History is not always in the past. This past week I had the opportunity of travelling with my family to Nova Scotia. 

At the beginning of our time there we visited Africville, a historic Afro Canadian neighbourhood in Halifax that was demolished in the 1960s in the name of urban development. This was a thriving community with over 800 inhabitants. 

However, the city decided that under the guise of urban advancement they would seize the land and use it for their own purposes, kicking out all of those who lived there. Train tracks crisscrossed through what used to be neighborhoods. Sewage was openly dumped into the river where people used to fish for their livelihood. I knew parts of the story and so it felt important to go on this small pilgrimage. However, we were not ready to be faced with the fact that history is not always in the past.  

My wife, my daughter and I boarded the public transit bus and asked the driver to let us know when we should disembark. He graciously agreed. About 15 minutes later, he pulled to the side on a nondescript road and told us this was our stop. When we climbed off the bus we looked around confused. 

There was no park. 
There was no museum.
There was just a line of houses and some woods behind us. 

A resident from the neighbourhood, who was walking his dog, saw the three of us standing on the side of the road confused and asked us if we were looking for the museum. I told him that we were and he chuckled. “They don’t make it easy for you.” He pulled out his phone and showed me on the map where I was to take my family down a small path into the woods along the train tracks across the highway and then into the park. My wife repeated several times, “This can’t be right, this can’t be right. This is not safe.” 

When we finally made it to the museum, she asked the woman behind the counter if there was any bus that stopped near the museum. She sadly shook her head and said “No, this is something we are still fighting for.” 

Not too far from the official museum was a protest. I walked over to ask the people what it was about and they were former residents and descendants of people who lived in Africville. As I listened to one elder’s story, I realized that the past is not that far removed. I was speaking to living history. 

She remembered picking berries along the bank and fishing in the water. 
She remembered walking to school safely without having to cross dangerous train tracks. 

The injustices that were done to this woman and to her community were still palpable, and it was something they were still protesting. 

The city seized the land often without giving any compensation. She told me that many people still hold deeds that are no longer valuable for anything. 

What do we do when the past is not past? 

She asked me to carry the story forward and to tell others about the injustice that the city of Halifax did and is continuing to do to their community. The more people know these stories, the less likely it is that these types of injustices will happen again. 

In the meantime, as we climbed the hill back towards where we could catch the public transit, I held my wife as she sobbed and explained to my daughter that we will do better. 

We have to do better.