When the Guardians Go Silent: Why the Canadian Museum for Human Rights Must Confront the COVID-19 Catastrophe
- kenrdrysdale
- Aug 12
- 13 min read
Updated: Aug 12
The CMHR’s Legal Mandate — straight from the Museums Act
“The purpose of the Canadian Museum for Human Rights is to explore the subject of human rights, with special—but not exclusive—reference to Canada, in order to enhance the public’s understanding of human rights, to promote respect for others and to encourage reflection and dialogue.” — Museums Act, s. 15.2 https://laws-lois.justice.gc.ca/eng/acts/M-13.4/page-2.html#h-354155
What that single sentence really obliges the museum to do
Core duty (implicit in the statute) | How the Act spells it out |
Collect and safeguard evidence | “Collect museum material related to human rights” and preserve, restore or document it. |
Research and tell the hard stories | “Undertake or sponsor any research related to its purpose … and communicate the results.” |
Educate the public—broadly and bravely | “Promote knowledge and disseminate information … by any appropriate means of education and communication.” |
Foster dialogue inside and outside Canada | “Organize … travelling exhibitions” and “establish and foster links with other organizations that have a purpose similar to its own.” |
Offer a platform, not a pedestal | Provide facilities so “qualified individuals” can study the collection, and lend or borrow material to keep the debate alive. |
In plainer language: the CMHR is not a memorial to settled history.
It is a living institution legally bound to gather the raw facts of today’s rights struggles, test them through research, and throw open its doors—literally and intellectually—to spirited public scrutiny. Anything less is a breach of both its spirit and its statute.
What’s on display — and what’s conspicuously missing
The 2025 exhibition line-up
“Dimensions in Testimony” – an interactive Holocaust-survivor hologram experience that lets visitors “interview” eyewitnesses to Nazi atrocities. CMHR
“Reclaiming Power & Place” – a five-year installation honouring Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, Girls and Two-Spirit People (MMIWG2S). CMHR
“Love in a Dangerous Time: Canada’s LGBT Purge” – chronicles the federal government’s decades-long expulsion of 2SLGBTQI+ personnel from the military and public service. CMHR
“The Witness Blanket” – a travelling art-memorial built from 800 residential-school artifacts, on view until 2027. CMHR
“Strength in Numbers: The Polish Solidarity Movement” – celebrates the 1980s labour uprising that helped topple communist rule. CMHR
Permanent Galleries – foundational Charter stories, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and classic “Canadian Journeys” vignettes. CMHR
Current public programs & pop-ups
A mirror of today’s “safe” causes
Every item on this roster maps neatly onto topics that already enjoy official acknowledgement, public funding, and media consensus: residential-school redress, Indigenous resurgence, 2SLGBTQI+ equality, Holocaust remembrance, and child-protection awareness. These are worthy stories—but they are also institutionally comfortable. Each aligns with a federal apology, a class-action settlement, or a UN-backed commemoration day.
The gaping hole
Notice what’s absent: no gallery, corridor panel, or even a pop-up kiosk on the pandemic-era suspension of mobility rights, coerced vaccinations, bank-account freezes, or the tens of thousands of excess deaths now under forensic review.
The museum can host moon-cycle craft sessions and Polish labour retrospectives, yet remains silent on the live-wire issue that affected every Canadian household and is still winding its way through the courts.
In short, the CMHR’s 2025 schedule reads like a roll-call of pre-cleared, government-endorsed narratives—proof that when it comes to the most widespread and contentious human-rights crisis of our time, the guardians of Canada’s “national conscience” have chosen the comfort of popularity over the courage of relevance.
How is it that a taxpayer-funded institution with an annual, all-in operating footprint approaching $45 million can remain mute on the pandemic-era excesses of our governments and the damage that followed? The building can light up with injunctions to “stay vigilant,” yet inside there is no sustained treatment of the emergency powers, coerced injections, frozen bank accounts, or the continuing excess-death signal. With that kind of budget—and a mandate to “encourage reflection and dialogue”—silence isn’t a scheduling choice; it’s a statement.
