The Common Ground I Hope to Find is Not Where the Bullshit is Piled Up to Our Knees
I ask, with a touch of exasperation: why are Conservative politicians so focused on Trans and Non-Binary (TNB) people, who make up such a small percentage of the population? Is it to distract from a hidden agenda, where they hope to shift the focus away from their anti-socialist views on publicly-funded universal healthcare, the Canada Pension Plan, universal daycare, public education, implementing the recommendations of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, and anything they see as a waste of taxpayers' money? Will they also find a way to restrict women's access to abortion and birth control, continuing a pattern of targeting vulnerable groups while framing it as a defence of traditional values?
I come to these questions not as an outsider looking in, but as someone who has lived through systemic and personal challenges. My journey began long before my transition, rooted in a deep sense of not belonging. In 1980, I wrote a letter to my then-wife, confessing the struggle I had carried in silence—a struggle I couldn’t yet name. At the time, the term "transgender" was virtually unknown, and I framed my identity as a spiritual battle. Her response was a mix of love, confusion, and concern for our family. It took years for both of us to come to terms with what my identity meant for our lives. Those years taught me the power of patience, dialogue, and grace—even when answers were unclear and fears loomed large.
When I finally transitioned at the age of 57, my goal was simple: to live authentically and quietly, blending into the woodwork and flying under the radar. But life had other plans. Over the past 16 years, I’ve delivered over 100 workshops to groups ranging from non-profits to law firms, health care providers, and community organizations. I’ve sat on boards and committees, answered calls for the Trans Lifeline, and spoken at conferences. These experiences brought me into contact with other TNB siblings from around the world, teaching me that advocacy often finds a way to unite us in unexpected ways. It also showed me that real understanding and progress often begin with face-to-face conversations, where fear can give way to connection.
Despite the Challenges, Dialogue Is Possible
Despite these stakes, I still believe there is potential for meaningful dialogue. I also believe that regardless of political affiliation, most people want to build communities where everyone can thrive. The question is how we define "protection" and whose voices we amplify in shaping our policies. To conservatives worried about the pace of change, I suggest this: TNB rights aren’t about erasing traditions but about expanding the circle of inclusion. Just as society matured to embrace women’s suffrage and civil rights, so too can we evolve to recognize the dignity of all people.
To my progressive allies, I understand that urging patience and empathy can feel like asking too much, especially in the face of systemic harm and hostility. It may even seem naive, akin to asking someone to endure injustice in hopes of eventual change. My intent is not to dismiss the urgency of justice or the rightful anger of those tired of waiting. Rather, I acknowledge that fear often underpins resistance to change. Addressing that fear without compromising our integrity may facilitate understanding and progress.
Here, I intentionally avoid questions about people's religious proclivities and biases, even though I have much to say on that topic. Instead, I choose to focus on the shared values and fears that can divide or bring us together, depending on how we respond.
It’s Time for Serious Reflection
I wish we could create dialogue circles where we could sit and listen to each other with open hearts. While it might sound idealistic, my work as a hospital chaplain has shown me that such spaces are not only possible but transformative. Witnessing moments of profound connection amid life’s greatest challenges has convinced me that honest, open dialogue is essential for fostering understanding. In my role, I care for patients facing unimaginable challenges, many grappling with questions of identity, belonging, and purpose. These experiences remind me that, ultimately, our shared humanity transcends political divides.
So, I invite you to reflect: What kind of society do we want to build? One where fear dictates policy and excludes the marginalized? Or one where we lean into discomfort, listen deeply, and choose inclusion even when it’s hard? How can we ensure our policies prioritize compassion over fear? How can we listen to those whose voices are often unheard and make inclusion a priority even when it challenges our comfort?
Bridging the Divide
The recent surge in Canadian Conservative politics, marked by a push to roll back the clock on diversity and inclusion, reflects a growing cultural divide. This is evident in provinces like New Brunswick, Saskatchewan, Alberta, and now, alarmingly, in British Columbia. These rollbacks are a stark reminder of how fragile progress can be. At the same time, they present an opportunity to examine the kind of Canada we want to create—one rooted in freedom, inclusion, and compassion for all citizens. This surge represents a reassertion of traditional values in the face of perceived threats and an urgent call to engage in reflective dialogue. I sincerely hope we can move beyond soundbites and stereotypes to confront these challenges honestly and with courage. Only then can we begin to bridge the divides that threaten to tear us apart.
Let’s Talk Over Coffee
This brings me to a personal invitation. If you struggle to understand TNB persons, live in Greater Vancouver, and are open to a respectful face-to-face conversation over coffee, drop me a line at contact@transparently.ca. I’m up for it. Are you? Let’s explore these questions together. This invitation is extended in good faith as a gesture of openness and mutual respect. I reserve the right to withdraw it if circumstances require, but I remain hopeful that these conversations can bring about greater understanding. You pay for your coffee, and I’ll pay for mine.
