‘Racism exists in Canada:’ These are the stories from people who have lived it as eyes turn on U.S. after George Floyd death in Minneapolis

Protesters have spilled out across America following the death of George Floyd — whose last moments, captured on phone video as a police officer knelt on his neck, set fire to long-simmering concerns about police brutality against the Black community.

Back home, Canadians have also taken to the streets in solidarity, with leaders quick to dispel what they say are misconceptions that racial tensions only exist in the U.S.

“Racism exists in Canada. Anti-Black racism exists in Canada. Police brutality exists in Canada,” read signs at a protest that drew thousands in Toronto Saturday. It was led by the family of Regis Korchinski-Paquet, a Black woman who fell to her death after police responded to a call at her home last week.

A Minneapolis police officer is facing charges in connection with Floyd’s death, while the full details of Korchinski-Paquet’s death remain unclear and are the subject of an investigation by Ontario’s Special Investigations Unit. Regardless, the leaders in Canada’s Black community say the incidents have again exposed an undercurrent of racism that must be addressed.

Dr. Chika Oriuwa, MD, 2020 valedictorian for the University of Toronto’s faculty of medicine

(Monday) morning, the day before I earn my Doctor of Medicine degree from the University of Toronto, I awoke to an online comment which stated “I would never let her treat me.” This was tweeted in response to a Toronto Star article written about my narrative of being the only Black student in a class of 259, and now graduating as valedictorian after being selected by my peers.

These words came as a blow to me, despite it not being the first time I have been told this on online platforms, but also in my experience as a medical student on clinical rotations.

I have spent the past four years tirelessly advocating for diversity in medical education, equity in medical admissions and enhancing inclusive practices across all professional spheres. This has culminated in being invited to give over two dozen keynotes, seminars, and panelist discussions, alongside writing articles and engaging in public education through media syndication. However, like many advocates, this left me vulnerable to attacks on my character and merit as a physician. Throughout the last four years, I have fielded several racist and sexist comments and have tried to develop an armour against this kind of vitriol. I am fortunate to have the support of the community and their rallying messages of encouragement at this time.

Yet, there is a part of me that broke with disillusion over the past week. There is a misconception that once you’ve attained a certain level of success, education and accolade as a Black person, you would somehow become immune to the racism. I will admit that even I held onto this notion. I thought that when I finally earned my medical degree and joined the ranks of this noble profession, they would only ever respectfully view me as Dr. Oriuwa. The aforementioned tweet reminded me — poignantly within a day of becoming a physician — that there is no escaping the vise-like grip of anti-Blackness. It exists in the fabric of our society, throughout all systems and strikes without impunity.

And so, during a time where there is civil unrest due to persistent anti-Black violence in Canada and abroad, I am reminded more than ever the importance of aligning myself closely with my community. I am, and have always been, immensely proud to be a Black woman and physician. I cannot divorce my identity from my profession because the world has not given me that allowance, and I wouldn’t do so if the opportunity arose. Through my professional, clinical, and community work I will strive to address anti-Blackness in all of its permutations, and hope to create a world where it will be safer for us to simply exist.

Yasin Osman, photographer, cartoonist and founder of Shoot for Peace

Racism isn’t a political view, and it isn’t a sickness.

Having hate in your heart because of the colour of someone’s skin does not deserve compassion, forgiveness, understanding or empathy in any way.

This is something that is systematic and deeply engrained. It is not an illness, but a choice to be a terrible person.

As someone who has been a victim of racial profiling and someone who has lost a friend at the hands of police, it upsets me to hear from Canadians that racism doesn’t exist in Canada. We literally exist on stolen land. The last residential school closed in 1996. People of colour have been brutally harassed, assaulted and killed in this country since the day we stepped foot here.

Just because you’ve never experienced it, it does not mean it doesn’t exist. That just means you’ve been fortunate enough to never have experienced such circumstances and aggressions. You cannot believe something you choose to ignore.

Pretending that racism doesn’t exist by creating and engaging with hashtags like #MeanwhileInCanada does not help the cause. Canadians need to do better because If you ignore the problem you are part of the problem.

Anthony N. Morgan, father and racial justice lawyer, Toronto

To my daughter,

Daddy loves you very much. I know you know and feel this every time we’re together. But I also know that as a Black child, it’s important that you’re reminded of this early and often. You’re growing up in a world where despite my best efforts, I’m not able to insulate you from recurring media cycles, images, attitudes or experiences that sting with the soul-throbbing pains of anti-Black racism. None of what you will be made to feel and experience because of this is your fault. My heart aches at thinking about what it will be like for you weathering anti-Blackness.

Though I will give you all I can, nothing I have done or will do will keep you from times where you feel that, because you are Black and especially because you are a Black girl, you are unloved or that you’re somehow not as special, valued and as treasured as you are. Sweetheart, forever and always, your beautiful Black life matters and you’re loved fiercely, no matter what the world around us tells you.

