In the early morning, fog clings to the silent streets of Orillia, and where once a row of benches stood, there is now nothing but damp concrete. It is strange how absence can speak so loudly—how the simple removal of a place to sit can echo questions about who is welcome, and who is not.
Walking through the downtown strip, I am struck by the recent removal of public benches—an act that feels both practical and symbolic. The city’s decision, prompted by concerns over loitering and visibility of outreach vans, has unsettled the gentle rhythms of community life. I recall hearing an official from the Lighthouse call it “stigmatizing,” a word that lingers in my mind longer than I’d expect. My initial assumption was that public spaces were meant for everyone, regardless of circumstance.
My first reaction was one of irritation, then guilt. I recognized the luxury of moving through public spaces without worry, permitted to belong by default. But watching others, especially those who rely on benches as a resting spot or a small corner of dignity, I felt the undercurrent of exclusion. Beneath my frustration lay a deeper fear: what if belonging is never as simple as showing up?
What drove this decision? Was it safety, order, or an attempt to erase discomfort? It is easy for those with stable homes and routines to view benches as mere infrastructure. For some, benches are sanctuary. If I consider Kolb’s cycle—concrete experience, reflection, conceptualization, and then action—I see this moment as a turning point. Benches are not neutral. They are statements about who counts, whose comfort matters, who deserves to pause and breathe in our shared city.
From this, I have learned to read public space with sharper eyes. The immediate lesson is empathy for those whose presence unsettles others. The longer journey is to challenge the quiet policies that chip away at inclusion, and to voice concern when belonging is rationed.
I resolve to attend city meetings, to write, to listen—and to remind myself and others that community is not measured by the absence of discomfort, but by how we make room for those who need it most.
If the benches ever return, I hope Orillia will remember that every seat is an invitation, and every invitation shapes the soul of our city.
References:
‘It’s stigmatizing’: Outreach vans ticketed, benches removed in Orillia
