I walked into the small, no-frills room at the public library with a sense of anticipation.
The topic was the parents’ rights movement. The event was advertised as accessible to everyone, regardless of prior knowledge on the topic. I was curious to see how “Philosophy Café” would tackle a topic that’s become a political lightning rod, especially in the wake of a U.S. presidential executive order declaring there are only two genders.
As the audience began to settle in, the moderator caught my attention – slender, with a hairdo that was a cross between a man bun and a disheveled ponytail, he wore pale beige pants with elastics around the ankles – a bold statement in a room full of people ready to have their minds stretched over the concept of parents’ rights.
“I go by he/him,” the moderator began, hands folded in a prayer-like gesture as though wishing us all a serene evening with a personal namaste to the intellectual gods.
He introduced the guest speaker as a PhD candidate and a gender studies instructor/ librarian at Vancouver Island University. The speaker exuded a non-binary, gender non-conforming aesthetic.
The first slide appeared on the screen: What are parents’ rights?
A woman in the back shot up her hand. “Can you define ‘gender?’” she asked, her voice cutting through the room.
“Shouldn’t we define terms before we discuss them?”
Audience member
The presenter seemed caught off guard but smiled nervously. “We’ll get to that later.”
The audience member wasn’t satisfied.
“Why not now?” she asked, voice rising. “Shouldn’t we define terms before we discuss them? If we’re going to talk about gender in relation to parents’ rights, doesn’t that seem important?”
And there it was.
What should have been a simple question quickly answered, became a flashpoint for tension. The moderator intervened, trying to move things along by assuring everyone that the terms would be addressed later. But it was clear that this woman was not going to let it slide. And frankly, I was stunned that the leaders hadn’t anticipated the question.
Parents’ rights movement
In 2023, thousands of people protested how gender and sexual ideologies were being taught in classrooms. They turned out en masse to legislatures, city halls and school board offices across Canada for the 1 Million March 4 Children. Disparate groups came together. Concerned parents, relatives, Muslims, Christians, gays, and gender-critical feminists galvanized into a unified force – thus, the parents’ rights movement was born.
Counter-protesters often refer to themselves as social justice warriors fighting fascism and prejudice, aligning with the political left, such as NDP MP Randall Garrison, who publicly stated: “In Canada, there is no such thing as a parental right.”
These diametric opinions clashed during the 2023 protests. Protesters carried “Leave Our Kids Alone” signs; counter-protestors called them bigots or worse.
Confrontations sometimes turned volatile.
At one rally on Vancouver Island, a woman marching for parents’ rights was punched by a male counter-protestor. Ironically, he punched her in the head while holding a sign that read, “No Space for Hate.” A stark example of the animosity surrounding parental rights, the case is still working its way through B.C.’s backlogged court system.
Nature of gender
But back to the Philosopher’s Café at the library and the question of gender.
Hands shot up around the room. Audience members were eager to share their insights into the nature of gender. I sat back, ready to witness a carnival of perspectives.
Meanwhile, the woman at the back who asked the presenter to define gender was not letting it go.
“It matters to me,” she said.
Her next words carried the weight of personal experience. “I came across a man who looked at my daughter under the stall at the rec center. He was in the change room because he used his gender identity to gain access.”
A murmur spread through the room.
“A man… looked at my daughter under the stall at the rec center.”
Female attendee
The presenter’s face flickered for a second with an acknowledgment, “I remember hearing about that.”
Recognizing the sensitivity of the topic the presenter attempted to move the conversation in another direction, when a male voice from the back cut through the tension.
“F–k off,” the man muttered to the female audience member at a volume that could only be heard by those of us at the back of the room.
Leaning forward, he addressed the presenter, “Actually, I have a question. What exactly is SOGI?”
The speaker took a deep breath and launched into the explanation of Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity. The willingness to define SOGI but not gender wasn’t lost on the people sitting behind me.
SOGI
Introduced in 2016/2017 shortly after the passing of Bill 27, which added gender expression and identity to the Human Rights Code, SOGI now shapes school policies and curriculum. Begun as professional development module for teachers to help them identify and help kids who were being bullied, it has since morphed into an ideology woven into the classrooms from K to 12. Among other things, it teaches kids as young as kindergarten that gender is fluid and a person can be born in the wrong body.
No surprise, then, that, according to recent studies, child and youth gender dysphoria diagnoses have surged as much as 50 per cent since SOGI was implemented. According to a 2019 CBC report, one gender dysphoria clinic in Ontario reported a spike from two referrals a year to 189.
The most controversial part of SOGI, is the practice of keeping two sets of records: one for the school and one for the parents. Parents have been shocked to learn their kids could socially transition to another gender at school – complete with new names and pronouns – and they wouldn’t be told.
Parental rights and sex education
Meanwhile at the library, I entered the fray.
“If you want to know who the parents’ rights movement is, I’d say me. I consider myself a proponent of parents’ rights.”
Cue the dramatic shift.
The woman beside me shot out of her seat like she’d just discovered a snake in her purse. Shooting me a hateful stare, she hastily grabbed her chair and dragged it across the room. I sat there in stunned silence, realizing I had just made my first official Philosophy Café enemy.
Pressing on, the presenter quickly directed our attention to the next slide: What assumptions and beliefs underlie the parents’ rights movement?
