On shared culture, separate histories, and the quiet work of building solidarity in Black Nova Scotia
Walk into a home in Black Nova Scotia – whether in North or East Preston, Whitney Pier, Uniacke Square, or The Island in Truro – and something familiar is already waiting. Gospel hums from the kitchen as a matriarch prepares dinner. Black Jesus paintings sit beside framed photos of deceased loved ones, watched over by praying Black angels and African art. Rap freestyles rise through basement vents, carried by hip-hop and R&B basslines. Card games pass the time before supper. Outside, a dancehall track rattles a car window in the driveway.
The music, the food, the art, the rhythm – it’s all there. A shared language. But step outside that living room and into the wider community, and too often, you’ll find that the solidarity doesn’t stretch as far as the sound.
We’ve got roots here going back centuries, some of the longest-standing Black communities in Canada. And we’ve also got Black folks who’ve come from away; places like Nigeria, Jamaica, Trinidad, Somalia, Ethiopia, Sudan, the U.S., Ontario, Quebec, and elsewhere. Many of us attend the same events, live in the same apartment buildings, shop at the same hair supply stores, and get followed around in the same department stores.
So why is it that we’re still so disconnected?
Black, but Not the Same
The term “African Nova Scotian” doesn’t land the same for everyone. For those whose families have been here since the arrival of the Black Loyalists, Maroons, or Refugees of the War of 1812, it carries a specific historical weight. There’s a pride in that lineage, and rightfully so.
But for newer arrivals, the label can feel like a gate that’s either hard to access or not even meant for them in the first place. And sometimes, truth be told, that gate is held shut from both sides. Longtime residents might see newcomers as not understanding “the struggle.” Newer folks might see those born here as too quiet, too passive, or too stuck in the past – or, contrarily, too loud, too aggressive, and too stuck in the past.
We get defensive. We build walls. We compare pains. We rank struggles.
All the while, the people who benefit most from our division just sit back and let it all play out.
Community Shrinking and Shifting
There’s no question that traditional Black communities in Nova Scotia are changing. In some areas, gentrification has crept in. In others, young folks are moving out – chasing jobs, education, or simply a life that feels freer. Interracial relationships are more common, and while love is love, we’d be lying if we said it hasn’t complicated questions of cultural continuity and community identity.
So, what happens when people leave and don’t come back? When elders pass on and their stories don’t get passed down? When “the community” becomes less of a place and more of a feeling we can’t quite define?
We lose something. And if we’re not careful, we’ll lose more.
Stop Waiting for White People to Understand
Let’s be real: part of the reason we struggle to build unity among ourselves is because so much of our energy is still spent explaining, defending, and justifying our existence to people who were never going to get it anyway.
We share an experience of anti-Black racism – old, new, local, global. But instead of focusing inward to heal, plan, and connect, we’re constantly pulled outward by commentary from white people who don’t understand and, more importantly, don’t want to.
We write open letters. We post receipts. We argue and get outnumbered in social media comment sections. We attend town halls and get gaslit by officials in suits. And even when we speak calmly, factually, or from lived experience, we’re still accused of being angry, divisive, or “reverse racist.”
Let’s stop taking the bait.
This isn’t about shutting down conversations. It’s about choosing which conversations are worth having in the first place. Our pain isn’t public property. Our unity shouldn’t depend on how comfortable it makes anyone else feel.
We need to build among ourselves, for ourselves, because white approval is not the measure of Black progress.
What Might Real Solidarity Look Like Here?
It doesn’t need to be grand. We’re not talking about pan-African utopia overnight. But we can start with small, intentional steps.
- Tell our stories across party lines: A Nigerian parent should know the story of Viola Desmond. A teenager from Cherry Brook or Upper Hammonds Plains should know about the struggles of African students navigating racism at NSCC or Dalhousie today. Knowing one another’s history is the first step to building trust.
- Invite and show up: When African Nova Scotians throw a community day or a church revival, don’t assume it’s not for you if you weren’t born here. When a new Black immigrant-led group hosts an event or panel, don’t skip it thinking it’s not “your kind of Black.”
- Normalize cross-community mentorship: Elders from historic communities should be speaking with youth from immigrant families. Not in a way that preaches, but in a way that shares. The same goes in reverse; there’s wisdom among many of our young people as well.
Make space to talk about class and culture: Not all Black experiences are created equal. Being born here doesn’t mean you weren’t poor. Being from away doesn’t mean you weren’t targeted. We need to stop assuming we understand one another’s struggles without asking.
Criticism Will Come – But Keep Building Anyway
Not everyone’s going to love this kind of talk. Some will say it’s divisive to focus on race at all. Others will accuse us of being “cliquish” for building among ourselves. Still others – Black and white – might say this solidarity dream is naive.
But every bit of progress in this province’s Black history came from people who did things that other people thought were naive.
We don’t need to wait for a crisis to bring us together.
We don’t need to wait for a white audience to validate our concerns.
And we don’t need to be unanimous to be united. We just need to start looking at each other less like strangers who happen to share a skin tone, and more like neighbors who might be able to share a future.
If we know the same songs, maybe it’s time we started singing them together.
– BlackNovaScotia.ca
