Whenever I visit another city, I find myself inevitably drawing comparisons to my hometown. Sometimes I observe things that make me glad I live where I do. In Glasgow, for example, I’m struck by the relative cultural and ethnic homogeneity of the local population. I come from a city where more than half the population identifies as a visible minority and where more than half the population was born in another country. As odd as it may seem, I find it disturbing to enter a space where most everybody looks like me. Difference is a comfort.
At the same time, Glasgow has many features to commend it, including the availability of public lavatories. This strikes me as a sensible response to a homogeneity of a different sort: we are all alike in our need to pee. Stuck right in the middle of town, near the intersection of Buchanan Street and St. Vincent Place, is a great black behemoth where people can find sweet relief. Toronto has no such public facilities. As I have documented elsewhere, Toronto is hostile to the idea of the public lavatory. City politicians fret that homeless people might sully their fine facilities so they prefer to deny them to everyone than to share them with people of all stations.
I haven’t visited Glasgow since the global pandemic gripped us, so I can’t say if that may have changed the Glaswegian approach to public facilities. I hope not. There is something heartening about a town that frankly acknowledges (and answers) a universal human need.
