The Revolutionary Act Of Us
I watch people. Not in the lurking, over-the-shoulder way—more in the “I wonder what chapter of life they’re in” way.
At a restaurant, I spot a couple, awkward and uncertain. Is it their first date? Third? He keeps smoothing his hair, unaware that eight pounds of gel has already sealed its fate.
At a public pool, I see a seven-year old splashing his grandpa with water. I wonder how many times grandpa is reminded of his own son splashing him at the same pool. Legacy memories being made as long as they can.
At a street corner, a man stands with a bouquet of flowers at a bus stop. Maybe they’re for his ill partner waiting at home. Maybe they’re just for him, a quiet rebellion against the dullness of his own hallway table.
I watch because I love people. I love to witness the stories people often don’t know they are telling. I love the small, everyday miracles—breaths, pulses, atoms—doing what they do without needing to be seen.
But here’s what I don’t love: how so many people today want to shrink our world and others down to a single, colourless and lifeless form. How they might now stare at a snowflake and dismiss it because it doesn’t look the way they think it should. Imagine telling a dog owner their pet is wrong because its fur or shape or size isn’t like the others. You’d better duck.
In a world where voices rage against difference, Canada’s Multiculturalism Act of 1988 feels like a radical document of resistance. A declaration, written into law, that diversity isn’t just tolerated—it’s treasured. “Diversity, equity, and inclusion,” the Act says. “A defining characteristic of Canadian identity.” Bold words.
No, you cannot legislate the inclusion of culture when the colonial ‘founding’ of Canada was achieved by eradicating cultures.
And no, the Act did not address the continued discrimination of underrepresented peoples incarcerated nor did the Act remove the barriers those from non-European cultures still strive to overcome.
But yes. Thirty-seven years ago federally elected politicians believed that this mattered. There was an idea and a belief that inclusion wasn’t just a concept, but a commitment. A time with those before us saw Canada not as a single note tune, but as a multiple instrumented symphony.
So what happened?
When did we trade a multicultural symphony for a monocultural tantrum? When did we go from celebrating difference to fearing it? I could point to the rise of certain leaders, to movements fueled by fear and disinformation. I could point to the algorithms that feed our worst instincts. But the truth is simpler.
I think we stopped noticing the man with the bouquet.
I think we stopped marveling at the first-date jitters.
I think we stopped looking, smelling, admiring, cherishing.
Somewhere along the way, we stopped seeing the magic in ourselves. The snort when we laugh too hard. The little shoulder shimmy when a good song comes on. The lisp we never bothered to hide. The way we always reach for coffee instead of tea. How we work. How we play. How we just are.
We forgot that we are layered, intricate, unexpected. That each of us is a story—a whole, beautiful, tangled story—written in our bones, our DNA, our skin.
And we’ve bought into a lie that sameness is safety. We have swallowed the snake oil while ignoring the snake itself, coiling tighter, whispering that fear is freedom.
But we aren’t free. We’re shouting and bickering and breaking. We’ve convinced ourselves that difference is a threat and sameness is a gift. We’ve settled for scraps when there’s a feast set before us.
We don’t have to. We can remember.
The only way we can truly accept others is to first accept ourselves. Until then, we will keep minimizing, ignoring and pushing against the incredible traits that make us inherently uncommon - the same way we do unto others.
It is a revolutionary act to be accepting of someone’s difference.
It is a revolutionary act to be moved by beauty.
It is a revolutionary act to be unapologetically us.