Meanwhile, with $0.00 in government funding, the National Citizens Inquiry assembled what is, to date, the first and only encyclopedic record of Canada’s COVID years: 5,432 pages of findings, grounded in sworn testimony from more than 300 everyday Canadians alongside world-renowned experts. It is raw, documented, and often heartbreaking—exactly the kind of evidence a national human-rights museum should be preserving, curating, and presenting for public scrutiny.
A citizen-led truth project achieved this on donations and volunteer grit. A Crown museum—with staff, space, and a mandate carved in statute—has offered little more than a passing nod. A world first sits on the table. Where is the CMHR?
As Chair of the Commissioners of the National Citizens Inquiry—and as a principal author of its report—I have offer to meet with CMHR leadership, hand over the full report, provide the complete archive of recorded testimony, sit for interviews, and collaborate on a balanced, evidence-driven exhibit that tells the truth about what happened and what is still unfolding. I stand ready to do this today. Yet a wall of silence and polite resistance from an institution that was built to invite hard conversations, not avoid them.
Pandemic-Era Human Rights Violations — The Damage Then, Now … and Still Unfolding
Below is a concise but comprehensive ledger of how Canada’s pandemic response collided with nearly every pillar of the Charter and the international covenants to which we are a signatory. The numbers are staggering; the social, legal and biological after-shocks are still accelerating.
There is much much more, NCI wrote 5,432 pages on it, what I have presented here is a small sample.
Why it matters going forward
Irreversibility: You cannot reopen a restaurant that was forced into bankruptcy; you cannot undo a myocarditis scar or resurrect a loved one lost to policy-induced negligence.
Precedent creep: Emergency powers wielded once become easier to wield again—especially if cultural institutions sanitize the first use.
Moral accounting: Without full, transparent reckoning—including museum-level curation—Canada risks normalizing mass-scale rights suspensions as acceptable governance tools.
Put plainly: the pandemic response did not merely bend the Charter; it snapped a latticework of protections that took generations to build. Until we face that rupture head-on—in our courts, our legislatures and our national museum—the wound will keep bleeding into Canada’s legal, fiscal and moral future.
Public Confidence in Institutions — the melt, and why it matters
Canadians aren’t just tired; they’re losing faith in the referees of our democracy. Surveys since the pandemic show a sustained slide in trust across the big pillars—federal government, public health authorities, media—after the 2020 high-water mark. A national review of trust data finds confidence in the federal government, media, public health officials and even the WHO all dropped from 2020 to 2022, and has not meaningfully rebounded. University of Waterloo International tracking echoes this: in Canada, government sits well below the “trusted” threshold in the Edelman Trust Barometer, with persistent concern that politics—not evidence—drives decisions. edelman.ca+1
Even the OECD’s latest country note—typically diplomatic—concedes a stark gap: while roughly two-thirds of Canadians say they trust police and the courts, only about half express trust in the federal government or news media. That’s not just a vibes problem; it’s a functionality problem, because low institutional trust predicts weaker compliance, lower civic participation and more brittle governance. OECD Statistics Canada’s own work links low confidence in institutions with low trust in information—fertile ground for polarization and “I’m done” disengagement. Statistics Canada+1
And yes, specific flashpoints made it worse. When the Federal Court ruled in January 2024 that the government’s use of the Emergencies Act was unreasonable and that some measures violated the Charter, the message to millions was simple: the rules were bent, and no one was held to account.