A teacher – let’s call her Mrs. Reasonable – pointed out that kids are often treated like miniature adults when they’re clearly not. Therefore, age-appropriate lessons, learning material and well-defined laws regarding decision-making must be considered.
The crowd nodded in agreement.
Then infamous Vancouver Island sex educator, Kerri Isham, took the floor. Isham sparked a backlash for writing public sex education materials that included a take-home assignment to kindergarteners on masturbation and for using the term “minor-attracted persons,” instead of pedophiles, in her lessons.
Isham passionately explained why sex education is crucial for all ages, ending on the statement: “It’s vital for consent and safety.”
The presenter agreed wholeheartedly, adding, “especially for queer youth – they could get harmed.”
“Queer youth… could get harmed.”
Presenter
The assertion that sex ed keeps queer youth safe because without it they might “harm themselves” was met with an uncomfortable pause. Did the speaker mean “harm themselves” while having sex? Did we hear that correctly?
Before we could process this, a woman with a British accent raised her hand and began to discuss the concerning rise in hormone treatments and surgeries.
The presenter cut her off, saying something along the lines of her not being allowed “to make the conversation about that.”
Nevertheless, she persisted, bringing up how the British Cass Review halted gender care in the UK and elsewhere. But when she mentioned de-transitioners (people who halt or reverse their gender transition) the moderator stepped in.
“Please keep the conversation to Canada,” he said forcefully.
“What’s the Cass Review?” a number of people asked.
Cass Review
The Cass Review is a critical independent review of gender identity services for children and young people in the UK, conducted by Dr. Hilary Cass. Published in 2024, it highlighted concerns about the growing use of medical treatments like puberty blockers and hormone therapy in children, particularly given the lack of long-term data on safety and effectiveness.
The review called for a more cautious, individualized approach to treatment and recommended a shift away from gender-affirming care toward a more comprehensive model that considers underlying mental health factors.
The presenter, however, described it as a universally discredited study.
A man in the back corner, who had remained quiet until then, muttered “there were something like eight meta-studies in the Cass Review.”
The presenter paused and asked if the man wanted to add to the conversation.
The man nodded. “I’m uncomfortable with the term ‘queer.’ It’s used so often, but what does it even mean? I’m a gay man. I don’t identify as gay; I am gay. Queer is a slur—a word that was thrown at many gay people like me. It’s offensive.”
The presenter was clearly moved by his words.
“Queer is often used as an umbrella term for what’s been called the alphabet soup—LGBTQIA. It’s a simpler way to encompass all members, but I understand how it can feel different for those who’ve only heard that term in the context of abuse.”
A woman near the front chimed in with another perspective. She explained that while she had always identified as gay, since her partner now identifies as a man, she felt the term “gay” could exacerbate her partner’s gender dysphoria. So, she chose to refer to herself as queer.
A woman next to me murmured, “Doesn’t that make her heterosexual?”
Mixed sex bathrooms
The conversation shifted to mixed-sex bathrooms in schools, and by this point, the slides had long been forgotten and both the moderator and the presenter were entirely at the mercy of the audience’s direction.
A passive-aggressive energy took hold of the group, with participants exchanging sharp, whispered remarks. Two individuals with pink and purple hair claimed the discussion made them feel “unsafe.” But no one left the room. We were all glued to our chairs, like passengers on a bus hurtling toward the edge of a cliff.
A man, visibly amused by the assertion that single sex bathrooms are important for privacy and safety, laughed and quipped, “As if having a sign on a washroom door is going to stop a rapist.”
A chuckle spread through the front row. Behind me, stony silence. A clear division had emerged between the front row and the back of the room.
Yet, we remained.
A clear division had emerged… yet we remained.
Maybe it was the bathroom debate that kept us in place, but personally, I think everyone was eager to hear how our presenter, an expert and teacher of gender studies, would define gender.
In Armstrong, students came back from Christmas break to find their single-sex bathrooms locked, forcing them to use the mixed-sex “universal” bathrooms. The universal bathroom was one room with wall-to-wall toilet stalls, separated by thin floor-to-ceiling dividers and an open common area with mirrors and sinks.
SOGI activists love the concept, touting these spaces as completely inclusive, where gender doesn’t matter. The vision is for everyone to share a bathroom, no distinctions, just a harmonious, genderless utopia.
It didn’t take long for complaints to roll in, including one girl who reported being harassed by a group of boys hanging out in the bathroom, pounding on the walls and door while she was in the stall.
Discussions are risky
At the philosopher’s café, the issue prompted a heated exchange. Comments erupted in a crescendo of polarized opinions. One side downplayed the risks of mixed-sex washrooms. The other accused all-gender bathroom supporters of gaslighting opponents’ real concerns.
Sensing the need to deescalate, the presenter stepped in, saying, “We’ve overlooked Muslim girls and their religious rules about single-sex washrooms. I actually agree that single-sex bathrooms are necessary, and I don’t understand why we can’t offer all three options.”
And with that, the moderator declared the time was up, bringing the Philosophy Café to an unexpected and abrupt end.
Philosophy Café to an unexpected and abrupt end.
One last awkward silence hung in the air as eyes scanned the room in stunned disbelief. Then everyone quickly made their exit.
We never did get that much-anticipated definition of gender.
A few days later, I found out that public libraries across Vancouver Island are rethinking their policies on hosting events. They’ve temporarily shut down things like the Philosophy Café. Apparently, the Socratic method is now a public safety risk.
Who knew asking questions could be so dangerous?