Saturday, September 25, 2021

 Montreal

'It's not about the money': Quebec's bonus pay for nurses won't solve staffing crisis, groups say

Some criticize plan for not addressing dismal working conditions and forced overtime


Sabrina Jonas · CBC News · 
The vice-president of the Quebec Nurses' Association says throwing money at a problem that requires real change to working conditions is 'ridiculous.' (Getty Images)

Quebec nurses are criticizing the government's proposed plan to curb the critical staffing shortage in the province, saying it won't work because it doesn't address dismal working conditions in the public sector, which they say is a key reason nurses are leaving.

Yesterday, Quebec announced it will provide bonuses of up to $18,000 to full-time nurses, part-time nurses willing to work full-time and nurses that return to the public sector as part of its emergency response to the personnel crisis. 

But the vice-president of the Quebec Nurses' Association, which represents over 4,000 nurses and nursing students in the province, says throwing money at a problem that requires real change to working conditions is "ridiculous." 

WATCH | Why one nurse quit the public system, and another is on the brink:


Two nurses, one just entering the field, and the other who left due to harsh conditions, weigh in on why the public system is losing employees so rapidly. 3:57

"It's not about the money," said Alex Magdzinski, the association's vice-president who has now left the public sector for the private one. "Nurses have been seeing these types of initiatives put in place for decades now."

Magdzinski says the Health Ministry's plan lacks real, sustainable, long-term solutions, and would like the government to look at options such as a ban on mandatory overtime, self-scheduling for nurses, a limit on hours nurses can work in a day, rigid nurse-to-patient ratios and proper work-life balance initiatives. 

"Unless you're ready to pay nurses double, maybe triple what they're paying right now, I don't really see that these financial incentives are going to work," he said. 

Naveed Hussain, a nurse at the McGill University Health Centre, says the government's announcement is a good first step, but he, too, has some reservations. 

"The fact [Premier François Legault] said he will prioritize caring for us after all we have been through is reassuring," he said, commending the government for recognizing the plight that nurses have long endured in the public system. 

"It's a great idea, but is this a tax-free initiative? Or will the bonuses go back into taxes we pay?" 

The president of Quebec's largest nurses' union, Nancy Bédard, says the plans don't pointedly address the gruelling work conditions that have been driving staff out of the public sector in droves — leaving the province short 4,300 nurses. 

She says members of the Fédération interprofessionnelle de la santé du Québec (FIQ), which represents some 76,000 nurses, say they doubt the bonuses will entice them to stay in the public network, noting their main reason for their shift to private agencies is compulsory overtime. 

Chicken-and-egg situation

"We did not hear about nurse-patient ratios, clinical support, overload," said Sophie Savoie, a former nurse at Pierre-Boucher hospital in Longueuil, of Thursday's announcement.

Compulsory overtime and deteriorating working conditions led her to resign last January. The salary, she said, had nothing to do with her decision.

Legault said yesterday the overall goal is to offer nurses a better work-life balance with improved conditions, but said in order to do so, the province must first increase staffing numbers. 

Magdzinski says this leaves the province in a chicken-and-egg situation. 

"The public sector wants nurses … and then [the government] says the conditions will improve," she said. 

"Well, nurses want to see conditions improve first before they have confidence to return."

With files from Radio-Canada and CBC's Daybreak

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Black, Indigenous mothers say they were sterilized without full consent at Quebec hospitals

Women say they felt pressured to get tubes tied during

 labour, did not understand the procedure


Sylvie Fournier · CBC News · 
A Haitian woman who CBC has agreed not to name said she didn’t consent to having her tubes tied at a Montreal hospital in 2018. (Ivanoh Demers/Radio-Canada)

On a cold autumn morning in 2018, a 44-year-old Haitian woman was in labour at a Montreal hospital, hours away from welcoming her seventh child into the world.

After learning that she would have to undergo an emergency C-section, the woman was asked whether she'd like to have her tubes tied at the same time.

She recalls telling the obstetrician on duty that she didn't know what the procedure — called tubal ligation — was or what it entailed.

In an interview with Radio-Canada's Enquête, the woman said that she refused the sterilization procedure. Indeed, no consent form appears in her medical file.

However, two months after she gave birth, during a follow-up with her family doctor, she learned that she had been permanently sterilized.

CBC has agreed not to identify the woman due to privacy concerns.

