbate existing medical problems such as cystitis.”
While everyone needs to go sometimes, the lack of public bathrooms does affect certain demographics disproportionately. For women, there are many reasons; two in particular are that women use the bathroom more frequently than men and they are more likely to be caregivers to children or care-dependent adults. This summary from Women in Urbanism Canada includes many more factors.
And for people with disabilities, the lack of accessible bathrooms can be a massive impediment. I’ve thought of this often while trying to wrangle a toddler (or even a suitcase) into an average-sized bathroom stall with me. It’s hard to fathom being able to cope in a situation like that with any mobility issues or equipment. No one should endure the indignity of finding an open bathroom only to realize they can’t physically access it.
It’s interesting that, when street parties and festivals take place, portable bathrooms are almost always provided. In the years that big events have resumed since pandemic disruptions, I’ve noticed that many of these temporary bathroom facilities are now better than they’ve ever been. The best ones include a station with running water and soap (and even paper towels!!). Tourist towns usually do public bathrooms well, too, along their main streets or beach boardwalks.
Why have we decided that bathrooms are a must for special events and essential for tourists, yet our everyday selves aren’t worthy?
Why are cities so averse to providing abundant public bathrooms? There’s the fact that the whole topic of bodily functions is sort of taboo, sure. We’d rather not think or talk about them. But I suspect a lot of it comes down to the cost of maintenance. They’re those relatively small expenses that seem easy to scale back on or cut when there’s not enough money to pay for everything we need and want. Even though the public benefits of bathrooms are so high for such a relatively low cost, we can readily grasp that this type of infrastructure will need ongoing, nonnegotiable maintenance, so we don’t even build them in the first place. It’s a bold contrast to million- or billion-dollar road expansions that provide very little return on investment and whose costs for maintenance and eventual replacement we give virtually no thought.
Even now that my kids are older, I’ve absolutely got a mental map of where bathroom options are when out in public, each tagged with various attributes: “no purchase necessary,” “has water bottle fill station,” “closed in winter/evenings/etc.” or “cleanliness issues — last resort!” When I find a new one, I file these details away as valuable intel that I’ll surely need again someday.
Where to find a public bathroom when you need one shouldn’t be valuable intel. It should be the sort of thing we can take for granted.
Emma Durand-Wood likes walkable cities, front porches, street trees, bumping into neighbors, riding her bike, downtowns, and any excuse to check out a new coffee shop, bakery, or shop. A Winnipegger by choice, she lives in Elmwood with her husband and three children. You can connect with her on Twitter @emmaewood.