Jagmeet Singh - 23 Apr

To my family

F our months had passed since Id made one of the biggest decisions of my life. I was running to become the eighth leader of one of Canadas largest political parties, the New Democratic Party. From the moment I announced my candidacy, I had been riding a wave of life-changing events, and on that particular day in September, there was another one in store for me.

It was a beautiful daythe kind when summer hasnt lost its hold and the weather seems to ignore that fall is just around the corner. I was heading to an event at Professors Lake Recreation Centre in Brampton, Ontario. As I drove through the surrounding neighbourhoods, I looked out my window and took in the buildings where Id held countless community events over the years, each one bringing together hundreds of constituents who made up one of Canadas most diverse communities. This was the riding I had represented for the past six years in the Legislative Assembly of Ontario. The riding where my team and I had launched my leadership campaign.

Back then, in May 2017, pollsters gave us single-digit odds of winning. Analysts said I was too unknown, too inexperienced, too unrelatable. Columnists pointed to my turban and beard, and pondered whether a very visible minority could connect with all of Canada.

The past few months had been a blur of activity. In order to build the movement and create countrywide energy and excitement, we were holding events we playfully called JagMeet and Greets in communities as widespread as Duncan, BC, and Lunenburg, Nova Scotia. By that September day, my squad had signed up 47,000 new membersmore than all the other NDP candidates combined. Our dreamto excite and invite a new generation of social democrats who believed in an inclusive Canadawas taking shape.

I felt my excitement building as I pulled into the park entrance and headed toward the recreation centre. Wed held events across the country, but this was the first official campaign stop in the city where it all started. Hosting an event in Brampton felt more like a homecoming party than another campaign stop. Behind the buildings vine-covered glass walls, hundreds of our original supporters and volunteers, friends whod been with me since the beginning, were ready to celebrate.

I glanced at my watch, a gift from my bapu-ji my dadon my sixteenth birthday, and saw that it was time to get inside. A volunteer in an orange T-shirt was waiting for me at the front. I turned the volume down on Post Malones Congratulationsits contagious bravado and my non-stop playing of it made it our campaigns unofficial anthemand rolled down the window. Before I could ask, he said, Dont worry, Ill park it.

As he came around to the drivers side, I adjusted my bright yellow turban in the rear-view mirror. I hopped out of the car and hustled up the concrete stairs toward the rec centre doors. Before I reached them, though, a woman in a black T-shirt stopped me.

Oh, hey, she said, casually puffing a cigarette. Are you headed upstairs?

Yes, I am.

Can we ask you questions?

Now?

No, during the event.

Yes, youll be able to ask questions.

Okay, she said, and stepped aside.

As soon as I got inside, Hannah Iland, my campaign tour director, spotted me and escorted me to the ballroom. Heads up, she said, theres a local TV station that wants to broadcast the speech so we need you to carry two mics. She led me to the doorway. Well announce you in a few seconds, she said.

I peeked over her shoulder and scoped out a room filled with the bright faces of so many loved ones, and people who I had grown to know well over the past six years as a politician. I also caught a glance of the emcee, Gurkiran Kaur, the woman I was going to ask to marry me as soon as this crazy campaign was over. Hearing her introduce me to my supporters made the momentand our future plansall the more special.

When I walked onstage, the applause was overwhelming. Gurkiran handed me the two microphones with the signature affectionate look she gives mea twinkle in her eye, a wink without winking. While trying to keep our relationship private so as not to cause any distractions from the campaign, wed perfected our own sign language, a way of exchanging positive vibes without being overt about it.

I returned her glance and tested the mics on the crowd. Wow, this is amazing, I said, taking a moment to try to pick out my parents in the crowd of a hundred. First question, does my voice carry better this way, or

It carries great, called a voice too clear to be from the crowd. I looked to my right and noticed the same woman whod stopped me outside. She was striding over so quickly that her pace and proximity to me took me aback. As she spoke, her hands waved wildly and her head jerked from side to side. Her stream of words poured so fast I had a hard time grasping them.

Hi, my names Jennifer, I asked about a questions process, there isnt one, so Im asking you now

Hold on, one second, hold on, I said, squeezing out the words between hers. I turned to the audience and tested the microphones again so that I could figure out what Jennifer wanted.

She stepped closer, head tilted, angrily pointing up and down. We know youre in bed with sharia, she said.

Of course , I thought. This wasnt the first time in my life I had been confronted with Islamophobia, or suggestions that there was something wrong with me because of the way I looked, or fears that I was a terrorist or terrorist-sympathizer.

When is your sharia going to end? she asked, wagging a finger in my face.

Id encountered hecklers like Jennifer (many of whom were worse) throughout my life. In fact, several months earlier, the media scrum for our campaign launch had been delayed by a similar incident.

In that moment, I purposely didnt explain to Jennifer that Im Sikh, not Muslim. Though Im proud of who I am, throughout my life, whenever Ive been faced with Islamophobia, my answer has never been Im not a Muslim, because hate is wrong, no matter who its aimed at. When it comes to stopping fear and division, all of us, no matter who we are, have to stand together. History has shown that if you allow any sort of hate to take hold, it spreads like fire, burning people for their race, gender, economic status, or sexuality.

Jennifer kept ranting. We know youre in bed with the Muslim Brotherhood. We know by your votes, she yelled, still inches from my face. She disparaged Muslims and me, associated me with Islamic extremism, and said I didnt support womens rights, growing increasingly hostile with each new accusation.

I wasnt worried for my safetymuch of my life has been spent disarming aggressive people, and Ive gotten pretty good at itbut I was worried that shed ruin our celebration. So many people on my team had worked countless hours behind the scenes, in offices, and on doorsteps, but hadnt had a chance to come to our gatherings before that day. They and the many other supporters in the room deserved better than having their optimism derailed and drowned out by bigotry. I feared theyd walk away with a bitter taste in their mouths.

I knew I had to cool Jennifer down and respond in a way that made the room feel positive again, but the chances of turning it around slimmed with every second she seethed. When two campaign volunteers approached Jennifer and tried to shepherd her away, one of them gently touched her back. Jennifer spun around and snapped at him. Dont touch me! she screamed. Dont anybody touch me, or I will contact the police immediately.

There were rows of phone cameras pointed at us now. Great , I thought, YouTubes about to blow up with an angry white woman shouting down a turbaned, bearded politician and threatening to call the police . I could sense the audiences unrest, too, and I began to worry for Jennifer; I feared someone in the audience might direct their impatience or anger at her. I didnt want that negativity to dictate the day. I wanted us all to remember why we were there, why we were doing this.