After receiving this news, the woman filed a complaint with the hospital and the Quebec College of Physicians.

Both the regional health board that oversees the hospital and the college determined in their investigation that the woman had given verbal consent despite never signing a consent form.

Women of colour infantalized, says doula

Ariane Métellus, a doula and consultant who is working with the woman, said it's possible there was a miscommunication, or language barrier, though she's not convinced.

Ariane Métellus, a doula and consultant, says women need time to reflect on this permanent procedure and there’s no medical reason to rush the decision. (Radio-Canada)

The woman's first language is Creole, and she also speaks English and French. During her visit to the hospital, she was treated in French.

While this could help explain a misunderstanding about verbal consent, Métellus said her client may also have been treated differently because of the colour of her skin.

Métellus says that in her experience helping women navigate the health-care system, she has found that women of colour are often infantilized or treated in a paternalistic manner by physicians and other health-care staff.

Métellus, who is participating in a Canadawide study on maternal health, said this is not the first time she's heard stories from women who were sterilized without their full consent.

"For me, this is the height of violence a woman can suffer, to take away her right to reproduce, to have children, without her requesting it," said Métellus.

Métellus thinks the doctor in question should have given her client time to reflect and the chance to get a second medical opinion.

Another doctor, who examined the complaint filed against the hospital on behalf of the regional health board, wrote that while they believed the attending doctor's statement of events — namely, that the woman gave her consent verbally — they questioned the validity of the consent because it was given while the woman was exhausted and suffering after multiple hours of labour.

"I am of the opinion that it is possible to conclude that the state you were in, in the minutes leading up to your caesarean section, may have affected your understanding of the proposed sterilization surgery," wrote the doctor in response to the complaint.

CBC has agreed not to name the doctor who examined the complaint.

The College of Physicians accepted the attending doctor's version of events and did not blame her for proposing the procedure or for failing to have the woman fill out the necessary paperwork but acknowledged that the timing was not "ideal."

'When you're in pain, it's not the time to reflect'

This isn't the only such case reported by Radio-Canada in recent years, with about 10 Indigenous women in the province sharing stories of undergoing a sterilization procedure without their free and clear consent.

One of those women was Nicole Awashish, who was only 18 when doctors suggested she have her tubes tied, immediately following the birth of her second child.

"I didn't have time to reflect because I was already having contractions," she said. "When you're in pain, it's not the time to reflect."

Nicole Awashish was only 18 when doctors suggested she have her tubes tied. (Ivanoh Demers/Radio-Canada)

Awashish, who is Atikamekw, confirmed she did sign a consent form a few minutes before having a C-section but said that at the time, she thought the procedure was reversible.

This was in La Tuque, Que., in 1980. Years later, when she wanted to have another child, she learned it was impossible.

"I felt guilty. Why did I say yes? I became depressed, I didn't feel good. I felt finished," she said.

Another Indigenous woman told Enquête that she had been sterilized against her will in Val-d'Or, Que., in the mid-2000s.

The woman, who CBC has agreed not to name, said she was told she would be getting a tubal ligation after giving birth in hospital.

"[The doctor] said: 'I'm going to tie your tubes.' I said, 'Why?' She said: 'Because you've had too many children by C-section.' I said I wouldn't sign the consent form, but she did it anyway," said the woman.

"I felt helpless. I was strapped to the operating table. I had no way of escaping," she said.

Cases going back 40 years

A third Indigenous woman, who gave birth in Quebec City in the early 2000s, said she has no memory that anyone asked for her consent before doing a tubal ligation during a C-section.

She said she was "shocked" to learn about the procedure months later, and said she fell into a depression after.

Both women asked that their Indigenous communities not be identified in order to protect their privacy.

Radio-Canada spoke with women who reported undergoing sterilization procedures that they didn't fully consent to or understand in La Tuque, Val-d'Or, Sept-Îles, Quebec City and Montreal. 

The cases span a period of almost 40 years, from the 1980s until recently.

The health-care facilities concerned refused to comment on specific cases, but most said they were making great efforts to counter racism and develop cultural security measures more generally in the hospital setting.

Mauril Gaudreault, president of the College of Physicians, said he was concerned to hear the stories of women who felt pressured or forced into sterilization.

Gaudreault said labour may not be the best time to have a conversation with a patient about such a permanent procedure and that it's better to discuss options like this in advance.

