In a recent display of political gymnastics, the San Francisco Board of Supervisors has decided to wave goodbye to the Accessible Business Entrance program. As expected, the focus has shifted from enforcing accessibility laws to promoting education, essentially a gentle nudge that’s as effective as a warm latte on your Monday morning.

Yeah, you read that right. The program, initiated with great fanfare in 2016 to prevent small businesses from being blindsided by accessibility lawsuit blitzkriegs, never even got off the ground. Turns out, the city has procrastinated enforcement six times, only to find itself in a quagmire of businesses that are now noncompliant or blissfully unaware of their obligations.

Magan Li, a local business owner in Chinatown, tells the frustrating tale of trying to make her store more accessible since taking over back in 2007. After many futile attempts to get city approval to modify her shop’s entrance, she was left feeling as though she was playing bureaucratic whack-a-mole, except she was the one getting whacked.

And now, instead of dealing with those pesky requirements, the city is opting to roll into the sunset, leaving behind approximately 7,000 businesses hanging in the balance, some of which are actually trying their best. As Board of Supervisors President Rafael Mandelman so eloquently put it, “Why punish small businesses already limping along from the pandemic?” Fair point, but does anyone care about accessibility?

Disability advocates are understandably miffed. They argue that scrapping the ordinance sends a message that compliance is optional. Arnie Lerner, a member of the Access Appeals Commission, raised a very valid question: “Why should owners and tenants adhere to mandatory requirements if the department isn’t enforcing them?” Good luck finding an answer to that.

Meanwhile, Magan Li is left worrying about lawsuits even after installing a loud doorbell to help alert her to customers needing assistance. It’s absurd, navigating city services can be as mind-boggling as figuring out your parents’ Wi-Fi password.

At the end of the day, while the city may think it’s doing small business owners a favor, this shift could ultimately just leave accessibility in the dust while serving up the illusion of inclusivity with an educational brochure that nobody reads.

We’ve gotten old enough to know that good intentions don’t pay the rent, much less pave the way for a truly accessible future. How about we focus on real solutions instead of just carrying around feel-good vibes?

Maybe it’s time we demand the city do better in addressing accessibility for everyone, not just those who can afford to jump through bureaucratic hoops.