Cover Image: A small moment of shared humanity during a time of loud division.
Shades of Grey: Hear, Not Fear, Different Perspectives
In May of 2021, I published a series of letters addressed to Irshad Manji—author of Don’t Label Me and founder of Moral Courage ED—released quietly over the span of two weeks. They were written as an experiment in dialogue: a way of thinking out loud about the issues that so often divide us, close to home and beyond.
The letters were never meant to reach her inbox. At that point, I hadn’t met Irshad. Instead, they existed as an imagined conversation with someone whose words had unsettled me in the best possible way. Her book became a companion as I wrestled with questions I didn’t yet have the confidence—or clarity—to speak aloud.
It took time to get there. Months of reading, listening, sitting with discomfort, and trying again. What follows isn’t certainty or conclusion, but process. If these pieces offer anything of value, I hope it’s a glimpse of what moral courage can look like when we choose curiosity over certainty and dialogue over distance.
Irshad’s book plays a central role throughout the series, offering practical and compassionate tools for engaging in difficult dialogue. It helped me see that disagreement doesn’t have to lead to division, and that we can speak honestly without fear of judgment—or the lingering sense that we’re alone in our questions or convictions. Again and again, it reminded me that moral courage is less about winning an argument and more about staying present with one another.
The original posts are linked below. Each title opens in a new tab.
Author’s Note
This series was the most difficult writing I had done up to that point—not because of the language, but because of the moment it emerged from. These letters were written during a time of cultural upheaval, local conflict, and personal uncertainty, when saying the wrong thing often felt as risky as saying nothing at all.
I wrote them slowly and carefully, aware of how easily words can cause harm even when they are written with intention. What follows is not certainty or conclusion, but an attempt to stay human inside complexity—shaped by learning, discomfort, and a sincere desire for dialogue.
I share these letters here not as answers, but as a record of thought in motion.
Forward – Introduction to the Series
Letter 1 – I begin close to home, reflecting on a local issue and tracing its threads into broader global conversations surrounding it. At its core, the letter is rooted in my love for people and for being present within my community—listening, showing up, and staying engaged even when things feel uncomfortable.
I also reflect on my grandfather, who I came to see as my first “human-side” mentor—someone who modeled empathy, decency, and the quiet courage it takes to stand with others. From there, the letter introduces a hope that carries through the series: that people won’t be afraid to enter these conversations, or feel isolated for holding questions, doubts, or differing perspectives.
Letter 2 – The second letter turns toward education, exploring concerns about how sensitive topics are being discussed within K–12 classrooms, informed by recent dialogue both locally and globally. I reflect on a growing fear that when these conversations are delivered without care, clarity, or honesty, they risk pushing parents to disengage—or to remove their children from discussions that are, in fact, essential.
At the heart of the letter is a belief in what our children truly need: strong communication skills, the ability to think critically, and the confidence to engage with complex ideas without being handed conclusions. I also stress the importance of trust—that educators and education systems are creating space for inquiry rather than transferring personal opinions onto students, and that classrooms remain places for learning how to think, not what to think.
Letter 3 – In the third letter, I begin by acknowledging my own educational path—or lack of a formal one—alongside a lifelong love of learning and curiosity about the world. That tension becomes an entry point for situating myself honestly within the conversation, rather than speaking from a place of assumed authority.
I go on to share aspects of my political thinking as it relates to these issues, including years of engagement with Indigenous communities and reconciliation work. From there, the letter widens to a deeper examination of our political and social structures, and a growing belief that if we moved beyond race as the primary lens, we might discover how many of us—across backgrounds—share the same sense that these systems are failing to meet the needs of families and communities.
The letter also begins to grapple with labels and the early shadows of cancel culture, questioning what we lose when curiosity gives way to categorization.
Letter 4 – The fourth letter opens with a direct question about Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion training: if we don’t believe it can lead to individual change, why are we teaching it at all? I explore how lived experience—particularly my involvement in local Indigenous advocacy—reshaped not just my views on EDI, but the way I now approach any complex or contested issue.
I also reflect on my experiences as a political figure, and how the pressures and realities of that role have influenced my thinking about power, responsibility, and public dialogue. Woven throughout the letter is an honest reckoning with the personal cost of engaging in these conversations—the stress, the fear, and the uncertainty about how speaking openly might affect community involvement, friendships, and professional relationships.
Letter 5 – The final letter steps back to ask what we truly know about the histories of the cities we grew up in—and how those histories have shaped us, both individually and collectively. I reflect on local examples of bias affecting many different ethnic communities over time, and how those patterns continue to influence the present in ways we don’t always recognize.
While acknowledging the real and ongoing challenges our society faces—and the shared responsibility to stand up for one another—the letter ultimately looks beyond the surface differences that so often divide us. It closes with a renewed emphasis on relationships: on our tendency to judge quickly, our growing reluctance to listen deeply, and the quiet work required to truly hear perspectives other than our own.
Afterward – The series concludes with a reflection on the letters as a whole, and a renewed hope for broader, more inclusive conversations. Rather than offering judgment, I share a desire for dialogue that brings leaders, policymakers, and advocates into the same space, grounded in curiosity rather than assumption.
The afterword also gathers the resources that informed this series, including books, conversations, and perspectives that helped shape these early—or “first 48”—opinions. It is offered not as an endpoint, but as an invitation: to keep learning, to keep listening, and to continue the work of engaging one another with care.
There is no learning in feeling like you have to be silent.