You can’t read this yet. But one day, you will. When you do, you won’t remember what these last days and weeks have looked and felt like for our Black communities in our city and across the African diaspora. My love, it’s been really sad and painful. Not because it’s new — because it isn’t.

By the time you read and fully understand this letter, I’m sure your generation’s technology will show you the pictures and articles on what this moment is meaning for our movement for Black freedom. What they are describing as riots, are rightful expressions of Black resistance. All people have the right to fight for the protection of their humanity, dignity and well-being of their communities, by any means necessary. What I mean is, if the people really experienced lives and histories where they could legitimately and reasonably feel they had other options than to burn and break things to protect their Black lives, they would not burn and break things, my love. I hope and trust that you will learn from daddy to recognize that the fires of racist social, political, cultural and economic neglect burned long before those buildings. And learn to realize that these systems that are said to be meant to protect us were broken in anti-Black ways well before any of those replaceable pieces of property were damaged. Black lives aren’t similarly replaceable. That’s part of the point our people are making and have been making since our first revolts against enslavement centuries ago.

For you, the names George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, D’Andre Campbell and Regis Korchinski-Paquet, will be what the names Raymond Lawrence, Kenneth Allen, Marcellus Francois, Presley Leslie, Sophia Cook, Michael Wade Lawson, Lester Donaldson, Anthony Griffin, and too many more, are to me. I hope you will remember these dead in how you grow to live your Black life: free, full, happy and resistant to anything that threatens this, your birthright.

Daddy loves you.

Chanelle Marshall, DJ

What I feel is not a new feeling. What I’m feeling is composed of many feelings. What I feel I’m not alone in feeling this way. What I feel doesn’t need to be said. We know.

I feel this way when I see my friends driving and I send up a quick prayer they return home safely. I have felt this way when my friends tell me they’re having a son and I cry for hours thinking about the conversations that will be had with him about police brutality. I felt this way one time when I was biking and a driver almost hit me then yelled the n-word at me. I have felt this way when my mom used to teach me about Jamaican history. I felt this way in Grade 11 and my teacher based whole lessons on Obama’s inauguration. I felt this way when there are issues with me and other Black women. I have felt this way when family relationships are strained because I’m queer. I feel this way when I see those with more privilege or access to resources choose not to use it to help those who don’t. I feel this way when I think of beauty. I feel this way when I think about having my own children. I have felt this feeling because I am a Black woman. That’s all. No other reason but I would never change who I am or the skin I was born into. The powerful history that had helped build the person I am today. What I want to enjoy living comfortably and freely, without worry of death by the hands of racism.

It’s been hard to put into words to say anything on social media because it’s been overwhelming. I’m seeing content on the climate for an issue that is constantly reminding me of a whole system that was designed to make sure I finish last. As much as I am thrilled conversations are being had, it’s like I’m reliving trauma over and over again. I’m constantly thinking to myself I need to do more and pressure to take action but I can barely go without a couple hours before crying.

What’s weighing on me is moving forward. The conversation can not fizzle out. Actions can not stop. Thinking about next steps is so important. Maintaining the momentum.

How are we as a community going to keep making changes to ensure a safer future? We are playing in their system. I question, how do we build our own? How do we build wealth? How do we make sure that all Black people are protected by our own networks? Do we keep our buying power only within Black communities? How do we make sure that change continues to happen? I just want to learn more about what we intend on doing as we move forward. This battle won’t end once the posts on social media die down.

I just keep thinking if this war will have to take more innocent lives to be stopped. I’m exhausted. But I will always be up for this battle.

Teaunna Gray, director and photographer

Being Black right now is nothing short of overwhelming. It’s been hard to articulate all the emotions we’ve been feeling. And these feelings are not new.

After coming back from the protest in Toronto on May 30th for Regis Korchinski-Paquet, I felt invigorated to start talking. Regis is an Afro-Indigenous woman with roots in Nova Scotia, which also happens to be my exact mix and where my roots are traced back to. She inspires me to use the voice I still have.

Racism and hatred against Black and Indigenous people is not a new phenomenon. North America was built on this. The responsibility to change systems that oppress should not fall on the ones being oppressed.

The call to action during this time is for those in the white community to “Do The Work.” I shared an example of what that can look like and why it is important on my Instagram. It’s called, Dear White People and it explains the outcome of what it was like confronting a white person on their problematic ideals and then my boyfriend, who is also white, doing the same and looking at the differences in the responses we each received.

Dear white people, be reflective. When you come across examples shared by Black voices, do not take it as an attack on you personally — take the time to listen.

Stories compiled by Star reporters Jenna Moon, Evy Kwong and Alex Boyd.