Caribbean Heritage Month Bill

Moved second reading of Bill S-248, An Act respecting Caribbean Heritage Month.

She said: Honourable senators, I rise today on this unceded and unsurrendered territory of the Anishinaabe Algonquin Nation to ask for your support for Bill S-248, An Act respecting Caribbean Heritage Month.

This bill seeks to designate every July as Caribbean heritage month. I want to start by introducing you to an expression. It’s one I grew up with and one I learned from my grandparents, particularly my grandmother, a woman whose love and discipline indelibly shaped the woman that I am today — if you knew her, you would agree — and one that my fellow Jamaicans have carried with them for generations: Wi likkle but wi tallawah. In Jamaican patois, it means: We are small but we are mighty. It reminds us that our size does not determine our strength, our power or our impact. I can think of no expression that better exemplifies the spirit of the Caribbean: likkle but tallawah.

Honourable colleagues, I was born in Kingston, Jamaica, but spent most of my early childhood in country in Clarendon, an agricultural parish where hundreds of years ago my ancestors were enslaved and forced to work sugar cane fields to produce sugar for European consumption — a parish where, in 1690, these enslaved Africans revolted against the tyranny of slavery, resisted oppression and lived as free men and free women in the Mocho Mountains as Maroons. More than 300 years later, sugar cane still grows in Clarendon.

As a child, my grandparents raised me. My parents, like many of their generation across the region, moved to Ontario to establish themselves before bringing their children two by two to Canada.

My father got a job as a mechanic with the Toronto Transit Commission, and my mother worked as a housekeeper at the Fairmont Hotel for 25 years until her retirement. I was the last to arrive as an 11-year-old, a likkle girl with big dreams in a new land.

I still remember my Aunt Rose, a woman who had never travelled in her life, passing on a sage piece of advice on how to survive in Canada: “Walk fast,” she said. “Canada is cold.”

Today, I stand in this august chamber as a senator of Canada, a proud Canadian, a proud Jamaican and the embodiment of tallawah.

But I am not here today to tell my story. I came to tell you ours: the stories of over 750,000 Canadians of Caribbean descent who have made Canada their home. Because what brought me from Clarendon to this chamber is the same force that has driven Caribbean people to build, to contribute and to thrive in this country for generations. Wi tallawah — all of us, every single one.

Honourable senators, before I tell you why naming July as Caribbean heritage month is a long-overdue recognition, it would be remiss of me to not tell you what the Caribbean is. Because, far too often, Canadians reduce the Caribbean to a vacation destination — sun, sea and sand, all beautiful and enjoyed from the comfort of an all-inclusive resort. That is the postcard. It is not the people. It is not the culture. The languages we speak in the Caribbean are English, French, Spanish, Dutch, Creole and Papiamento. Our people are warm and proud.

We represent a mix of cultures, descendants of the following groups:

Indigenous Taino and Kalina peoples who migrated from South America and were there with established civilizations long before Columbus set sail in 1492; the Kalina, called “Caribs” by European settlers, which is where the region gets its name — Caribbean; Africans, who endured the indignity of being brought in chains on merchant ships from the bottomless pit of slave dungeons in West Africa to a new world in the Caribbean, forced to create wealth for Europe through their enslavement, denied basic rights, yet showed resilience in resisting slavery and holding on to elements of their culture; Indian, Chinese and Irish workers brought as indentured servants also to work the sugar cane fields; and finally, Europeans, who came as colonizers, planters and merchants and whose descendants remained.

We were all born on the same soil, shaped by the same sun, part of the same kaleidoscope.

Our history is as rich as the soil that grows our spices in Grenada, sweetens our sugar in Antigua, holds oil in Guyana and roots us wherever we are planted in the world.

Our pride as a people comes from this history and from our deeply ingrained knowledge of our resilience. We are a kaleidoscope, not a monolith. We emerged from colonialism, slavery, indentureship and hurricanes. Through our grit and resilience, we built something extraordinary because that is who we are: resilient, proud and still here.

Honourable colleagues, I want to dispel a myth: the myth that Caribbean people arrived in Canada recently as newcomers, as people who showed up after the Canadian story was mostly written. In reality, for generations, we have been co-authors of this story.

Colleagues, the relationship between Canada and the Caribbean is older than Confederation itself. For centuries, Caribbean footprints have shaped Canada’s economy, culture and history.

