Ghosted by my country (but we're talking again)

I left Canada the summer I finished high school. What I didn't know was that Canadians, like the British at the time, who had lived abroad for a period of time lost their right to vote, writes columnist Troy Nahumko

Troy Nahumko

Malaga

Friday, 9 May 2025, 11:59

By the time you reach your fifties, there are certain life events you've most likely checked off. You've probably finished school (and realised that's when learning actually starts). You've fallen in love, maybe fallen apart and bought more towels. You've likely held a job and maybe lost it. Maybe you had to circle back to square one, this time with better shoes. Maybe you had kids and maybe you planted a tree. And maybe - if you're lucky - you've learned to enjoy your own company without always having to explain why. But not me. At least, not when it comes to voting.

Most people vote for the first time in their late teens - dragged along by parents or stirred by an issue they barely understand. But at least they do it. I'm doing it now, in my fifties. Not because I avoided politics or was making a statement. I just wasn't allowed. I left Canada the summer I finished high school, swept into a life that looked nothing like a civics textbook - travelling with musicians, crossing borders, collecting visas like postcards and playing the Blues. What I didn't know was that Canadians, like the British, who had lived abroad for more than five years lost their right to vote. Quietly yet politely, I was erased from the list. It wasn't until 2018 that the Supreme Court overturned the law. Citizens like me were allowed back into the democratic fold. That thin little paper that arrived in the mail - my ballot - felt like a quiet invitation home. After decades away, I finally had a say. And this time, I used it.

From afar, you see your country differently. I've lived where it's a death sentence not to have health insurance. I've watched people fall through societal cracks that don't exist back home. I learned to understand taxes not as punishment but as shared survival. And I now see democracy not as a given, but as something earned and re-earned every time we show up. I've been mistaken for American and sometimes let it slide, but usually I don't. You learn quickly that a passport isn't just a travel document - it's a statement. One that follows you.

So yes, I voted. Not out of blind optimism or civic virtue, but because I've seen what it looks like when people don't have a voice. I've spent long enough not having one myself and experienced how quietly that silence settles in. Voting isn't just a gesture. It's a way of saying: I still believe this country - flawed, well-meaning, inconsistent - can be better. It's not about being right, it's about being part of the conversation.

Now, from here in Spain, I watch a different storm brewing. The disappearing of words like dictatorship here and the creeping normal of autocracy in America. This wasn't just about Canada. History doesn't always repeat, but it does echo if forgotten. And the echo is getting louder.

We can't afford to be casual with our freedoms. Not here. Not there. Voting won't fix everything. But it's where the fight begins. A ballot is a shield, however small. This is how we hold the line - by showing up and refusing to let the worst voices shout the rest of us down.

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