That corrodes legitimacy fast. FCTPublic Safety Canada
The societal cost of a trust recession
Civic freeze: People stop volunteering, stop voting, stop showing up—because they no longer believe participation changes outcomes. Turnout and compliance drop together. OECD
Info anarchy: When official channels are distrusted, rumor becomes governance. That’s not “healthy skepticism”; it’s a vacuum. Statistics Canada
Rule-of-law fragility: Court wins that arrive years late feel like pyrrhic victories, teaching citizens that remedies are theoretical while harms are immediate. FCT
The separatist fuse in the West
Distrust doesn’t just sit there; it routes into identity. In Alberta and Saskatchewan, support for leaving Confederationkeeps pinging between one-quarter and one-third of adults—still a minority, but big enough to reshape politics and policy. In recent Angus Reid polling, 30–36% said they would vote to leave under certain federal scenarios; in May 2025, support measured 36% in Alberta and 34% in Saskatchewan.
That’s not a protest tweet—that’s referendum math. Major outlets now openly frame western separatism as a live pressure point on Ottawa’s stability.
Put bluntly: when people conclude that institutions won’t admit mistakes, won’t correct course, and won’t treat them as adults deserving of honest information, the centre doesn’t hold. If national bodies—especially ones built to safeguard rights and memory—won’t engage the biggest rights story of our time, don’t be surprised when Canadians start seeking sovereignty closer to home.
De-Humanization of Canadians
Canadians were told—again and again—that pouring hundreds of millions into a national human-rights museum would help the world learn how atrocities begin: not with gas and guns, but with the quiet habit of turning people into problems. The CMHR’s own materials celebrate a landmark public work—capital build $351 million (often framed as a $400M-plus project when fundraising and site costs are included)—created to “enhance understanding of human rights” and to keep vigilance alive. That promise is noble. It is also precisely the promise you break when the most sweeping rights crisis of our era is treated as an awkward footnote. CMHRThe Canada Files
De-humanization doesn’t arrive wearing jackboots. It arrives in labels: “non-essential,” “unvaccinated,” “dangerous.” It arrives in policies that make neighbours untouchable and dissenters unemployable. And once you reduce a fellow citizen to a category, almost any cruelty becomes administratively reasonable—freezing a bank account, denying care, shutting a door, silencing a voice. That is when a human-rights museum, above all institutions, must lean in, not look away.
If you think I’m overstating it, consider what I laid out in my deep-dive on MAID. Since legalization in 2016, 60,301Canadians have died by medical assistance through the end of 2023—4.7% of all deaths in 2023 alone, a record high. That cumulative toll now exceeds Canada’s Second World War military dead, a stark, culture-level marker that should trigger soul-searching, debate and, yes, museum-grade curation. These are not fringe numbers; they are Health Canada’s own. Canada.ca
In that piece, I traced how MAID’s scope widened—from “foreseeable death” to chronic conditions, with eligibility for mental illness as a sole condition now delayed to 2027, not abandoned—and how oversight practices and reporting choices can blur the true picture. I flagged controversies around Ontario’s coroner reporting and raised the ethical alarm about people seeking MAID under the weight of poverty, isolation, and housing insecurity, not just medicine—cases serious enough to draw international coverage and official reviews. If the phrase “slippery slope” ever applied, it applies here. Ministère de la Justicearpacanada.caAP News
That essay also set MAID within a wider pattern Canada is skating toward: from a pandemic culture that sorted citizens by compliance, to an expanding end-of-life regime that can present death as a tidy solution to social failure. You don’t need to accept every conclusion to see the through-line. When institutions fixate on managing populations rather than serving persons, rights turn negotiable. When 15,343 assisted deaths in one year are treated as a technocratic line item, and when the people raising concerns are dismissed rather than engaged, that is the very climate of de-humanization the CMHR was built to expose. Canada.ca
So where is the museum that was supposed to warn us how this happens? Where is the gallery that juxtaposes emergency-era coercion with MAID’s meteoric rise; that places court rulings, expert analyses, and survivor testimony side-by-side; that asks hard questions about who counts and who doesn’t when systems are under strain? We funded a lighthouse to spot the storm. On the largest rights squall in living memory, the light is off.
What Would the Founder Say?
