"I learned with deep sadness, reading a newsletter from the organization L'Abilità, that the swing for disabled children inaugurated on April 21st at Montanelli Gardens had been damaged and is no longer usable. Other parents had let their children climb on it, ignoring the instructions, and the extra weight broke it.
I took a day off work on Saturday, April 21st, to be there for the park's opening and bring my son Lorenzo, who has a disability, to try the swing and the other equipment. That afternoon, we made our way to the play area in a festive mood and waited our turn. While we spoke with the volunteers who helped position Lorenzo on the platform so he could experience the thrill of swinging, they told us about the difficulties they'd faced since morning. Parents and children had argued with them, demanding the "right" to use the swing and calling it "reverse discrimination" against non-disabled kids. I could hardly believe what they were telling me. How could there be tension over a piece of equipment designed for children who have no choice but to move in a wheelchair? The joy and wonder on those children's faces as they used it—the feeling of flying—it was unmistakable.
I realized that if it wasn't used properly, the swing could break. And that's exactly what happened.
Schools don't teach civic responsibility anymore. Many young people don't understand why public goods matter, taking everything for granted, assuming it's all easy and simple to come by—even the use of a playground meant for children who can't use others. There's a palpable arrogance and thoughtlessness all around us, and often we don't push back out of helplessness, resignation, or fear.
Attacks on something that brings so much happiness are incomprehensible. Misusing it is not only dangerous for whoever climbs on it—it breaks the mechanism because it's not designed to be a merry-go-round.
It's not easy to explain to someone who runs what it means to struggle just to stand. They don't grasp that what feels normal to them is an impossible dream for others. For Lorenzo, the chance to swing is freedom. It's a right.
How do you explain to someone without that sensitivity—someone who won't let a child who truly has the right to use something use it, when they have no alternatives—how exhausting it is to find the only swing like this in Milan? How much disappointment it brings to want something so badly and then be denied it?
The swing is more than a toy. It's hope.
In a European city like Milan, including disabled children means offering them specific equipment in shared public spaces. These spaces don't need guards or supervisors. They just need to be used—correctly, and by those who have the right.
My sadness and anger at not being able to let my son fly on that swing won't discourage me. Instead, it drives me to push for more swings like this one in other parks. We wait for the Montanelli Gardens swing to be repaired so we can use it again. And we'll keep explaining to people we meet what it's for, how to use it, why it matters that they find it whole and working the next time they come.
Understanding that disability is a value—that's where we have to start. That's how we chart a new path forward.
Germano Filippi, father of Lorenzo and Francesco
Source: L'Abilità