Waterloo Region’s most powerful politician resets dial on representation

‘I think a lot of young Canadians that come from immigrant households know there’s a funny balancing act’

When Bardish Chagger defeated a two-time Conservative incumbent in the 2015 federal election to become Liberal MP for the riding of Waterloo, her mother was moved to tears. But not in the way you might expect.

“I love her to bits and she’s amazing,” insists Chagger in a candid interview about all things Bardish.

“But she doesn’t know the fighter I am in the world. She’s the nurturer — every single time my stomach hurts, she’s the one I go to. So when I was elected in 2015, she looked back in the room with tears in her eyes and I was like ‘Oh, tears of joy!’” Nope, not joy. Something else. “She goes ‘How are you going to do this?’ ” continues Chagger with bemused affection. “‘You got elected, but do you understand what this means?’ ”

Waterloo Region’s most powerful politician laughs. “I was like, ‘Do you know politics is in my blood? I

loved it!’ ”

It’s a typical Chagger anecdote: warm, funny, family-oriented and spiked with the same refreshing dose of reality the ambitious 41-year-old brings to her role as Canada’s first-ever minister of diversity, inclusion and youth.

“I was the middle child,” notes the proud Waterloo native, who previously served as minister of small business and tourism and, in 2016, became the first woman and visible minority in Canadian history to be appointed government House leader.

“You have to fight to be heard. In my family, it was my sister, then me. I was the duplicate.”

Raised with parents, grandparents, sibs, cousins, aunts and uncles in a busy 13-person household in the Lincoln Village neighbourhood where she still resides with her parents and siblings, the future groundbreaker was a tiny cog in a large machine who understood early the importance of representation.

“I have a different kind of fight in me,” she explains of her path to political success.

“I think that’s why my dad got me involved in the political world. A lot of things that were important to me didn’t necessarily match the social positions of my family.”

Same sex marriage, LGBTQ rights, cannabis legalization, medically assisted death — the list goes on.

“A lot of young Canadians from immigrant households know there’s a funny balancing act that starts from the time you’re very young,” she notes succinctly.

“My dad, rather than suppress whatever quality he saw in me, actually said, ‘Let it shine in the world!’ but perhaps we shouldn’t have these discussions at the dinner table.”

I’ve met Chagger three times now, and every time I feel as if I’m walking into the middle of a big party.

The first was at a Waterloo blood donor clinic four years ago, where I found her reclining on a cot with a needle in her arm, surrounded by family and friends as she laughed and bantered and made pointed quips.

The second was at a summer music festival — Strummerfest — where I found her sipping drinks on a Waterloo patio surrounded by a supportive entourage after dancing to Clash songs she admitted she didn’t know the names of.

The third was at the photo shoot for this story on the deck outside her family’s Waterloo home.

No entourage, no supporters, just her mom, quietly bustling in the background with a pot of chai tea and cookies while Chagger tends to her most recent acquisition, a chipmunk-sized puppy with a Beatle haircut that shivers with excitement as the federal cabinet minister patiently issues commands.

“Kushi come! Kushi down! Kushi high five!”

She is, after 15 months of COVID lockdown, as animated as ever, a living symbol of the diversity, inclusion and youth her ministry seeks to promote as she talks about her beloved family, friends and the city that boosted her to prominence.

Occasionally, gesturing excitedly from her deck chair, she perches on her toes, which may sound undignified, but with Chagger comes off as a colourful expression of focus and commitment.

Try to picture an old white guy in a suit perching on his toes on a deck chair and you’ll understand the gulf between then and now, between stodgy oldguard power brokers and this unpretentious young Indo-Canadian woman who shoots from the hip and tells it like it is.

“People always think I have a driver when I’m in town,” laughs Chagger, who makes herself accessible to the public at large.

“We’re a small community where we say ‘Hi!’ to people. I don’t need an introduction or somebody telling me how great I am. Sometimes less is more.”

You grew up in a house with 13 people. 13 people!

You were never alone. I was 21 years old the first time I was alone in this house. And by alone, I mean with my siblings. My dad’s sister in Calgary’s husband passed away, so they had all gone to support her — and I still wasn’t alone.

You had to fight to have your voice heard and negotiate to get what you wanted — the perfect template for a career in politics.

