On mothers, migration, racism, courage and the lives that shape the next generation.

from trinidad to ireland to canada: the making of a matriarch

Sometimes, you can disagree with someone's politics and still find yourself stopping to admire the life they've lived.

I've been thinking about Dr. Hedy Fry and her son, Pete Fry, and the remarkable journey that sits behind their names.

Hedy was born in Trinidad and Tobago in 1941. She went to Ireland to study medicine, immigrated to Canada in 1970, established herself as a physician in Vancouver and eventually entered federal politics.

Now her son, Pete, has reached a significant milestone of his own in Vancouver politics.

Imagine that for a moment.

A Caribbean-born woman travels to Ireland to study medicine, builds a life in Canada, raises a family and becomes a public figure. Decades later, her son steps into a leadership role in the city where their family made its home.

I may not have agreed with Hedy Fry's Liberal politics, but I can recognize determination when I see it.

And I find myself wondering what it took to get there.

the weight of being different

We talk about education as though everyone begins at the same starting line. We talk about professional success as though hard work alone determines the outcome.

But what happens when you're also navigating racism, prejudice and the assumptions other people make about you before you've even opened your mouth?

Hedy studied medicine in Ireland during a period when women and people of colour faced significant social barriers. I don't know the details of what she personally experienced, and I won't invent them. But I wonder what those years were like for a young Caribbean woman pursuing a demanding medical education far from home.

Ireland has its own complicated history of colonialism, oppression and struggles for self-determination. Its history is not interchangeable with the histories of Indigenous peoples in Canada, but there are difficult questions about power, identity, discrimination and cultural survival that connect these experiences.

And then there is Canada, a country that likes to tell itself a story about fairness and opportunity while people continue to encounter racism in workplaces, schools and everyday life.

I know this isn't just history.

a friend, a family and the cost of racism

I have a friend whose family is from Uganda. There are eight children in the family. My friend is in her thirties, and she recently returned to Ireland after spending a year in Canada.

Her brother had been living in Ireland, but he returned to Uganda because he couldn't handle the racism he experienced.

Think about that.

Leaving a country because the weight of being treated as though you don't belong becomes too much to bear.

My friend encountered racism at work here in Canada, too. What made me furious was that she didn't want to report what happened because she was worried about the man's family. She felt concern for the consequences they might face.

I understand compassion. I understand not wanting innocent family members to suffer.

But why should the person who experiences racism have to carry the responsibility for everyone else's wellbeing?

Why should she have to weigh her own dignity against the possible consequences for the person responsible?

And why should someone have to think twice about reporting discrimination because she fears what might happen if she speaks?

I still get angry thinking about it.

Racism doesn't always announce itself with a slur or a public confrontation. Sometimes it happens at work, in a conversation, through an assumption or in a decision that affects someone's livelihood. Sometimes the person targeted says nothing because they have too much to lose.

And sometimes they leave.

We need to pay attention to the people who decide they can no longer stay.

the matriarch and the next generation

This brings me back to Hedy Fry and Pete Fry.

We talk about matriarchy as though it means simply replacing men with women in positions of power. But I wonder whether we should also be talking about the influence of women whose lives, decisions and determination help shape the next generation.

A mother is not responsible for every decision her adult child makes. Children become their own people, with their own values and their own paths.

Still, imagine being a mother who travelled across the world, trained as a doctor, established a career and raised a family, then watched her son enter public life.

Whatever their political differences, there must be something significant about seeing the next generation find its own way.

Perhaps she feels proud. I can't know her private feelings. But I can appreciate the possibility.

And I can appreciate the journey.

Trinidad. Ireland. Canada.

Three places, three histories, and a family whose story stretches across them.

courage doesn't always look the way we expect

We often celebrate people once they have achieved something visible. We see the doctor, the politician, the mayor, the successful professional.

We don't always see the years of uncertainty, the doors that may have been closed, the loneliness of living somewhere unfamiliar or the energy required to keep going when other people question whether you belong.

Nor do we see everyone who tried and decided the cost was too high.

My friend's brother returned to Uganda. That, too, is part of the story of migration. Not everyone who leaves home finds a place where they can flourish. Sometimes returning home is the choice that makes life possible again.

There is no shame in that.

But there should be shame in a society that allows racism to push people away while congratulating itself on being welcoming.

I want a world where my friend can report discrimination without feeling responsible for protecting the person who caused it. Where her brother could have built a life in Ireland without being worn down by racism. Where a young woman studying medicine can be judged by her abilities rather than the colour of her skin or the country she came from.

And where the achievements of people like Hedy Fry can be discussed honestly, without pretending that we know every obstacle they faced.

I can disagree with a politician and still recognize a life of determination.

I can question a system and still celebrate someone who found a way through it.

And I can look at a mother and her son and wonder about the generations of courage, sacrifice and possibility that brought them to this moment.

Perhaps that is one of the things we mean when we talk about matriarchy: not simply who holds power, but how we nurture the people who will hold it next.

What if we measured a society not only by the people who rise to the top, but also by how many people it allows to belong?

Because talent is everywhere. Courage is everywhere. The desire to build a life, contribute and be treated with dignity is everywhere.

The question is whether we make room for it.