Dear CanWaCH Members,
In these final few days with CanWaCH, I am overwhelmed with gratitude. Just ask my spin instructor who looked over with concern as I burst into full-blown tears when the song I’ve Had the Time of my Life played during class. It has been nine years of growth, of movement, of one-step in front of the other to get to the change we want to see in the world. What a gift it has been.
As I think about what is next for me, for CanWaCH, there’s a concept I keep coming back to: the “just noticeable difference” principle. It describes the moment when a change becomes perceptible. When a shift that’s been building finally crosses the threshold of awareness. It’s not about the size of the change, but the direction that came before it. Ten degrees when it’s getting warmer feels like hope. That same ten degrees when it’s getting colder feels like a warning.
That’s where we are in this sector. If it feels like something is shifting, you’re not imagining it. You’re noticing it because we’re at that moment where direction becomes perception. What happens next depends on how we respond.
This is a moment to remember what it truly means to be a coalition. Not just an organization, but a living network of people, partners and possibilities. CanWaCH was built on the idea that we are stronger when we work together. That kind of collaboration takes trust, humility and a willingness to share space — even when it’s messy and hard. Even when we’ve stopped believing, in our hearts of hearts, that Canadians care much about what is happening outside of our borders.
If our next best step is to launch a new system, strategy or shiny campaign, we’ve lost. If we continue to stage the ‘suffering olympics’, comparing hardship and suggesting there is one true noble cause, we’ve lost.
Is it arguably harder for a mother in Ethiopia to watch her child die of starvation than it is for another in Southern Ontario to wait in a long line for crappy food at a food bank? Yes. A dying child is worse, but making that argument does nothing for the mother waiting in line nor the one watching their child slowly fade. (Trust me, I’ve been booed off stage for trying).
It’s only when we connect to our shared humanity — to both the suffering and the possibility — and choose to act, that we stand a chance to win.
Our role in this sector needs to shift: to listen more deeply, to lead with possibility, and to get everyone on the bus. We must gather all those who are suffering, those with ideas, with stories — anyone and everyone we can. Then, as a larger and more grounded human movement, we’ll decide together what kind of beautiful world we want to build.
We win when both those mothers tell us what they need and then we find a way to get it to them, no matter what. It’s in this sense of action, the grittiness, the small and incremental and unabashed wins that people gain a sense of possibility. A sense that we’ve crossed the threshold and are doing something different enough to be exciting. That’s movement building.
That spirit of reconnection needs to extend to how we work with government, too. Though it often does not feel like it, decision makers, the government, are just people. People that we need on the bus. The bureaucracy, the systems, the endless checkboxes and scrutiny must give way to trust. To a new appreciation of civil society and its unique ability to do more, and to do things differently, than government can.
Rather than forcing CSOs to become mini bureaucracies, the emphasis should be on reducing barriers to action and lowering the transactional costs to move resources. We waste far too much time and money on systems of distrust. It is time to start playing to our strengths.
This job has never been just a job. I am not embarrassed to say, it has become a way of life for me, and for my family. I started my career in a one room office, where my two colleagues and I squished so close together we couldn’t take a phone call. It was a small international development organization founded and run by volunteers who had the audacity to believe they were going to change the world.
My then three-year-old daughter tagged along to most meetings. Now, she’s about to become a social worker in my home province of Alberta. She is going to change the world, and that spark didn’t come because she saw me toil over a logical framework and get it just right. She saw the power of people coming together, taking care of each other. She heard us debate, try things, fail and try again — always finding a way.
Right now, we’re at a critical moment. We can feel the temperature changing, and with that awareness comes a choice. So if I can leave you with anything, let it be this: lean into the humanity of our movement, to the people at its core. Don’t apologize for the problem you are trying to solve. Find the connective tissue and invite people to see themselves in the better version of the world we are trying to create.
There’s a promise inherent in coalition work — you are not alone. I’ve cherished every conversation, challenge and spark of possibility shared with the members, board and team. Thank you for nine years of the most beautiful togetherness. I really have had the time of my life.
Cheering you on always,
Julia
