Yesterday at the bus stop, I saw a glimpse of two very different Canadas. One full of hope, one full of despair. One that welcomes newcomers with opportunities, and one that leaves its own people dying on the streets.
It started with a missed bus. Frustrated, I decided to walk to the next stop rather than wait 15 minutes. My bag was heavy, or I might have walked farther. When I got there, a man was sitting on the bench. I checked my phone and told him the next bus was in seven minutes.
He thanked me and gave me a little piece of chocolate. A simple gesture of kindness.
I tried to guess his language—Russian? No, he spoke French and Arabic. We chatted, and I told him about my winters in Mexico, how I haven’t been able to go back this year. He told me about Spain, a country he’s visited every year for the past two decades. We talked about his children—one in Dubai, one here in Canada. He’s only been here three years, working toward Permanent Residency.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man at the bus stop struggling. He was about to pull his pants down right there, on Burrard Street. My first thought was to call 911, but then I realized—he wasn’t just some drunk guy causing a scene. He was deeply addicted, desperate, and trying to get to the hospital for his medication.
It was horrifying. A man in the heart of Vancouver, in broad daylight, so sick that he couldn’t even control his body.
The man I was speaking to looked on in shock. “You never see that in my country,” he said.
I told him: “You didn’t used to see this here either. Not until about six years ago. But Big Pharma got everyone hooked, and now 14,000 people have died—just in BC.”
He had no idea.
I told him the number for all of Canada: 50,000.
He was stunned. And yet, the suffering continued right in front of us. The man in crisis got on our bus, struggling, sick, fighting for survival in a city where people rushed past, eyes averted, pretending not to see.
The man I spoke with still loves Canada. He sees opportunity, security, a new home. But I see something else. I see a system that’s been gutted, a city where locals can’t afford to live, where people are stepping over bodies on the sidewalk while celebrating hockey games, concerts, and international events.
I used to say, “Good for you!” when people told me they were getting their PR. I don’t say that anymore. Not when so many are losing their jobs, their homes, their dignity.
Is there hope? I don’t know. But yesterday, at that bus stop, I saw the two Canadas collide. And I don’t know how much longer they can exist side by side before something breaks completely.
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