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There’s a photograph in a small gold frame nestled in a large wall unit at my parents’ house. In it, two people stand. There’s a formal distance between them, yet the smiles, one moustachioed, one toothy, show warmth. The colours are faded. But you can still make out the scarlet of a Mountie’s serge and the pink of a little girl’s lengha.

The subjects of the photo are a real-life RCMP officer – I can’t remember his name – and me, seven years old. It’s a sweet tableau. It was also strategic, important and meaningful.

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In this space, I normally focus on the opinions of everyone else in Canada. Today, I offer my own take on Maxime Bernier’s latest verbal eruptions over multiculturalism, not as esoteric policy, but as lived experience.

While the Beauce MP decries the “Cult of Diversity,” I’d point out that I’m not part of a cult. I am, however, among the first generations of Canadian-born children of immigrants educated under what were often thoughtful, practical lessons of official multiculturalism.