Reflecting on More Than Five Years Since My Conversation on Racism in Canadian Nursing
Reflecting on More Than Five Years Since My Conversation on Racism in Canadian Nursing
More than half a decade has passed since I sat down with the Canadian Nurses Association to record an interview about racism in health care, an experience that became, as I now see with greater clarity, a pivotal moment in both my personal and professional development. Looking back, I am confused, bewildered, and honestly, incredibly disappointed, by how little seems to have changed in the years since I that interview was published.
The Pandemic Exposed Systemic Injustice
Take a deep breath and I will take you back 5 years. During the early chaos of the COVID-19 pandemic, as we were all confined to our homes, it felt as though the world’s deepest systemic problems were suddenly front and centre for all to see on social media loop. The killing of George Floyd sparked global protests against anti-Black racism. At the same time, anti-Asian hate surged in Canada and around the world as rhetoric about the “China virus” circulated. Closer to home, the brutal and preventable hospital death of Joyce Echaquan, an Atikamekw woman subjected to racist abuse in a Quebec emergency department, stunned the nation and forced uncomfortable conversations about Indigenous-specific racism in Canadian health care. Joyce Echaquan died in 2020 in the Centre Hospitalier de Lanaudière in Quebec and her suffering was livestreamed, sparking public outrage.
Promises and Political Will
In those moments, it felt like there was unprecedented political will, a collective willingness at last to speak openly about the elephant in the room. Surprise (to no one) it was the inherent racism embedded in large social structures like law enforcement and health care. Government leaders, professional organizations, and health authorities all seemed to issue statements promising change.
When I shared my story as a nurse of Filipino descent who grew up “racially ambiguous,” I felt both exposed and compelled to be honest. The persistent microaggressions and overt racism I witnessed, against myself, my colleagues, and especially patients and families who are Indigenous or racialized, were aching reminders that the myth of Canadian multiculturalism is, at best, incomplete. Recounting the offhand comments I heard as a new nurse, remarks about “lazy Filipino nurses” or “those natives,” was unsettling. I recall feeling an obligation to make this harm visible, not only because it was my mother’s story too, but because these stories are systemic and ongoing.
Five Years of Chronic Exhaustion
But five years have passed. I, like many colleagues, feel a chronic exhaustion from fighting the same, unyielding battles. The statements and symbolic gestures have rarely translated into meaningful systemic transformation. Bias and racism persist in our institutions and in the subtle, everyday moments that shape the experiences of both colleagues and patients from marginalized communities. As nurses, our work is deeply affected by these ongoing structures that uphold racist systems; they are visible in policy, in documentation, and in the uneven quality of care delivered across lines of race, language, and status.
We still hear the rhetoric of this post-racial era that we have so apparently not transcended into. At this point, is it willful inaction? I said then, and I believe now, that it is not enough to quietly believe in equality. In some circles, conversations about dismantling policy to achieve equity, diversity and inclusion are the norm, as if such goals damage or prevent a better future. Or, is it fear that they will disrupt power structures that many have grown to believe are rightfully theirs forevermore?
A Mirror Held Up To Reconciliation
The recent Yellowhead Institute (out of Toronto Metropolitan University) special report Ten years after the Truth and Reconciliation Commission issued its Calls to Action, what has been achieved in healthcare? offers a sobering perspective no where we are at in anti-Indigenous racism. The report offer a challenge to the shallow politics of “reconciliation” in Canadian public life, emphasizing that true reconciliation must be measured by actual shifts in power, land, and resources, not by mere acknowledgment or performance. Their definition pushes for transformation that “requires the return of resources and land, and restitution for harm done, not just the language of partnership or apologies.” This makes clear that reconciliation, like anti-racism, cannot be passive or rhetorical. It is a call to action, demanding accountability from institutions and sustained, uncomfortable work from all of us.
Obligations and Hope in Solidarity
As nurses, this should be the very fibre of our being. We must actively disrupt discrimination when we see it. Too often, silence serves as an accomplice to injustice in our workplaces and in our nursing documentation. The language we use in records still too often carries bias, which has a tangible impact on patient care and team dynamics. As nurses, our obligation is not only to care but also to confront: to say something when a colleague is marginalized, when a policy is unjust, and when subtle, insidious racism shapes the course of a patient’s care.
Growing A Choir for Change - Solidarity and Forward Momentum
What gives me hope, however, is the growing network of nurses who are willing to disrupt the system, to not only listen but to actively challenge, and to hold organizations accountable for meaningful progress. I still encounter the old refrains, “I don’t even see color,” or “why collect race-based data?” but there is less uncritical acceptance of those responses than there once was.
I am exhausted by the relentless effort it takes to challenge racism and inequity in our health care system, a weariness deepened by witnessing too many cycles of outrage and inertia after moments that demanded real reckoning. Yet amidst this perpetual exhaustion, I find strength and a renewed sense of hope in the company of nurses around me—those who recognize that something is fundamentally wrong and who choose to say something, to do something, rather than remain silent. We are a choir, and together our collective voices are gaining momentum, holding notes of truth and justice with increasing clarity and power (I fully give Jodie Sweetin of Full House fame credit for that beautiful metaphor of group solidarity in activism). This solidarity is what gives me courage: I am willing to bear the burden of moral injury, because I know I am not alone in this struggle. I am surrounded by others who are putting their hearts and minds fully into the work of change, and it is this growing chorus, refusing to let injustice go unchallenged, that assures me lasting transformation is not only necessary, but possible.
Comments