Residents of a strong town know instinctively where to gather if a revolution were to happen. The question in Richmond Hill is whether the Iranian community truly had a civic space—or whether they were forced to compete with car traffic just to express themselves.
On a recent weekend, Yonge Street in Richmond Hill once again became the city’s de facto civic space. Members of the Iranian community gathered near the Richmond Hill Public Library and walked south along the corridor, rallying in support of ongoing protests in Iran. As the “Lion & Sun” flags waved and chants carried down the street, passersby joined in, drivers slowed to watch, and a familiar pattern repeated itself: when people in Richmond Hill need a place to gather, they go to Yonge Street.
This has happened before. In 2022, an even larger, unprecedented crowd assembled along the same stretch of road—by far the biggest public protest in the town’s history. Then, as now, there was no official square or plaza drawing people in. The gathering happened organically, guided by instinct rather than planning.
That instinct aligns closely with one of Strong Towns’ most revealing “strength tests” for cities. The test asks: If a revolution happened tomorrow, where would people gather? The answer exposes whether a city has real civic spaces—places people already use and feel connected to—or whether public life has been designed out of the urban fabric.
By this measure, Yonge Street passes the test, but only partially.
Yonge offers immense physical space and symbolic importance. It is the city’s spine, lined with shops, transit stops, and everyday destinations. People know it, recognize it, and feel visible on it. That’s why protestors return to it again and again. Yet every gathering along Yonge comes with a trade-off: people must compete with fast-moving car traffic. The space technically exists, but it is not designed for people to occupy it fully.
Protestors are forced to compress themselves onto sidewalks, shout over engine noise, and negotiate their presence with turning vehicles and traffic signals. The street allows assembly, but it does not welcome it. Civic expression happens despite the design, not because of it.
This tension reveals a deeper missed opportunity—one that sits just south of the Richmond Hill Public Library. Adjacent to one of the town’s most central and symbolic civic institutions is a large, largely untouched expanse of land. It is close to transit, already recognized as a community destination, and naturally positioned along the same corridor where people instinctively gather. Yet it remains disconnected from everyday civic life.
Designed intentionally, this space could function as the kind of people-first gathering place that Strong Towns points to as essential for a resilient city: a plaza or civic commons where events, vigils, celebrations, and protests can happen without competing with through traffic. A place where people can linger, speak, listen, and organize—safely, visibly, and collectively.
Strong towns are not defined by how efficiently they move cars, but by how well they support human interaction. A city that forces its residents to negotiate with traffic in order to express shared values is signalling that civic life is secondary. A city that provides a clear, accessible gathering place is saying the opposite.
The repeated protests along Yonge Street show that Richmond Hill already has the social energy and civic instinct Strong Towns describes. What it lacks is the physical space to match that energy. The question is no longer where people would gather in a moment of urgency—they’ve already answered that. The question now is whether the city will meet them halfway and design a place that truly belongs to them.