From as early as the 17th century, Canada and the Caribbean were connected by trade. Salted cod from Newfoundland and Nova Scotia sailed south to feed enslaved workers on Caribbean sugar plantations from Haiti in the north to Trinidad in the south. Rum and molasses flowed back to the Atlantic in return. In the 17th and 18th centuries, the prosperity of Atlantic Canada was built on this exchange.

Today, Caribbean delicacies made from salted cod like ackee and salt fish in Jamaica, accra in Haiti, Martinique, Guadeloupe, cook up rice in Guyana, fishcakes in Barbados or buljol in Trinidad exist because of this trade.

In Newfoundland, Jamaican rum shaped working-class culture in fishing villages and community halls, so much so that being “screeched in” with a shot of Jamaican rum became a modern rite of passage to welcome visitors to Newfoundland.

Today, over $6.3 billion in goods and services flows between Canada and the Caribbean each year. As Canada looks to further diversify its trade relationships, the Caribbean has the capacity to increase its trade with Canada.

Colleagues, a few minutes ago, I mentioned the Maroons, the descendants of Africans who escaped slavery in Jamaica and built free communities in the mountains. These Maroon colonies existed for over a century. However, in 1796, following their defeat in the Second Maroon War, over 500 Maroons were exiled from Jamaica and sent to Halifax — our Halifax.

In their four years in Halifax, these Caribbean men and women built the Halifax Citadel, Government House and the community of Preston, an area that is today the heart of the African Nova Scotian community. A proud daughter of Preston, Senator Bernard, sits in this chamber.

The Halifax Citadel today remains one of the most iconic fortifications in Canadian military history, built by Jamaican Maroons. Every year, over 200,000 people visit the citadel, and I am sure few of them know this history.

You see, colleagues, Caribbean people helped build this country literally. Before Confederation, before Calgary and before Canada, Caribbean people were already here. Caribbean people were already writing the Canadian story. Caribbean people were already punching above their weight.

This shared history is complicated. It demands to be known. It demands to be acknowledged.

In the 20th century, Caribbean people came to Canada in waves. In the first wave in the 1950s and 1960s, Caribbean women, like the Honourable Jean Augustine, came to Canada as domestic workers under the West Indian Domestic Scheme. They cleaned homes, raised children and sent money back to the islands to take care of their own families.

In the second wave were professionals. The points system introduced in 1967 brought thousands of doctors, lawyers, teachers and engineers from the Caribbean to Canada. They arrived. They stayed. They built.

My parents were part of this second wave. By the time I arrived in Canada, they had already established themselves and bought their first home in Toronto. I am still in awe of their sacrifice, determination and work ethic.

That generation instilled in their children — in me — the value of education and taught their kids that, if they worked hard and got an education, they could achieve the Canadian dream.

In the 1970s and 1980s, waves of Haitian refugees, like our former Governor General Michaëlle Jean, escaped the Duvalier dictatorship and made Montreal their home in places like Bourassa and Saint-Michel.

Today, the Caribbean continues to send its richest resource, its people, to our shores. International students enrich campus life at our colleges and universities. Temporary foreign workers pick our fruit in Bowmanville and Niagara, and care for our elderly as personal support workers. Professionals work in our banks, courts and even these hallowed halls. Entrepreneurs make our country more prosperous.

The spirit of tallawah lives in each of the over 750,000 Canadians of Caribbean descent. Wherever we go, from coast to coast to coast, we bloom where we are planted.

As I look around this chamber, I see colleagues like Senators Moodie, Yussuff, Youance and Burey, all of whom have Caribbean roots. I also see Senator Clement, whose father hails from “T & T” — Trinidad and Tobago. We are all planted in Canadian soil, nourished by different journeys, blooming in this chamber.

In sports, I think of gold medallists and world champions like Donovan Bailey, Perdita Felicien, Andre De Grasse, Jennifer Abel and Brendon Rodney, who have worn the Maple Leaf with pride and brought great honour to Canada.

In culture, every summer, my city of Toronto hosts the Toronto Caribbean Carnival, a cultural celebration that brings in over $450 million annually to Ontario and brings over 2 million visitors to the city. Toronto’s Caribbean Carnival isn’t just the largest street festival in Canada; it is the largest street festival in North America.

In business, I think of titans like Wes Hall, Frank Bayliss and Michael Lee-Chin; in science, the late, great Dr. Juliet Daniel, whose discovery of the KAISO gene fundamentally changed breast cancer research. In politics, Rosemary Brown, Marci Ien, Jean Augustine, Celina Ceasar Chavannes, Marjorie Michel, Leslyn Lewis and Hedy Fry. If my time permitted, I could go on and on, colleagues, with this list of Canadian elected officials with Caribbean roots. So far, I have only listed the women. But what each of these women did was lift others as they climbed, breaking barriers, opening doors for others and blooming in Canada.

