There are things I have seen lately that do not shock me, but still leave a mark. That feels like the most honest place to begin.

Back in April, I wrote about Canadian politics when we called an early election. At the time, I noticed something I could not ignore. It was more than political tension. It was hate, plain and public. I have never seen racism and disrespect so bold, so unfiltered, and so socially acceptable.

That realization hit me hard, maybe because it connected to a deeper personal truth.

I have lived two very different lives when it comes to race and belonging. My family immigrated to Canada from England when I was young. We lived here for eight years before moving to Trinidad, where I spent most of my formative years. Before we moved to Trinidad, we lived in Windsor during the 1970s. I was a little Black girl in a time and place where being called names was routine. I didn’t even understand what most of them meant. I remember my dad telling me to say, “chocolate is better than vanilla” as a kind of shield. I didn’t understand why I needed one.

I wish I had spoken to my dad about racism more. He worked for the federal government of Canada, and when we moved to Trinidad, it was through a diplomatic post. I was nine. I didn’t care about politics or passports. I was focused on what it meant for me …. an entrance exam at eleven, extra lessons, new uniforms, and classmates who asked me to say words like “Peter” and “water” just to hear my accent.

Still, Trinidad was where I felt most at home. There were people who looked like me. I was not “the only” in a room. Yes, I sounded different, but over time, even that stopped being a novelty. Life settled.

Until it didn’t.

I returned to Canada in grade eleven. I had to do the whole thing again. New school. New culture. Now I had a hybrid Canadian-Trinidadian accent and had to learn to fit in all over again. There were some people who looked like me, but we were clearly the minority. That constant recalibration became a way of life. Fitting in, but never quite. Shrinking parts of myself to stay safe.

That’s the short version. But it matters. Because it set the stage for what I see happening now.

Let’s talk about politics. And the internet.

The unraveling started during COVID. Suddenly, everyone was both a scientist and a conspiracy theorist. Facts were negotiable. Fear became content. You were either fully pro-vaccine or anti-everything. No middle ground. No pause for complexity. That kind of aggressive polarization did not fade when the lockdowns ended. It evolved. Now it is left versus right. Alt-left and alt-right. Apparently, nuance is no longer fashionable.

I used to pride myself on holding space without engaging trolls. I never needed to fight with strangers hiding behind keyboards. But even I have limits. And what I am witnessing now …. the blatant racism, the disregard for humanity…. is different.

And it is not just happening across the border. It is here too.

So help me understand something. The land in question, is a land built on revolution, but do people even realize all the land was stolen? Indigenous people were already here. They had lives, families, systems. Then came “discovery.” How do you discover something that is already occupied? Imagine sitting in your house and someone kicks down your door, plants a flag, and announces, “This is mine now.” That is exactly what happened.

Then came the workforce. Kidnapped. Enslaved. Forced to plant and harvest crops. Black women were forced to breastfeed the children of people who considered them subhuman. Raped by the very men who called them inhuman. Somehow, they were seen as less than, yet were essential to survival. They were hated, and yet relied on.

In 1863, emancipation came. But it was a performance. Chains were replaced with systems. Prisons. Jim Crow. Segregation. Black Wall Street was bombed in 1921. The list continues. And still, that was not enough.

Eventually, a new labor force replaced the old one. Migrant workers. Undocumented and underpaid. And now, under the banner of “protecting borders,” they are rounded up and deported, often without due process. That violates international law, but somehow, it is marketed as national pride.

How is this something to celebrate?

This ideology, this manufactured rage, is not confined to one country. It spills across borders. It always has. The difference now is that it no longer whispers. It shouts. Loudly. Boldly. And unapologetically.

We now have a new enemy of the day. A new scapegoat. A new demographic absorbing the hate that used to be reserved for others. But the cycle is not new. It is taught. Racism is not genetic. It is generational. And right now, it is moving fast.

I will not be complicit. I will not pretend this is normal.

I still hope for a time when politics returns to diplomacy, not backroom bravado and bar-fight logic. I hope we move away from leadership that mimics bullies. And I hope the people who signed up for this — the ones who arrest and deport, the ones who cheer and excuse …..will one day have to answer for it. History always circles back. If not in law, then in memory.

Let me be clear. What we are seeing in Canada is not happening by accident. The headlines, the language, the fear — none of it is organic. We may not have the same slogans or faces, but the tone is familiar. There is a quiet drift happening. A normalization of beliefs that were once considered fringe. We dress it differently here, but the root is the same. It does not arrive waving a flag. It arrives in algorithms, sound bites, and quiet votes. And once it settles, it stays.

There is that old saying. Show me your company and I will tell you who you are.

That is where we are now. This is not a time for fence-sitting or cherry-picking policies like items on a menu. You do not get to enjoy the parts you like while ignoring the damage done to others.

That is not discernment. That is complicity.

So no, I am not shocked.
But I am paying attention.
And I am taking notes.