Written By David Gomez
What makes us part of a community? Can we truly share common ground with people whose past, culture, origins — or even language — are not our own? These are the questions that come to mind when I think about my place here, not only as a reporter, but as a neighbour whose life is now deeply tied to this region.
It is true that you and I likely come from very different places. We do not share the same mother tongue. We grew up in towns marked by different climates and histories. Our skin, our accents, our family traditions may not resemble each other’s at all. And yet, in recent years we have shared spaces, celebrations, cultural and academic environments, the same seasonal rhythms, and the same community concerns. The language you speak has become a part of me as well, which means, in a way, we share that too. So, I often ask myself: does living and working in this region —in this county— make me part of your community?
I believe it does. Our worries, our goals, and our idea of community bind us together, just as they did for generations before us. The ancestors of many families in Middlesex County did not share origins when they first arrived either. They came with unfamiliar languages and unfamiliar customs, yet they adapted and eventually thrived. They, too, were immigrants —just as I am, just as many families in this region are today, searching for a future in this beautiful country.
None of this means turning a blind eye to wrongdoing. I stand firmly against illegality or exploitation of any system. But I do believe in acknowledging the reasons that drive people to uproot their lives: safety, opportunity, dignity, and the hope of belonging somewhere.
That is why the event that happened in London two weeks ago filled me with a deep and complicated sadness.
In late November, a group identified by national monitoring organizations as a white nationalist organization demonstrated on a bridge in London, unfurling a banner that read “Remigration Now.” Police confirmed the gathering took place and that it lasted roughly half an hour before dispersing. Photos and videos circulating online showed participants masked, holding symbolic flags often associated with far-right movements in Canada.
The words on the banner were not neutral. “Remigration” is a term widely used in extremist circles to imply the removal —voluntary or forced— of immigrants and racialized residents. Even without direct confrontation or violence, the symbolism alone carries weight. For many people in our region who were not born here, the message was unmistakable: you are not welcome.
Incidents like this never stay confined to the bridge or the moment. They ripple outward, reaching families who have been in Southwestern Ontario for only a few months, or for many years. They reach children growing up in classrooms where diversity is not an idea but a daily reality. They reach workers who contribute to our farms, hospitals, industries, and small businesses. They reach local residents who know what it feels like to live between cultures and who carry both the pride and vulnerability of that experience. They reached me.
When a group claims space on public infrastructure with a message that targets people like me it is impossible not to feel the tremor. It does not undo the kindness I have received in this county. It does not overshadow the friendships, the shared laughter, the warmth of community suppers, or the long conversations after many local events. But it forces us to confront a truth: even in peaceful places, even in welcoming regions, there are moments that remind newcomers that our belonging is still, in some eyes, conditional. And yet, belonging has never been granted by those who oppose it. It is strengthened by those who cultivate it.
For every banner meant to intimidate, there are countless everyday gestures that counter it: a neighbour clearing snow from a shared driveway, a volunteer checking in on someone new to town, a teacher who ensures every child feels seen in the classroom, a council chamber where diverse residents participate freely, a small conversation at the grocery store where no one flinches at an accent. Community is not a static thing. It is a choice, renewed every day by the people who live in it.
So, I return to the questions that shaped this column. What makes us part of a community? I believe it is the commitment to show up for one another—especially when something tries to divide us. Can we share common ground despite differences in language, culture, or origin? We already do. We do it every day in Middlesex County.
For those who arrived here generations ago, and for those, like me, who arrived much later, the path to belonging is built step by step. And despite moments that bruise the heart, I choose to believe that the path still leads forward,together.