Israel “Izzy” Asper didn’t dream small. In July 2000, the Winnipeg media entrepreneur began pushing an audacious idea: a world-class human-rights museum in the heart of the continent, built not as a warehouse of artifacts but as an “idea museum” that would spark learning, debate, and vigilance. On April 17, 2003—the 21st anniversary of the Charter—Asper stood at The Forks and publicly announced the plan, flanked by early government commitments and a pledge to rally private donors. His foundation pitched the project as “of importance to Canada and the world,” the largest of its kind, intended to change society. Asper FoundationGovernment of Canada Publications
Family and friends carried the torch after Asper’s death in late 2003, steering one of the biggest cultural campaigns in Canadian history. In 2008, Parliament made the CMHR a national museum—mandated “to explore the subject of human rights… to promote respect for others and to encourage reflection and dialogue.” The official origin story on the museum’s own site begins with Asper’s 2000 vision and the 2003 announcement at The Forks. University of WinnipegCMHR+1
Asper also imagined a civic landmark—something you could spot on the skyline and instantly know where you were. As his daughter Gail has often recalled: “When you see this museum you’ll know you’re in Canada—like the Eiffel Tower in Paris or the Sydney Opera House in Australia. They’ll come to the building; they won’t be able to avoid learning about human rights.” That was the sales pitch: beauty as a magnet to truth. The TyeeGovernment of Canada Publications
Vision vs. reality
On the physical symbol, Asper got his wish. The crystal-and-stone “Tower of Hope” is unmistakable; the brand is global. On the mission, the ledger is shakier. The museum’s programming today leans into subjects that already enjoy official sanction—Indigenous reconciliation, the LGBT Purge, Holocaust memory—while sidestepping the live, contested rights crises reshaping Canadians’ lives right now, above all the pandemic-era restrictions and their aftermath. That is a drift from Asper’s “idea museum” toward a retrospective museum, safer to curate and easier to fund. Government of Canada PublicationsCMHR
Where is it going?
Institutionally, the CMHR has the mandate, platform, and budget to convene hard conversations—and the founders’ story gives it moral permission to do so. The next chapter could honour Asper’s blueprint by treating contemporary Canadian rights controversies with the same curatorial seriousness as historic cases: collect the records, invite competing expert views, stage public dialogues, and let the evidence speak. That is the museum he pitched: a place where the landmark brings you in, and the arguments change you. Anything less shrinks his bold vision to architecture without nerve. CMHR
Where Do We Go From Here — a citizen action plan
If the “national conscience” won’t speak, the nation has to. Here’s a practical, high-impact plan to reclaim both our rights and the museum we fund.
1) Flood the silence with evidence
Deliver the record. Print the NCI Executive Summary and a one-page cover letter; hand-deliver or mail it to the CMHR CEO and Board. Include a USB with sworn testimony clips and your personal story.
Rights Depository Day. Pick a date. Hundreds of Canadians bring one labeled envelope each: “My Pandemic Rights Story.” Photograph the stack. Share it widely.
2) Make the museum do its job
Submit a formal exhibit proposal. Ask for a temporary gallery or corridor installation featuring court rulings, sworn testimony, excess-mortality analyses, and first-person accounts. (If they refuse, publish the refusal.)
Citizen-curator tours. Organize small groups to visit current galleries and politely ask staff where the pandemic exhibit is. Record answers. Post a “visit log” every month.
Donor leverage. If you’ve donated (or plan to), write an earmarked pledge letter: funds contingent on mounting a balanced, evidence-based COVID-era rights exhibit.
3) Build the exhibit they won’t
Pop-up “Empty Exhibit.” A portable plexiglass case, a simple plaque—“Pandemic-Era Human Rights (Vacant)”—and QR codes to court decisions and testimony. Take it to libraries, campuses, council chambers.
The Silent Tower campaign. Use the hero photo you’re creating; invite Canadians to post their own versions (#SilentTower) with a 50-word testimony.
Digital shadow gallery. Curate a clean, scrollable microsite: rulings, data, short videos, survivor quotes. Treat it like the exhibit we should already have.