However, the College of Physicians has no plans to issue a directive to prohibit the practice of tubal ligation during childbirth.

A prohibition was put in place by the Saskatoon regional health authority in 2016 after Indigenous women revealed they had been sterilized without consent, and sometimes under duress.

Class action attempts underway in Sask, Manitoba

Alisa Lombard, a Mi'kmaw and Acadian lawyer, is trying to get a class action lawsuit certified to compensate women in Saskatchewan and Manitoba who underwent unwanted sterilization procedures. 

Lombard says, in her experience, women of colour are more likely to be targeted by the practice.

Alisa Lombard is working on a class action lawsuit on behalf of women in Saskatchewan and Manitoba who underwent unwanted sterilization procedures. (Radio-Canada)

"It's a matter of what colour your skin is and what race the doctor attributes to you," she said.

Lombard said women are often intimidated and pressured into giving consent when really there is no rush to decide.

"There's nothing urgent, there's nothing therapeutic. It's not medically necessary," she said.

In some cases, doctors have criticized a patient's ability as a parent as a way of justifying a sterilization.

This was the experience of Mélanie Vollant, an Innu woman from Sept-Îles, Que., who refused the tubal ligation that was proposed to her following the birth of her second child.

"She [the doctor] said to me: 'We know you're going to end up drinking, doing drugs. It's better that you don't have any more. You're going to lose your kids.'"

The young woman refused the procedure but said she feared what might happen next.

Mélanie Vollant, an Innu woman from Sept-Îles, Que., said she was afraid that her children might be taken away from her for refusing to be sterilized. (Radio-Canada)

"I was afraid they would take away my baby. I was thinking of my other child at home — would they take him away?" she said.

Researchers collecting testimonies

A research team at the Université du Québec en Abitibi-Témiscamingue is attempting to shed light on the history of this practice in Canada, which they say is not well documented.

The team is led by Prof. Suzy Basile, an Atikamekw scholar who holds a Canada Research Chair in Indigenous Women's Issues.

She said her team has been collecting testimonies from women who have been pressured into getting sterilized.

Prof. Suzy Basile is an Atikamekw scholar who holds a Canada Research Chair in Indigenous Women's Issues. (Université du Québec en Abitibi-Témiscamingue)

"We assume Indigenous women are irresponsible, live a depraved life, have too many babies, so we use this false impression to push them to accept a tubal ligation," said Basile.

In her own family, Basile said she suspects her grandmother was sterilized while staying at a sanatorium.

"Despite being young at that time, she never had any kids after that," she said.

The work being done by Basile and her team is especially important given that Quebec is the only province that refused to participate in a federal initiative launched in 2018 to examine the situation of imposed sterilization in the county. 

Need help? Find a list of resources below:

Hope for Wellness Help Line (1-855-242-3310): Offers immediate mental health counselling and crisis intervention to all Indigenous peoples across Canada. Phone and chat counselling is available in English and French. On request, phone counselling is also available in Cree, Ojibway and Inuktitut.

Crisis Services Canada (1-833-456-4566)

MMIWG Support Line (1-844-413-6649): An independent, national, toll-free support line is available for anyone who requires assistance. This line is available free of charge, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. 

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GLASS HALF FULL
How rising wholesale electricity prices will affect the switch to electric vehicles

September 23, 2021 


Europe is facing an energy crisis thanks to low wind-power generation, broken connections that allow electricity to be shared across nations and shrinking nuclear energy sources. The UK has responded by burning more gas to produce electricity – but gas prices are at a record high. The result is that wholesale electricity costs are at their highest levels in years, and this is having a knock-on effect for anything that uses electricity.

One benefit of owning an electric vehicle (often abbreviated to EV) is that they are usually cheaper to run, even if the cost of buying one is higher. Driving an EV 100 miles will, on average, cost around £4-6 (US$5.50-8), compared with £13-16 in a petrol or diesel car.

In the first half of the previous decade, nearly all public chargers in the UK were free to use. Back when I drove my first EV in 2013, I travelled between public charging stations, frustrated by the car’s paltry range of under 100 miles on a full battery. I stuck with it though, because not only was my sacrifice better for the environment, my fuel was free too. And even when it wasn’t free, it was still significantly cheaper than running my old diesel car.