Washrooms were limited so I would get my sister to go before I did. I got to wake up second. It was just a matter of making things work.

I grew up in a family of seven and almost didn’t survive. “He started it. No, he started it!” You seem to have drawn strength and inspiration.

There was constant bickering but also a lot of love. Growing up, we got Nintendo with two controllers for six kids, plus my dad and uncles. Sometimes you got to watch the adults play, sometimes the kids really got to play. But the minute there was a fight, my mom would come in from the kitchen to grab the controllers and hide them.

Given that you’re still living with your family while working from home, I have to ask — as a matter of national security — what are the chances your mother will hide classified federal documents if you get in a tiff over internet bandwidth with your brother?

Our relationship has evolved quite a bit. Everyone knows when push comes to shove, I’ll always have her back. The arguments these days are more focused on how much time we each get with my puppy, Kushi!

Your dad is your hero, the guy who arrived here from India in the ’70s, got a job at Strudex Fibres, built the house you’re living in and helped kick-start your political career when he got involved in your local riding association.

He was putting out signs for (former Liberal MP) Andrew Telegdi and started taking me with him. We debated some of the issues important to me that weren’t so welcome at home.

When a leadership vacuum occurred, Telegdi asked you to join the Young Liberals Association at the University of Waterloo, where you were taking a science degree.

Andrew said, “Bardish, would you consider running for the executive?” and I said, “I’ll think about it.” And Andrew said, “Give the phone to your father!” So I passed the phone to my dad and my dad was like, “Yeah, she’ll do it!”

Presumptuous, no?

(Laughs) I’m an independent woman! You can’t tell me what to do! But my dad made the commitment, and sure enough we signed up members and took over the club.

I feel like you should have been more outraged.

I love my dad the most, and everybody knows, so it’s not a secret. My dad is my backbone. But I probably am more like my mom — the nurturing stuff.

Growing up in Waterloo region in the ’80s and ’90s, racism against Indo-Canadians wasn’t uncommon. Kids pulled your hair and called you “brownie.” It doesn’t seem to have fazed you.

Sometimes you don’t necessarily notice or know the reasons you endure. My family was all about “go to school, do the best you can, keep your head down!”

When your grandfather arrived from India, he had to cut his hair to get a job, which was no small thing.

For those who don’t know, unshorn hair is an article of the Sikh faith, so for my grandfather to cut it was a sacrifice he made for our livelihood. He was hired by the owner of Kraus Carpets, and that job really set up my family to thrive in Waterloo.

There’s a parable in there, am I right?

I think my grandfather’s story of trying to fit the mould really shows how far we’ve come. We’ve gone from being a community that was more comfortable with people leaving their culture at home, to a place where we recognize that we’re stronger, not in spite of our differences, but because of them.

Every racialized person I’ve ever talked to has told me the same thing: no matter what their accomplishments or public stature, the minute they set foot in public, they become a moving target for police. Tell me about the sports car you no longer own.

I had this cute little car and was constantly pulled over when I drove it. I’ll tell you, being pulled over when you haven’t done anything wrong, or feeling like you’re in trouble when you shouldn’t be, is a horrible experience. There was no reason for it. What do you do? Get rid of the car? Why can’t I be driving that car?

Two words: systemic racism.

A lot of what I faced growing up was the byproduct of systems that weren’t made for everyone to succeed. Looking at institutions, it doesn’t have to be intentional. The reality is, it’s happening. For me, it really is about looking at why that occurs.

As minister of diversity, inclusion and youth, you’re in a position to move the needle with your government’s anti-racism strategy and upcoming LGBTQ2 Action Plan.

The pandemic has exposed a lot of the inequities. We’ve seen it on many different fronts: gender, sexuality, orientation, colour of skin, language, accent, rural, remote or urban. Biases exist but we’ve made progress. This isn’t about taking anything away from anybody. It’s about creating more space.

How?

By making sure everyone, regardless of their background, has access to the rights and privileges that we fought so hard for. I think that’s an ageless concept. Last year you celebrated a milestone birthday: 40. Usually people take stock.

I never thought about where I would be at a certain age. What I did know growing up is that as much as I loved politics, I would not get to run because people like me weren’t elected.