4) Use lawful pressure points
ATIP/FOI requests. Ask for internal emails on why no pandemic exhibit exists, and any external pressure about programming choices.
Parliamentary oversight. Request hearings at the House Heritage Committee; ask your MP to table written questions about CMHR’s mandate fulfillment.
Municipal & provincial resolutions. Encourage councils/legislatures to invite the CMHR to present a plan for contemporary-issue exhibits—including the pandemic file.
5) Protect people while we debate policy
Peer-support networks. Create local groups for those harmed—job loss, injury, isolation—so the conversation stays human, not abstract.
Independent archive drives. Help collect affidavits, medical records (with consent), and timelines for a permanent, public repository.
6) Train, organize, and amplify
Join Manitoba Stronger Together (MST). Get connected, get trained, and get active with people who show up. Our weekly sessions (Tuesdays, 6:30 pm CT) are designed to equip you with tools—policy literacy, media skills, and campaign planning—to make change.
Start a Rights Watch circle. Three friends, one monthly meeting: track court cases, write one op-ed/letter each, and brief your MLA/MP quarterly.
Story sprints. In one weekend, record five 90-second testimonies (smartphone is fine). Edit, caption, publish. Repeat.
7) Keep it creative—and unmistakably Canadian
Candle-lit Names & Numbers vigils at The Forks: each attendee reads one verified case (a ruling, an injury, a lost job).
Ledger of Loss installations: a table of ordinary objects (backpack, “Closed” sign, boarding pass, hymn book, CMHR brochure). Quiet. Devastating. Photographed and shared.
Bottom line: this is your museum and your rights. Claim them. Show up with receipts, insist on equal courage for current harms—not just curated history—and do it together. Join MST to plug into a community that’s already moving, to get the skills, and to turn this from a moment into a movement.
Epilogue — The Work Belongs to Us
One night a tower glowed with words about vigilance, and we discovered the light didn’t reach the one place it needed to—us. That’s the lesson of this whole story: institutions don’t save nations; people do. Museums, courts, parliaments—these are tools. When they stall, the duty to move the country forward returns to its rightful owners: citizens.
What will it take to wake a country? Not one more headline or hashtag. It will take ordinary people doing extraordinary small things—showing up, telling the truth out loud, refusing to be shamed into silence, and standing beside those who were hurt. It will take calm courage repeated hundreds of thousands of times until it becomes culture again.
Power is not something we wait to receive; it’s something we practice. Every letter delivered, every testimony recorded, every meeting where you ask hard questions and stay respectful—that’s power. Every parent who pulls a child back into community, every worker who helps a colleague document an injury, every congregation that opens its doors to listen—that’s power. When we organize it, it becomes unstoppable.
So let’s decide who we are. Are we a nation that outsources its memory and morality to buildings, or are we a people who carry them? If the Canadian Museum for Human Rights won’t mount the exhibit, then we will. If officials won’t account for decisions, then we’ll keep the ledger and present it to them—again and again—until they do. If neighbours are isolated, we’ll show up on their doorstep.
Here’s our simple pledge—say it, mean it, live it:
We will show up. At councils, committees, school boards, and the CMHR’s front desk—politely, persistently.
We will keep the record. Testimony, rulings, data—curated and public.
We will defend the person. No de-humanizing labels; no one left alone.
We will build community. Circles, pop-ups, vigils, and citizen exhibits—until the silence breaks.
We will train and organize. Join Manitoba Stronger Together (MST), learn the tools, and turn concern into coordinated action.
The future will not be written by the loudest institution; it will be written by the most faithful citizens. Let’s be those citizens. Let’s take back the habit of self-government—patiently, boldly, together—until our children inherit a country where human rights are more than architecture and slogans, and where the guardians finally remember who they serve.
Ken Drysdale
Wonderful initiative. Hopefully all those affected by the Covid injections will respond. This is definitely something that the museum should include. Human rights were stomped on at every turn. The Nuremberg code stated that no one should be injected with anything without their informed and uncoerced consent. The violations are too numerous to count.