Inclusive Playground Evaluation
Inclusive Playground Evaluation
When I evaluate an early playground concept, I’m not looking for polish or final drawings—I’m looking for whether the idea is sound, inclusive, and worth developing. Here are the core things I check, especially through a lived-experience, disability-inclusive lens:
1. Who is this actually for?
Not “everyone” in theory—who in practice?
I ask:
Can a wheelchair user enter, move through, and participate?
Can a child with low vision, sensory sensitivity, or cognitive disability engage meaningfully?
Is there something here for children who don’t climb, run, or use upper body strength?
If disabled children are only “watching from the side,” it’s not inclusive.
2. Is the play real or symbolic?
A ramp to a lookout that leads nowhere meaningful is not inclusion.
I check:
Does the accessible path lead to actual play outcomes (movement, interaction, cause-and-effect)?
Can disabled children initiate play, not just be placed in it?
Is the equipment usable independently or with peers, not only with adult assistance?
3. Dignity and social inclusion
I look for whether the design:
Avoids separating “special” equipment from the main play space
Encourages side-by-side play between disabled and non-disabled children
Prevents designs that make children feel observed, pitied, or “othered”
Inclusion is social, not just physical.
4. Access beyond the equipment
A great piece of inclusive equipment means nothing if:
The entry points are narrow or uneven
There is no nearby accessible seating, shade, or caregiver space
I check whether the whole journey—from arrival to play to rest—has been thought through.
5. Safety without over-restriction
I ask:
Can children take age-appropriate risks while remaining protected?
Are transfers, edges, heights, and moving parts considered from a disabled user’s perspective?
Good inclusive design doesn’t wrap children in cotton wool—it enables them.
6. Maintenance and real-world use
Concepts often ignore:
Can councils realistically maintain this?
Will moving parts jam, rust, or become inaccessible over time?
Is the design robust enough for public use?
If it can’t survive real life, it won’t serve the community long-term.
7. Does it add something new?
I ask:
Is this genuinely improving inclusive play—or just repeating standard designs with an “accessible” label?
Does it solve a real problem I’ve experienced as a disabled person or advocate?
Would I have wanted this as a child? Would families I work with benefit?
8. Lived-experience test
Finally, I apply a simple filter:
“If I were a disabled child arriving here—would I feel invited to play, or politely accommodated?”
That difference is everything.
