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Note: This article contains descriptions of hateful content and violent rhetoric.
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The following article includes excerpts from an interview. The names of the interviewee have been changed to respect their privacy.
Microaggressions come in subtle ways, but they carry a heavy weight, constantly reminding us who belongs and who does not. They can take the form of a joke, a comment or a question, but they reflect a deeper prejudice. For newcomers, these everyday interactions can significantly shape their sense of safety and belonging in Canadian society.
This is especially relevant in British Columbia, a place of historical struggle for South Asian Canadians’ rights, where they account for 28% of the visible minorities as of 2021. Since the COVID-19 pandemic, anti-South Asian hate has risen significantly in Canada, with police reporting a 198% increase in hate crimes targeting the community between 2019 and 2023. The Canadian Race Relation Foundation’s studies also showed that “at least one-quarter of all South Asians sampled reported that they face discrimination or harassment” in 2022. This is a reminder that even in a multicultural province, prejudice persists in open and in quieter forms.
Kiran, a 22-year-old South Asian newcomer, has spent the last four years in Vancouver as both a student and a resident. Raised in the Middle East, he moved to Canada in 2021, drawn by the diversity of his current university.
“Vancouver is a melting pot of different cultures,” he explained, “I’ve always thought of Canada as having an inclusive environment for people of all different walks of life.” Surrounded by multicultural peers on campus, he often felt this vision was true. “Public life in Vancouver is great,” he continued, “people are friendly and willing to start up random conversations, mostly if you make the first step.”
But outside the international student bubble, moments of exclusion emerge. His story outlines how subtle comments and online hostility shape the experience of newcomers in British Columbia and how microaggressions make belonging feel conditional.
Compliments with an Edge
For Kiran, microaggressions often come as compliments: “In the past, I’ve gotten comments that my English is really good, and that I don’t have a strong Indian accent like other immigrants,” he said. Friends and co-workers framed these comments as praise; however, the undertone is clear: he was being singled out as different from “the others”. “It almost comes off as if I’m one of the ‘good ones,’ or a correctly assimilated Canadian resident,” Kiran reflected. While subtle, these words suggest that his acceptance depends on fitting into a particular mould.
This dynamic is closely related to what researchers call the model minority myth, meaning the stereotype that certain newcomer communities succeed because they are hardworking, quiet, or better at adapting than others. While originally applied to East Asian communities, its logic also affects South Asians. Being praised as “not like the others” creates a hierarchy among newcomers, fostering isolation instead of solidarity.
Researchers note that the model minority myth is often used as a divide-and-rule strategy: by holding up some communities as “proof” that success only requires hard work, it pits communities against one another and denies systemic racism. For Kiran, the effect is subtle yet powerful: it serves as a reminder that his place in Canadian society is conditional and precarious.
Microaggressions also show up in compliments on beauty. Kiran has heard remarks like “You’re attractive for a brown person” or people saying they “would never date a brown girl.” These comments take root in Eurocentric beauty standards that still shape social spaces. “I’ve even heard these from people within the brown community,” he says. This shows how systemic prejudice reinforces hierarchies not only between communities but within them.
Hostility in the Digital Public Space
When navigating online spaces, hostility becomes more open. Over the last two years, Kiran has noticed increasing xenophobic comments on social media. “Anytime you go on any Canada-related post on TikTok or Instagram, there are swathes of people spamming ‘DEPORT’ or ‘GET OUT,’” he recalled. Indeed, a 2023 survey showed that racialized Canadians were twice as likely to be targeted by online hate speech as the general Canadian population. The Institute for Strategic Dialogue also found that “posts containing anti-South Asian slurs increased by more than 1,350 percent from 2023 to 2024 on X” (previously known as Twitter).
Recently, Kiran came across posts mocking immigrant workers at fast-food restaurants, reducing the Sikh workers to stereotypes. Other comments bashed cultural celebrations with lines like “Canada is ruined” and “This is no longer Canada, it is India”. Kiran recognized that these words carry a heavy weight: “For someone of my age, this content is quite hurtful, but I feel especially bad for impressionable children.” Unlike casual remarks in person, online hostility feels louder and reinforces a sense of isolation. These remarks create a parallel public space where online hate can spread unchecked, fostering internalized hate.