Taken in 2013, this charging point was one of many which provided free electricity. 
Tom Stacey, Author provided

While it is true that fossil-fuel prices are rising too, motorists need good reasons to dump their old vehicles and switch to electric. But as electricity prices rise – and with them, the running costs of the average EV – where does that leave electric-car owners and those contemplating becoming one?

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What does it cost to charge an EV?

In 2019 and 2020, the average price per kilowatt-hour (kWh) of electricity in the UK was around 18p. The data for 2021 hasn’t been published yet, but an online quote from one of the UK’s big six energy providers shows an average cost of around 24p per kWh for September 2021.

A car with a 50 kWh battery would cost around £9.50 to fill (allowing for some energy loss during charging) at 2020’s average rate. At the September 2021 rate of 24p per kWh, that same car will cost around £13 to charge, and that charge would be good for 200 miles. Filling up your EV will still cost you half of what it costs to fuel a petrol or diesel car. But public charging rates vary wildly, from around 24p per kWh at some rapid chargers to 69p at other units at motorway service stations that offer super-fast charging.

At 69p, the full charge will cost £34.50, which is equal, or in some cases more than using fossil fuels. Of course, you’re unlikely to charge your EV from completely empty to completely full, so some of that energy would be at a cheaper rate. But even so, the financial benefits of switching to an EV don’t look so strong when electric costs are high.
Where does that leave EVs?

Even though electricity prices are increasing, an enduring benefit of EVs is that they are what researchers call “energy source agnostic”. Vehicles with an internal combustion engine typically need fuel refined from oil and have been designed for over 100 years to run on fossil fuels. EVs run on energy stored in batteries, and those batteries are effectively indifferent to where the energy comes from. It could be nuclear power, hydroelectric power, or solar power generated by photo-voltaic panels on the roof of a house. Again, these panels will cost money to be installed (although prices are falling every year), but once they are installed and the sun is shining, you can charge your car while it sits on your drive. When you consider that the average car isn’t used 95% of the time, it gives plenty of time to charge up from the sun for free.

Home charging could be free on sunny days with solar panels. 
Diyana Dimitrova/Shutterstock

Let’s also think about the times national power generation networks produce too much electricity. It seems unbelievable in the midst of an energy crisis, but there are times when the national grid generates so much power that operators don’t know what to do with it. This phenomenon was more prevalent during the peak of COVID lockdowns, when some energy companies even paid customers to use renewable sources rather than switch them off. Electric vehicle batteries were the perfect sponges to soak up this excess power.

Many countries are building more resilient power networks based around generating electricity when it makes sense – capturing the sun when it shines and the wind when it blows – and storing that in huge grid-scale batteries known as megapacks, to use when renewable electricity isn’t been generated. Electric cars could be part of that storage too, and trials are ongoing to assess the viability of vehicle-to-grid technologies, which allow car batteries to transfer their power to the local grid during a shortage.

If you charge your car on energy rates that apply to your home (and remember, electricity is priced around supplying a home’s power needs, not charging more than 50 kWh of car battery each day too) your costs will almost certainly rise. But if you are smart about when and how you charge your EV, you could benefit from very cheap, if not free fuel costs for years to come. EVs may even become an important part of how energy networks balance supply and demand, controlling costs for everyone’s benefit.

Rather than being more expensive to fuel in an energy crisis, EVs, and their huge grid-connected batteries, could actually help prevent future crises and high prices.


Author
Tom Stacey
Senior Lecturer in Operations and Supply Chain Management, Anglia Ruskin University


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British Columbia

Bizarre legal theory making anti-vaccine movement more extreme, experts warn

Opposition to public health measures vaults Freemen-on-

the-land ideology into public eye


Chris Walker · CBC News · 
Legal experts say protests against vaccine mandates are being fueled by a pseudolegal ideology that has ties to white supremacy and extremist groups. (Maggie MacPherson/CBC)

The anti-vaccine movement in Canada is becoming increasingly radicalized thanks to a bizarre legal theory spreading through its ranks, according to multiple experts.

Last week, protesters entered a school in Salmon Arm, B.C., to "serve" school officials with what lawyers say are bogus legal documents.

The documents are based on the ideology of the Freemen-on-the-land, an anti-government movement with links to white nationalism.

"This is very worrying," said Edwin Hodge, an expert on right-wing extremism at the Centre for Global Studies at the University of Victoria.

