‘If we cared, we could do better’: Why the scramble for city swimming lessons is worse than ever

The fight for a place in one of Toronto’s recreational programs has become even more fierce since the pandemic.

Thestar.com
Oct. 14, 2022
Ben Mussett

“It’s the Ticketmaster experience but for a public good.”

That’s how Peter de Koning, a young father who works in marketing, described the process of waking up before 7 a.m. to eke out a coveted spot in a city-run recreational program through the online registration system. Within minutes, many of the programs have filled up.

“Even if you’re a little bit delayed, you can lose out,” he said. Fortunately, when registration for fall programming opened last month, de Koning was able to secure two of the programs his family wanted and was wait-listed for another.

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“We’ve been lucky, but I think that’s a problem,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to be lucky. This should be something that is accessible no matter where you are in the city and no matter what kind of internet you have or how many parents are in a household.”

The fight for a place in one of Toronto’s recreational programs was competitive before the pandemic. Now, it appears the competition has become even more fierce.

The city currently provides 38 per cent fewer programs than it did in the fall of 2019, according to data shared by the Toronto’s parks, forestry and recreation division. Meanwhile, the number of individual spaces available across the city’s recreational programming has decreased by one-third, though the city notes that the number of programs and spots have both risen significantly since the spring.

At this time, Toronto offers more than 9,800 recreational programs with nearly 103,000 spaces available.

The decrease in programming is even more stark for swimming lessons, which have long been in high demand. Compared to three years ago, the number of swimming programs has declined by 63 per cent, according to the city’s figures. In the fall of 2019, there were more than 51,000 spaces in swimming programs. Now, there are a little more than 21,000.

Over the summer, the city blamed an industry-wide shortage of lifeguards and swim instructors related to certification disruptions caused by the pandemic. In June, Toronto cancelled 169 swimming courses, affecting more than 1,100 people.

As in-person life returns, cities across North America have faced a similar shortage in aquatic staff. Municipalities such as Oakville and Brampton have responded by waiving expensive fees for the courses required to become a lifeguard. Toronto has chosen not to do that.

But after Canadian Union of Public Employees Local 79 requested the city review how much aquatic staff are paid, Toronto increased the hourly wage for waterfront lifeguards and swim instructors by 19 per cent in July -- from $17.80 to $21.19.

Still, more recreational cuts followed. Last month, the city slashed roughly 540 programs -- equal to about five per cent of the fall schedule. Again, the city attributed the move to a lack of available labour.

About 3,800 people were impacted by these latest cuts, including Gloria Watson’s eldest daughter, whose fall swimming lessons were cancelled.

Watson has experienced problems with the city’s recreational system before. In March, she spoke to the Star after all the toddler programs she wanted to enrol her youngest daughter in filled up only three minutes after spring registration had opened. At the time, she compared the scramble to find a spot to the “Hunger Games.”

“Why can’t we figure out a better way to maximize the resources that already exist in our communities and build new one where there are gaps?” she asked over email this week.

Though sometimes an afterthought, recreation shouldn’t be taken for granted, said May Friedman, a professor in the School of Social Work at Toronto Metropolitan University. She said it’s integral to a child’s development.

“I learned more in choir than I learned from anything else that I ever studied,” she joked.

When public recreational programs are cut, families from lower-income communities, who can’t afford private options, are disproportionately hurt, she noted. “I think if we cared, we could do better,” Friedman added.

“There are changes we made as a result of COVID that we will never unchange -- even though we can’t hide behind that anymore.”