In my twenties, I lived and worked overseas — in Taipei and Lagos — and those experiences fundamentally changed how I think about cities and city-building.
What struck me most wasn’t iconic architecture or major infrastructure. It was the everyday, informal ways people used space. Markets that appeared along the side of the road, on blankets. A group of men playing cards and dice in an alleyway. Small food stalls that came and went. These cities had formal markets and designated spaces, of course, but they also had a parallel, informal layer of urban life that existed outside official structures.
That informality made these cities feel alive in a way I rarely experience in North American cities. Life spilled out. People didn’t wait for permission to make the city meet their needs — for food, for social connection, for play, for income, for joy. They just did it.
Over time, I’ve come to think of this as a kind of entitlement to space. Not entitlement in the negative sense, but in the civic sense of I live here, therefore I have a right to shape my environment. In many places, people assume public space is something they actively use and adapt, not something they passively consume once it has been officially programmed.
You can see versions of this even in more formal European contexts. In Italian piazzas, chairs are often movable rather than fixed. The design itself implies permission: arrange the space to suit your group, linger as long as you like, make yourself comfortable. The message is subtle but powerful — this space is yours to use and program.
What connects these examples is a culture in which people don’t instinctively ask, Am I allowed to do this? before occupying space in small, reasonable ways. They start instead from: I live here. This is part of my city. I need to make it work for my neighbours and me.
When I contrast that with Toronto, I’m struck by how many of us are waiting. Waiting for the City to make improvements. Waiting for a program, a permit, a pilot, or a formal activation. Waiting for someone else to take responsibility.
Of course, cities must lead city-building. Large infrastructure, safety, equity, and access all require public investment and coordination. But somewhere along the way, many Torontonians have learned that public space is something the City delivers to us, rather than something we have agency within.
I saw this tension very clearly during the snowstorm on January 26. In Toronto, snow-clearing rules are nuanced. Property owners are generally responsible for clearing sidewalks adjacent to their property, except during large snowfalls when the City takes over. On paper, responsibility shifts. But on the ground, sidewalks are still how people move through the city.
That day, I went out multiple times to shovel the sidewalk in front of my house. Not because I had to, but because it was faster, easier, and more neighbourly than waiting. I didn’t know when the plows would come, and it didn’t feel fair to restrict sidewalk access simply because I was waiting for someone else to do it.
I want to be clear: not everyone has the mobility, time, or capacity to do this, and that’s exactly why the City plays a critical role in filling gaps. But the default instinct matters. If you can contribute, you do. If you can’t, the system supports you.
What filled me with joy and hope was that so many of my neighbours were out doing the same thing. Clearing not just their own sidewalks, but each other’s. They cleared portions of the laneway and parts of the street. People laughed, commiserated, and checked in. These small civic actions didn’t just make the city more functional that day. It created connection and trust (the literal foundations of a strong community). And this reminded me that a city works best when responsibility is shared.
At the same time, I watched this play out online, particularly in neighbourhood Facebook groups. The pattern was familiar. Someone would post, frustrated that sidewalks hadn’t been cleared, often (rightly) raising concerns about accessibility and mobility. Almost immediately, others would respond by pointing out that snow clearing was the City’s responsibility, directing blame upward and insisting that residents shouldn’t be expected to step in.
I’m not letting the City off the hook here. Municipal responsibility matters, especially when it comes to equity, access, and ensuring that people who can’t shovel for themselves aren’t left behind. But cities are complex systems, and there are moments where individual action and municipal responsibility must overlap. Shovelling a sidewalk you’re already standing beside doesn’t absolve the City of its role, but it does acknowledge that we also have agency in how our streets function day to day.
What concerns me most about this habit of waiting is what it takes away from us. When we default to waiting for the City to act, we give up an important form of power: the ability to shape our surroundings and demonstrate our values to our municipality. We stop acting, and in doing so, we also stop generating the conditions that make policy change possible. In practice, policy often follows behaviour, not the other way around. When people begin using space differently, carefully, visibly, and with care, it creates the justification for formal support to come later.
I’ve seen this play out very clearly in my own neighbourhood. One resident slowly revitalized a small, neglected green space in a roundabout. Over several years, she cleared debris, planted, watered, and stewarded the space — entirely on her own initiative. She didn’t wait for a City program. She didn’t ask for permission. She simply took responsibility for a place she passed every day. Eventually, that stewardship opened doors. She accessed City funding through PollinatorTO. The interventions expanded to include seating, compost, vegetables, and seasonal gatherings. It has become a social centre for the immediate neighbourhood.
What matters here is sequence. The City didn’t create the space and then invite community participation. Community action came first. Public support followed. This is the core insight I keep coming back to: a culture of entitlement to space demonstrates to the City what is important and valuable to its residents.
When people believe they are allowed — even expected — to take small, reasonable actions in shared space, cities become more resilient, more social, and more alive. When people believe they must wait for permission, even low-risk, beneficial actions get deferred or never happen at all. And worst of all, we miss an opportunity to signal to our leaders that we want something to change — and that we’re willing to step in while the City catches up.
This isn’t about encouraging chaos or ignoring bylaws. It’s about recognizing that cities are governed not only by formal rules, but also by norms, signals, and expectations. If we want more vibrant, connected neighbourhoods, the question isn’t just what the City should build. It’s what responsibilities we normalize at the community level.
So this brings me to laneways. Laneways sit at the edge of formal governance. They are overlooked, under-resourced, and rarely designed proactively. But they are also close to home, visible, and deeply local. They are ideal testing grounds for a different permission culture — one where residents should feel, in the best sense, entitled to shape the spaces they live alongside.
We know Torontonians want their laneways to be cleaner, safer, more beautiful, and more welcoming. The problem isn’t that Toronto lacks creativity or desire. It’s that we’ve trained residents to wait for permission. This is the axiom that Laneway coLabs is founded on.
We work with only a few communities each year. What the work consistently shows is that revitalizing a laneway doesn’t require a City-led project or a huge budget to get started. It requires a small group of committed neighbours who care enough to come together and act.
Yes, with tens of thousands of dollars, you can commission murals by artists. You can install rain gardens, lighting, and permanent infrastructure. Those things matter, and when resources are available, they should be part of the conversation. But the real power of laneway revitalization isn’t entirely in the final product. It’s in the process. And it’s a signal to our City: that a group of people chose not to wait. That they used their time, relationships, and agency to improve a shared space. That they moved from being passive users of the city to active stewards of it. That shift, more than any single intervention, is what changes how a city works.
Here is my call to action: stop asking for permission and stop waiting for the City to do everything. Building a more connected, healthy, vibrant, and joyous city is a collective responsibility - you are entitled to it.