We were told Canadians are the nicest people on Earth. Polite. Kind. Tolerant. Always ready with a sorry, even when it’s not their fault. But COVID shattered that illusion—and for some of us, the damage is permanent.
I used to believe in that myth too. Until 2020 happened. Until the fear kicked in, the government issued its orders, and the masks weren’t just on our faces—they were ripped off our souls.
That year didn’t just expose a virus. It exposed us.
It turns out 30% of the people around me weren’t just scared—they were ready to become state enforcers. Willingly. Gleefully. If the government had handed them the authority to shove dissenters into quarantine camps or load them onto boxcars, they would’ve done it with a smile. And they would’ve slept just fine that night.
Even more chilling was the silence. The 50% who said nothing. Who watched neighbors lose jobs, families get torn apart, elderly people die alone—and didn’t utter a word. Not a protest. Not even a question.
When fear took the wheel, empathy got thrown in the trunk. People weren’t just complying—they were turning on each other. Reporting each other. Shaming, doxxing, banning, and cheering every punishment the state handed out like it was some righteous crusade. For the first time in my life, I truly understood how dark things in history were allowed to happen.
It wasn’t just the government. It wasn’t just the media. It was your coworker. Your neighbor. Your aunt. Your best friend.
And that changes you. Because once you see it, you can’t unsee it.
COVID brought out the worst in people—not because it created cruelty, but because it revealed it. It exposed how fragile the thin veneer of civility truly is when people are scared and desperate for control.
I’ll never forget what they did.
And honestly, I don’t think I’m supposed to.
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