The Hero Next Time: A Novel of the Terribly Acronymed Detective Club (Book 4)

Chapter Two: Sunny, Saturday

"I like your platform," said the old white guy as he shook his hand. "I'm afraid, though, that you won't be elected unless you look more Canadian."

This wasn't the first time Sunny received such casually racist comments disguised as helpful advice and, to prevent himself from punching him in the face, he held on to the man's hand, took a mental ten count and attempted to divine the origin of his concern. Nope. No insights occurred to him. "What's a Canadian?" he asked, turning to his tried and true speech in response to such tripe. "I was born here, in New Westminster, which is in British Columbia, which is in Canada, is it not? And Canada, if I remember correctly from my history lessons, is a relatively new country populated by immigrants from all over the world; I'm sure your ancestors migrated here from Europe, as mine did from the Punjab, as did many others who call New Westminster home, and we all did it without the leave of the Indigenous peoples who lived here for thousands of years before we arrived, and who are really the true Canadians here. I'd argue that I look as Canadian as anyone in this city, and I'm proud that New Westminster is one of the most diverse municipalities in the nation, and I'm running because I want to reflect that diversity on Council."

The man nodded shrewdly, took his hand back, made a polite goodbye, and left to mingle with someone else. Maybe he wouldn't get the man's vote, but he wasn't going to humour him to make him feel better about himself. He was done taking it, and he wasn't the only one. He was fortunate New Westminster was relatively progressive as cities went. Out east in Ontario, even now, political hopefuls like him were given such helpful advice as, "Take your turban off, you'll get more votes." Sure, and those same advisors probably wouldn't vote for long-haired hippies, either, which was how he'd look with it off, because there was no way he was cutting his hair. Yes, there were Sikhs who cut their hair, but that was their choice, and no one should be forced to change themselves just to make others feel more comfortable.

Elections were generally a popularity contest, anyway. You didn't have to win over everybody, just enough of them to count. That was the purpose of this meet and greet, to announce his candidacy and put himself out there.

It was a pretty full house, he had to admit. The banquet hall of the newly built Anvil Centre, on Eighth Street and Columbia Street, was a grand venue for his debut, and he was heartened to see so many had come to see him. Granted, the majority of them were from the gurdwara. The old white guy would have been hard pressed to find Canadians who looked like him in this crowd, but they were here, too, and it was brave of him to come out, at least; no matter what his attitudes were, at least he was engaged. 

His partners at Westminster Law Group were here, many of whom lived in the city and promised him their vote. Other representatives of professional groups were here too, like Maurice Delacroix, president of the New Westminster Labour Council, a powerful influence in the city's politics; most candidates who received their endorsement got elected. Before the election had been officially called, Sunny had been invited to the Labour Council's Political Action Committee meeting along with the other candidates seeking their endorsement, and grilled for a good half hour. When he'd told them his dad had been a mill man in Queensborough and a shop steward with the IWA, and that he wanted to fight for ordinary working people in the city, he'd seen the smiles on their faces and thought he'd gone a long way to obtaining their endorsement.

Rodney Maxwell, running again for Mayor, was here with his wife and two young daughters. He was the youngest mayor the city ever had, and still popular, and was predicted to win again. His presence was a good endorsement for Sunny's campaign. The two had worked together many times on projects throughout the city, and it was his volunteer work that had gained him the suggestion from Maxwell that he should run. 

Also here was Regan Nakamura, last year's Citizen of the Year in New West, who'd just narrowly beat him out for the honour. She was also running for Council, but there were six seats, and the two of them had similar platforms, so perhaps her presence here was meant to symbolically bind him and the mayor with her into a slate. He didn't mind that strategy. He liked and respected both of them. Regan actually reminded him a little of Lauren, although she was taller and wore glasses. Sunny could visualize the old white guy squirming as he tried to explain to Regan why it was a good thing Canada interned her ancestors during the Second World War, and chuckled to himself at the response Regan would give him; it would be less polite than the one he'd given.