Honourable senators, let me take you beyond Canada for just a moment because the case I am making is not only about what the Caribbean has given this country; it is about what small islands, with less than 1% of the world’s population, have given the world.

Trinidad gave the world soca and the steel pan, the only musical instrument invented in the 20th century. Haiti gave the world its first Black Republic. Toussant Louverture defeated Napoleon’s armies, and with that, hastened the end of the transatlantic slave trade.

Jamaica gave the world reggae. More specifically, Jamaica gave the world the late, great Bob Marley, a.k.a. Robert Nesta Marley, a man from rural Jamaica who reminded the Caribbean people to “emancipate yourselves from mental slavery . . . .” and reminded a turbulent world that “. . . every little thing gonna be alright.”

There are places in Africa, the Pacific and Europe where people may have never heard of Ottawa but know every single word of “No Woman No Cry.” Think about that for a second.

St. Lucia gave the world two Nobel Laureates — Derek Walcott and W. Arthur Lewis — all from an island whose population is the same size as P.E.I.

Despite over 60 years of a crippling blockade from the U.S., Cuba gave the world its doctors and nurses. Its medical internationalism has sent tens of thousands of health care workers worldwide to respond to pandemics, plagues and natural disasters.

Barbados gave the world rum, Rihanna and is now leading on the most urgent issue of our time: climate change.

The Bridgetown Initiative, championed by my hero Prime Minister Mia Mottley, has fundamentally transformed the global conversation about climate finance.

She stood at Davos, she stood at the United Nations, and she stands tall to speak truth to power, telling the world that the rules of global finance are not designed for small island developing states, which do the least to cause climate change but suffer the most from it. She is right. The world is listening, and she is making the world listen to a country of 280,000 people.

Wi likkle, with half of a percent of the world’s population, but wi tallawah in our impact.

Honourable senators, Canada has a long tradition of designating heritage months: Asian Heritage Month, Jewish Heritage Month, Tamil Heritage Month, Polish Heritage Month and Black History Month. I could go on. These designations are not just symbolic; they are an act of national acknowledgement. I urge you to support Bill S-248. Support for this bill is consistent with Canada’s long-standing support for multiculturalism. It is consistent with this chamber’s previous support for other heritage months. This is a straightforward bill: no gimmicks, no hidden clauses and no financial implications.

In voting to support this bill, you will be saying “yes” to the over 500 Canadians who signed a petition to the House of Commons asking for this recognition.

Colleagues, support for this bill also comes from 26 organizations across Canada, including the Indo-Caribbean Canadian Association — and I want to especially thank Ryan Singh for his advocacy — the St. Lucia Canada Foundation, the Guyanese Association of Manitoba, Barbados House Montreal, the Jamaican Ottawa Community Association, the Bahamas Cultural Association of BC and the Trinidad and Tobago Cultural Society of British Columbia.

These organizations, among others, are asking with one voice for us to see and recognize their contributions to Canada. I urge you to listen and to support this bill.

In conclusion, colleagues, I think back to that little 11-year-old girl from Clarendon, Jamaica, who moved to Canada in 1973 to be reunited with her family — the girl who was one of two Black children in her class at Hillcrest Public School who didn’t see herself reflected in her civics and history classes and certainly didn’t see herself reflected in the culture. Recognition of Caribbean Heritage Month was warranted then. It is long overdue now.

The Caribbean has been woven into the fabric of Canada since before Confederation. We built Halifax’s Citadel. We drove Atlantic prosperity in the 17th and 18th centuries. We staffed hospitals, schools and government offices. We drove buses and cleaned hotel rooms. We cared for children and the elderly. We stood at the top of podiums, the Maple Leaf proud on our chests. We danced to the sweet sounds of Soca in the streets of Toronto. We fed this country through our farm workers and our Caribbean restaurants. We ascended to elected office. We sit in this august chamber today. Yet we are still waiting for Canada to say, formally, we know you are here, we know what you contributed and we celebrate these contributions.

Bill S-248 says that. This recognition is not a favour. It is not a gift. It is not charity. It is simply the recognition that, as we say in Jamaican patois, “Every mickle mek a muckle.” Every contribution, past and present, from a Caribbean Canadian, adds up.

It has always added up, and it is time Canada said so. Wi likkle, but wi tallawah. I urge all honourable senators to support Bill S-248.

Thank you. Meegwetch.