I Want to be Wrong

A Love Letter to Democracy

The results are in. The Liberal Party of Canada has won the federal election. And while I wish I could tell you I’m simply disappointed, the truth is heavier than that.

I’m scared.

There’s a ball of anxiety lodged right in the middle of my chest - tight and persistent. It hasn’t gone away since I woke up this morning and saw the final numbers. In fact, it’s been building for months, maybe even years. This election didn’t create the feeling - it only confirmed it. But I’m not asking you to agree with me, or even understand me.

Before anyone accuses me of being bitter or a sore loser, let me clarify something important: this isn’t about tribal politics. It’s not about waving a partisan flag or stomping my feet because my “team” didn’t win. I don’t have a team. I have voted for different parties at different times in my life. I believe in voting based on the current reality, not blind loyalty. This isn’t about winning or losing.

This is about the trajectory of a country I love deeply - and the feeling that something has fundamentally shifted beneath our feet.

At heart, I am a liberal. I believe in freedom of expression, speech, bodily autonomy, equity, kindness, care for the vulnerable, opportunity for all, and yes - progress. But I also believe in transparency. I believe in accountability. I believe in balance, and in protecting the freedoms of all citizens, not just those who agree with the ruling party.

And that’s where my fear lies.

What I’ve seen, especially over the last few years, is not the liberalism I grew up believing in. It’s something more extreme, more insulated, and more detached from everyday people. It feels like the Liberal Party has been hijacked by elites - people who speak the language of empathy and choice, but whose policies and actions often say otherwise. They’ve learned to package control as compassion, to frame dissent as danger, and to silence disagreement in the name of progress.

What frightens me isn’t just the outcome of one election - it’s the long-term erosion of the principles that make democracy strong: open debate, healthy disagreement, ideological diversity, and civic engagement without fear.

And yet… I have never wanted so badly to be wrong.

I would love nothing more than to look back on this moment and say, “Wow, I overreacted.” I would happily eat humble pie if it meant the party in power proves to be wise, principles, and fair in ways I can’t yet see. I want to be proven wrong because the alternative - that my instincts are right - is far more devastating.

But something deep inside me won’t let go of the concern. And I know I’m not alone in that.

I’ve spoken to Canadians from all walks of life over the past year. Some voted left, others right, others spoiled their ballots out of protest. Some are feeling triumphant today. Some are grieving. And many, like me, are just afraid - afraid that we’re being nudged inch by inch toward a future where freedom is more illusion than reality, where “kindness” is weaponized to enforce conformity, and where people are too scared to speak unless their opinions have been pre-approved.

Let me clear: I don’t resent my fellow Canadians. I don’t think everyone who voted Liberal is brainwashed or misinformed. I truly believe that most of us vote based on the information we have, our lived experiences, and our hopes for the future. We might disagree on the details, but we’re not enemies.

That’s the beauty of democracy - and one of the reasons I’m writing this.

Democracy only works when we participate. It only works when we speak up - not just when things go our way, but especially when they don’t. It only works when we stay engaged, even when we feel ignored or powerless or afraid. So I’m choosing to write, to reflect, and to stay rooted in hope and vigilance. 

Because I didn’t lose anything in this election - not really.

I still have my voice. I still have my beliefs. I still have my right to participate in civic life. And as long as I have those things, I’m not going anywhere. 

If even a fraction of my fears begin to play out - if I see increased suppression of dissent, more manipulation disguised as moral superiority, or any attempt to tighten the boundaries of acceptable thought - I will stand up. I will write. I will speak. I will take action. Respectfully, thoughtfully, and without apology.

And I won’t do it out of spite - I’ll do it out of love.

Because I love this country. I love its diversity of thought, its contradictions, its messiness, its mosaic of cultures, beliefs, and stories. I believe we are strongest not when we all agree, but when we are allowed to disagree without fear.

That’s what scares me most about what I see unfolding - not a specific policy, but a pattern: a culture that’s beginning to equate disagreement with harm, and concern with hate.

I want to live in a Canada where people can disagree with each other and still walk beside each other. A Canada where you don’t have to parrot the right slogans to earn basic dignity. A Canada where it’s possible to believe in both freedom and responsibility - where one doesn’t have to cancel out the other.

Today, I am grieving, but I am not giving up. I will continue to advocate for the kind of liberalism that nurtures freedom rather than policing it. I will continue to believe in compassion that doesn’t require compliance, and unity that doesn’t erase difference.

I hope those in power prove me wrong. I hope they govern with humility and integrity. I hope they serve all Canadians - not just those who applaud the loudest.

But hope alone is not enough. Hope has to be active. It has to be alert. It has to be willing to get uncomfortable.

So if you’re feeling like I am today -  if you’re anxious, afraid, or uncertain - please know that you are not alone. And you don’t need to retreat. This is your country too. Your voice matters. Your worries are real. And your participation is needed more than ever.

And if you’re feeling hopeful today - if you’re celebrating the outcome - I respect that too. I hope your hope proves justified. We’ll need your optimism, your vigilance, and your openness in the years ahead.

Because we’re in this together.

So I will breathe through the fear. I will hold onto the values that matter to me. And I will keep showing up - not in protest of democracy, but in service of it.

Because I love this country too much to look away.

Ⓒ April 2025. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.