“[These comments] make me a little more wary of my surroundings and the way people treat me,” he admitted. “Sometimes, after seeing so much xenophobia and bigotry online, it creates a mindset where if something negative happens, I wonder whether it’s because of my race or just a coincidence.”
Kiran also points out the difference in generations: “Older newcomers either have the maturity to deal with this mindset, or they believe these microaggressions don’t really exist.” His reflection reveals how digital exposure can both sharpen awareness of microaggressions while blurring the line between mindfulness and self-doubt.
A Legacy of Exclusion and Resistance
Kiran’s experience of microaggressions is part of a longer history of exclusion experienced by South Asian people in Canada from the early 1900s onwards. In 1910, the “continuous journey regulation” deliberately blocked South Asian immigrants from entering Canada. In 1914, the Komagata Maru ship carrying over 370 passengers from the British colony in present-day India was denied entry into Vancouver under this regulation.
At the same period, the government also developed a plan to deport all South Asian immigrants from British Columbia to the British colony in present-day Belize. The plan failed due to the community’s resistance to it.
Fast forward to today, while open discriminatory policies have been cancelled, systemic racism persists. Discrimination remains, especially for those facing multiple forms of marginalization, based on gender identity, religion, age, disability, sexual orientation, etc. For instance, according to a 2022 study, South Asian women were almost twice as likely to report unfair treatment in the workplace compared to the average population.
Other visible markers of identity, such as the turban or other items linked to Sikhism, can expose South Asian people to disproportionately high levels of discrimination because of their association with “foreignness”. The World Sikh Organization of Canada notes a recent rise in hate crimes against men with turbans in the country, as it makes “easy targets for hate attacks.” Yet, faced with this rise in discrimination, newcomers find ways to adapt.
Finding Safety and Community
For Kiran, microaggressions rarely make him feel unsafe in public spaces. Vancouver’s diversity, he says, allows him to move through daily life without constantly feeling marked as an outsider. “It helps to make me feel safe on buses and trains,” he explains. He notes that being surrounded by a diverse group of friends also reinforces that sense of security.
Yet, Kiran reports that he rarely discusses these experiences with family or friends. Over time, he has “grown thicker skin” and explains that these moments are something understood, although not always spoken aloud. Conversations with friends from diverse backgrounds offer him a sense of solidarity. Yet, he acknowledges that the mutual understanding has its limits: “I likely cannot understand exactly how they feel, and the same goes for [them].”
What has helped him most is building a community of support. “I surround myself with people of similar values,” he says, people who “take issue with the increasing xenophobia and microaggressions.” He has also considered joining cultural clubs or events where he can connect with others who share his ethnic identity and lived experiences. These spaces can offer visibility and a sense of belonging against the isolation created by microaggressions.
Why Naming It Matters
Although Kiran’s experience hardly ever escalates into threats, the accumulation of microaggressions can be just as damaging as open racism, impacting the feeling of safety and belonging. Kiran’s story reminds us that racism does not only appear as open hostility. It is also the compliment that divides, the joke that excludes, and the online insult that hurts.
Confronting microaggressions matters because it uncovers how belonging is made conditional. It also forces us to confront larger structures of racism to destroy the divide-and-rule logic of stereotypes, which isolate communities instead of enabling an environment of solidarity.
At the same time, Kiran’s story highlights resilience. He has built a sense of safety through friendships and cultural events that affirm his identity. These forms of resistance are powerful, but they cannot be the only shields for newcomers. Building inclusive public spaces requires collective responsibility to name the small acts of exclusion first.
Despite the challenges, Kiran remains hopeful about the direction Canada is taking. “I’ve never lived in a country where government bodies openly celebrate Vaisakhi or Diwali,” he notes. “Seeing a city bus wrapped with a Happy Vaisakhi message makes people like me feel seen.” For Kiran, these everyday gestures of recognition represent progress. They remind him that inclusion is through visibility, empathy and shared celebration. In his eyes, progress means young people of colour stepping into public life to challenge the quiet prejudices and unfair ideologies.
Edited by Gustavo Villela
