Visions Journal

Nirbhau Kaur

Reprinted from the Don't Erase Me: Why culture matters in mental health issue of Visions Journal, 2026, 21 (3), pp. 29-31

For most of my life, I believed the systems in BC were fair. As long as you conducted yourself appropriately, followed the rules and advocated for yourself, doors would open. I truly believed that, until it was my turn to stand on the other side of the wall. 

My job makes me a mandated reporter. That means if I am aware of abuse, I’m obligated to report it. I've always been told to trust the process. But when I needed the services of local representatives of two government ministries related to a case of abuse, I had to navigate their prejudices and cultural stereotypes. It turned my once idyllic world upside down.

A shattered trust

I’ve lived in a small BC community for 35 years. It’s my home. Starting in 2019, my family was lucky to become involved in the lives of two very young children who are related to us. Their parents were not able to take care of them on their own. So we stepped in, alongside other family members, to assist with the care needed in the children’s early lives.

Custody issues arose two years later. This situation was complex. But when one of the children disclosed abuse by a family member (unrelated to my own family), we knew we had to act.

Of course, we turned to the authorities to report this suspected abuse, expecting support and action. I genuinely believed everything was in place to help us—and the children—equally, without prejudice or bias. Boy, was I wrong.  

Suddenly, the colour of my skin became my identity. Local government representatives traded in racist stereotypes related to my cultural background, for example, that men in my culture are alcoholics and abusive. These stereotypes were used to dismiss our concerns. We’re a minority in the region where we live. Maybe we would’ve been treated more respectfully elsewhere. As it was, this was just the beginning.

I, along with others in my family, was subject to months of harassment and false accusations on the part of government representatives as the custody case continued, and even as the fate of these children hung in the balance. I soon learned: cultural ignorance in small town systems is not passive, it is active harm.

Gone was any respect my family or I had meticulously fostered over the years. Gone was the person who’d volunteered, actively participating in my community. I was treated with suspicion, condescension and malice by members of those ministries.

After protracted, painful custody negotiations and an investigation, we were eventually vindicated in every respect. Slowly, a few officials understood we weren’t calling in false reports or subjecting the child in our care to harmful stories about the other party. Quite the opposite. People who knew our family for over 50 years began to see cracks in the stories that had circulated about us.

But the damage was done. Our trust has been shattered. I doubt I will ever fully trust another agency to uphold their mandate and do their job without bias.

Family

What is a family? During this very difficult period, local government representatives told us, in no uncertain terms, that family is the biological woman and man who give birth to children. A genetic match. But these assumptions don’t fit into many cultures, including my own.

Like BC’s Indigenous nations, our culture sees the value of “extended” family—though for us, that term doesn’t even apply. Family is those who raise us, who guide us and ensure we are safe. The narrow definition they insisted on was a punch to the gut. While caring for the children, we created bonds that didn’t need labels, forged relationships that will last a lifetime and fully embraced the children into our lives.

I know my cultural background wasn’t the problem. It was the government officials’ lack of understanding of it. If I was treated as if I was uneducated and lacked stability, insight and resources, it frightens me to think how someone without privilege, education or a strong network of support is treated. What happens to those who lack resources?

A history of harm

My experience has opened my eyes to how little cultural sensitivity is given to those who exist outside the majority. For many years, there was no priority given to the Indigenous communities for any type of reconciliation, for example. Change was overdue. Cultural sensitivity and systems that work for their community should have been in place.

I believe these systems can be used as a guideline to foster cultural safety in other communities of colour. It seems as if there is no space for the nuances of South Asian, Middle Eastern, African or East Asian cultures. Yet Canada is made up of citizens from all these regions. We Canadians pride ourselves on inclusivity—a melting pot of people. But is that just when it’s convenient? Those of us who live these experiences can’t just go home and wash off the feeling of being less than because of our skin or backgrounds. We need a framework agencies adhere to that includes diversity education, regardless of geographic location.

Real lives are at stake; families are still torn apart—all because of individuals who carry bias. Cultural sensitivity can’t just be a box each minority group is jammed into, then ticked off. Society cannot allow children and those at risk to fall through the cracks.

Finding our way forward

Throughout the custody process and investigations into the abuse, I relied heavily on my network of lawyers, social workers and professionals who, like me, knew how to navigate the system. It was their support that saved me from fumbling, which would’ve had severe consequences.

We were also able to get counselling for one of the children involved in our case. It was free support, which was very welcome. Otherwise, we would have faced long waitlists and high costs. While we didn’t ask the child to tell us what happened in those sessions, we could see they loved it. This made us feel such relief. Finally, there was support for this child. It’s so important for kids to have a voice—not ours, the child’s alone.

One of the children also attends an Indigenous-run preschool that prioritizes the whole network of family, not a narrow definition. This space mirrored our own way of life. We’ve raised the child in our care to understand that family doesn’t mean blood ties, but the people you can depend on, who have your best interests in mind and love you unconditionally.

For the safety of our future and the most precious members of our society, government ministries and mental health systems must do better. Being the wrong shade of brown and outside of major centres should not determine the fairness or support available.