The pseudo-legal ideas of the Freemen have ebbed and flowed over the years, but the philosophy has typically been relegated to the fringes of society, according to experts.

Not anymore. The pandemic and its associated opposition to public health measures have vaulted these ideas into the public eye. 

"It's been a bonanza," said Richard Warman, an Ottawa human rights lawyer who has written extensively on pseudo-law.

Protest leader David Lindsay is a known believer of the Freemen-on-the-land ideology and spreads its ideas regularly at Okanagan rallies. (Chris Walker/CBC)

'An intimidation tactic'

David Lindsay, a prominent anti-vaccine mandate protester in Kelowna, B.C., is also a well-known follower of the Freemen-on-the-land ideology, according to legal scholars, and has used rallies in the Okanagan to spread it. CBC News reached out to Lindsay for comment but did not hear back in time for publication.

The convoluted legal principles being spread by Lindsay and others arose in the white supremacist Posse Comitatus movement in the United States in the early 1970s, according to Helmut-Harry Loewen, a retired sociologist in Winnipeg and an expert on the Freemen. 

Loewen says they espouse a radical interpretation of the relationship between citizens and government, claiming that explicit individual consent is required for every bureaucratic interaction — from speeding tickets, to taxes, to criminal charges, to public health measures.

When adherents encounter law enforcement, they exclaim "I do not consent," which they claim frees them from legal obligations. (It doesn't, according to lawyers.)

That line has been adopted by some anti-vaccine activists — appearing everywhere from protest signs to frames on Facebook profiles, though it isn't always clear whether those activists follow Freemen ideology or have, perhaps, just borrowed the phrase. 

Language similar to that of the Freemen has been adopted by some anti-vaccine activists — appearing on protest signs and frames on Facebook profiles. (Facebook)

According to Hodge, the most dedicated Freemen followers issue reams of bogus legal documents in the belief that once the true law is recognized, public officials will be held accountable.

In British Columbia, activists have insisted on hand-delivering so-called "notices of liability" to public officials, including mayors, city councillors and school principals. 

The recent incursion into a school was "a dramatic escalation," said Hodge, and indicates that activists are willing to breach previously sacrosanct public spaces. 

"This is an intimidation tactic," he said.

"They see themselves as the only legitimate law enforcement around because they perceive everybody else to be puppets or stooges or in on the conspiracy."

'Vexatious litigants'

The legal profession takes a dim view of such tactics.

"People delivering notices of liability might as well be delivering their grocery list," said Warman. "These documents are 100 per cent false. These have never worked and have never been accepted in any court."

Canadian courts have repeatedly ruled against such pseudo-legal arguments and have deemed many Freemen to be "vexatious litigants," meaning they need special dispensation from the courts to file lawsuits. 

Followers of pseudo-law have a pattern of escalation, according to both Hodge and Warman.

"They don't just post things on Facebook saying, 'I do not consent,'" said Hodge. "First, they're declaring the government unconstitutional, then it's issuing false notices, then they're making citizen arrests, and then it escalates into violence.

"These theories may run away faster than the truth," said Warman. "It's important to deal with [extremism] at the lowest possible level before it grows. It starts with education and debunking."

On Thursday, Quebec passed a law meant to keep protests away from schools and hospitals. B.C. Premier John Horgan said last week that B.C. is looking to do the same.

"It's something that we don't do lightly but we do in the interests of the vast majority of British Columbians who want to know that they can go about their business free from intolerance of a select few," he said.

LISTEN | Radicalization among protesters: 

Daybreak South10:53Experts warn of radicalization of anti-vaccine movement
A bizarre pseudolegal theory is spreading through the anti-vaccine movement. Experts say that increases the likelihood of radicalization and violence. The CBC's Chris Walker reports. 10:53
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Ottawa

Grad student and rookie MP gives new meaning to 'learning on the job'

Arielle Kayabaga plans to complete grad course in political management at Carleton University

Alistair Steele · CBC News · 
Arielle Kayabaga, a first-term city councillor in London, Ont., was elected MP for London West on Monday. She's also enrolled in the Clayton H. Riddell Graduate Program in Political Management at Carleton University. (ariellekayabaga.liberal.ca)

When Arielle Kayabaga returns to classes at Carleton University this fall, she might have a thing or two to teach her professors.

