Who Gets to Play? The Quiet Exclusion Built Into Our Parks

The Playground Test

The swings are moving. The laughter is loud. A child arrives at the playground, eyes wide, ready to run straight into all of it — then stops. The climbing frame is out of reach. The slide has no ramp. The roundabout, too fast and too open, isn't safe. One by one, the options disappear. They watch the other children play from a distance, and that distance feels enormous. For some families, the playground isn't a place of freedom. It's a place of limits.

Progress That Shouldn’t Be Rare

Recently, parks in Awsworth, Nottinghamshire, have undergone upgrades that are worth celebrating. Shilo Recreation Ground now features a larger trampoline suitable for wheelchair users and a varied trim trail — equipment designed with every child in mind, not just some of them. Nearby, Lane Recreation Ground has seen important safety improvements to its surfaces. These are welcome, tangible steps forward, and the communities behind them deserve real credit. But they also prompt a question that's difficult to ignore: why does inclusive design still feel like a special announcement rather than a standard feature?

Built to a Budget, Not to Belong

Too often, parks feel designed around what councils can get away with — not who they might be leaving out. My local observations confirm this lack of visible consultation. One nearby park offers merely a spring rocker and a small hideout. Another features a large circular swing, one slide lacking ramp access, a climbing frame, a spinner, and stepping stones. Even the town centre’s larger zip-line area feels unimaginative. These cheap equipment choices suggest zero design research into sensory-positive play for neurodivergent children or meaningful ground-level wheelchair access. By ignoring diverse needs, these spaces essentially exclude children by design rather than igniting universal joy.

Consultation or Convenience?

We must question if disabled families are meaningfully consulted during the planning phase. Often, a single accessible swing feels like a token gesture to appease the public rather than a result of genuine engagement. There is a profound difference between mere legal compliance and true care. When we design for a community without inviting them to the table, we settle for the bare minimum. Co-designing with parents and children would replace uninspired layouts with innovative, sensory-rich environments. Ultimately, building a playground should be an act of empathy. By designing with people, not just for them, we ensure every child belongs.

Designing Joy, Not Just Equipment

Picture again that child arriving at the gates, heart racing with excitement, only to find a landscape of barriers and inaccessible dreams. This silent rejection is a profound statement; our public spaces are a direct reflection of who we truly value in our communities. We must move beyond the era of the bare minimum and embrace a future where no child is a bystander to their own youth. Real progress requires more than just compliance; it requires a fundamental shift in how we build for humanity. Inclusive playgrounds are not acts of generosity. They are acts of justice. And justice should never be optional.