Kayabaga, a first-term city councillor in London, Ont., took the riding of London West for the Liberals in Monday's federal election.

The 30-year-old MP-elect also happens to be enrolled in Carleton's Clayton H. Riddell Graduate Program in Political Management, which bills itself as "an intensive master's degree designed to provide a professional foundation for students who play or will play leadership roles in political offices," among other politically focused career paths.

I'm always willing to turn it over to the expert in the room, and I'm sure this will happen with Arielle.- Stephen Azzi, Riddell Program director

Kayabaga, who received her BA in political science from Carleton and already has some backroom experience on Parliament Hill, told CBC she plans to complete the one-year graduate program on a part-time basis and has until 2024 to do so.

"My intentions are to finish it," she said earlier this week. "I'm a single mom, so when I was in university I was raising a small child. It's a very challenging situation to be in, but I've been able to do it before and I think I can do it again."

Does she really need to? As a sitting MP, Kayabaga will be sitting at the centre of Canadian politics — a fact that has not escaped the attention of some of her professors in a program many regard as a training ground for professional politicians.

"I think it's exciting," Kayabaga said of her dual role as both student and parliamentarian. "I think it's going to be a really great opportunity to do both and to be able to serve while [I'm] also still learning."

Kayabaga's family came to Canada after fleeing civil war in Burundi, arriving in London when she was 11. Her website says that "Arielle's story is one of breaking barriers, overcoming adversity, and defying expectations. She is a shining example of a new type of political and community leader: progressive, unapologetic and committed to representing marginalized voices in her community."

Kayabaga pulls pints with Liberal leader Justin Trudeau at Storm Stayed Brewing Company in London, Ont., during a campaign stop last week. (Sean Kilpatrick/Canadian Press)

Stephen Azzi, director of the Riddell Program, agrees with that assessment.

"She's a very impressive individual. She's a real go-getter, so if anybody can pull it off it'll be her," he said, adding that Kayabaga is the first elected MP to be enrolled in the program.

Azzi said the program tends to appeal to political science grads who "came away a little frustrated" because their undergraduate studies turned out to be more theoretical than they'd anticipated.

"So these are people who want to get their hands dirty actually working in politics," he said.

Azzi said when he surveys students in the program, about half of them say they're interested in running for political office at some point in the future.

Stephen Azzi is director of the Clayton H. Riddell Graduate Program in Political Management at Carleton University. (Submitted)

Might some professors find it a bit daunting to teach a student who's already an MP? Maybe — but not necessarily, said Azzi.

"We do get students who have a lot of experience, and frequently when I'm teaching a class I find there's somebody in the room who knows more about the subject than I do. I'm always willing to turn it over to the expert in the room, and I'm sure this will happen with Arielle," he said.

"When you teach political management and you're teaching a bunch of political experts, you become humble very quickly."

Lots to learn

Azzi said students in the program learn the ins and outs of campaigning, polling and policy development, so there's something new for everyone — even a sitting MP.

Last year, Azzi got a call from a senator on the verge of retirement who was interested in enrolling in the program after a career on Parliament Hill.

"So even if you're living and breathing it every day, you might not know everything," he said.

Launched in 2010, the Riddell Program is named after the late Clay Riddell, billionaire founder of Calgary-based petroleum company Paramount Resources Ltd., whose generous donation to Carleton made the program possible.

It's normally an intensive 12-month program with a 10-week summer practicum for real-world work experience, but students have the option of taking evening courses over two or three years instead. Of the 50 or so students currently enrolled, about one-third are studying part-time, Azzi said.

Classes have been held online during the pandemic, but in-person learning is gradually resuming at Carleton.

Kayabaga said she'd be happy to mentor her classmates in the political management program if asked to do so. (Andrew Lupton/CBC)

There could be another advantage to having a student in the program who's also an MP: Azzi said classes are frequently taught on Parliament Hill, so "we need a friendly member's office to help us book rooms, and this might be a new friendly MP's office for us."

Kayabaga said she's eager to help and, if called upon, to act as a mentor to her less-experienced classmates.

"I would love to," she said. "I would love to offer that opportunity. I think it would be a great exchange between the school and I."

For more stories about the experiences of Black Canadians — from anti-Black racism to success stories within the Black community — check out Being Black in Canada, a CBC project Black Canadians can be proud of. You can read more stories here.


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