My name is Joseph, but people call me Joey. Up until recently, I didn’t actually know what Emancipation Day was. Well, I knew of it, but I confused it with Carnival and Mas—and, worst of all, I made that mistake during a brainstorming meeting at work. Talk about dropping the ball.

In my defence, I was born and raised in Nigeria and went through the Canadian high school and university system, where there wasn’t much opportunity to learn the true meaning and importance of Emancipation Day. Still, that’s no excuse. At 25 years old, I should have known better—especially since I’ve built a community with folks of Caribbean ancestry.

Like I said, I made this mistake in a brainstorming meeting, and to make sure it doesn’t happen again, I took it upon myself to learn what Emancipation Day is and why it matters to the people who celebrate it. So I went to Google and typed, “What is Emancipation Day?” Surprisingly, one of the first links was from the Government of Canada’s website.

According to the site, August 1 marks the day in 1834 when the Slavery Abolition Act of 1833 came into effect across the British Empire. Despite this law, only those enslaved under the age of six were freed. Everyone else was reclassified as an “apprentice” and forced to work 40 hours a week without pay—compensation, essentially, for the enslavers. Complete emancipation didn’t happen until midnight on July 31, 1838, five years later.

This history was never taught to me in Canada, as is the case with most histories of structurally excluded people. Part of the reason may be that August 1 wasn’t officially designated as Emancipation Day in Canada until March 24, 2021, when the House of Commons voted unanimously—188 years after the Act. Since then, it’s been slowly included in school curricula, but the average Canadian still doesn’t know its significance. That gap is even more visible within the Black community.

We often remind ourselves that “the Black identity and experience is not a monolith.” That’s true, but I think it has also meant we sometimes know less about each other. It’s created silos where our histories, customs, and traditions aren’t shared unless we intentionally ask about them. I am guilty of this. I’ve lived in Canada for over a decade, built a strong circle of Black friends from various backgrounds, and yet I rarely take the time to learn their histories. Maybe it’s because we spend so much of our energy confronting racism, colourism, and texturism that little space is left for deeper conversations about culture and lineage.

That needs to change. Sharing our history helps us understand one another better. It explains what fuels our ambitions, creativity, and joy. It can even act as a form of rebellion against systems that still pit us against each other. And it can help us recognize the similarities in our traditions that we might not otherwise see.

I wouldn’t preach what I don’t practice. So I sat down with a few friends of Caribbean descent and asked what Emancipation Day meant to them. Here’s what they shared:

Nyah, of Trinidadian descent, told me that Emancipation Day is a time to honour her ancestors and what they endured. Growing up in Canada, her grandmother made sure she and her siblings knew both their Trinidadian and Canadian history. Her grandmother connected Carnival and Emancipation Day, weaving together joy and remembrance, so Nyah and her siblings not only knew where they came from but also felt their rightful place in Canada. Since her grandmother’s passing, Nyah feels more called to engage with her heritage to keep that memory alive.

Kianah, of St. Lucian and Jamaican descent, sees Emancipation Day as a family celebration. Every year since childhood, her family has gathered to honour their ancestors and connect with the wider Caribbean community in Canada. From taking the special Toronto subway ride that commemorates the Underground Railroad to attending picnics in local parks or churches, the day has always been marked with togetherness. For Kianah, the Toronto Caribbean Carnival is also part of the celebration—a chance to dance, enjoy the colours, food, and costumes of the masqueraders, and honour her ancestors through joy.

Ashleigh-Rae, of Jamaican descent, described Emancipation Day as a deeply historic celebration. Born and raised in Jamaica, they grew up immersed in it. Because Jamaican Independence Day on August 6 follows so closely, the country spends an entire week celebrating, filled with events and Carnival. Moving to Canada, Ashleigh Rae was surprised that Emancipation Day here was treated as little more than a civic holiday, with no guarantee of observance. Still, they continue the tradition by hosting an annual gathering with their community—sharing stories of the islands, food, drinks, and games. For them, it’s both remembrance and resistance.

Not everyone relates to Emancipation Day in the same way. Mateo, also of Jamaican descent, recognizes the day’s importance but feels conflicted. Their family history revealed that on their father’s side, ancestors were considered labourers rather than enslaved people, so the Act didn’t change much for them. On their mother’s side, ancestors arrived from India as indentured labourers after emancipation, renamed and exploited in different ways. Mateo reflects:

“If emancipation is ‘the fact or process of being set free from legal, social, or political restrictions; liberation,’ as according to Google, then August 1st did not achieve that for my ancestors already in Jamaica, nor did it achieve that for those that arrived shortly thereafter.”

These conversations reminded me how layered and diverse the Caribbean diaspora’s experiences are—and how necessary it is to share them.

By talking with my friends, I learned more about their families, their islands, and the histories they carry with them in Canada. It reinforced the truth that Black identity is not a monolith, and that our differences are just as important to honour as what we share.

I have a newfound appreciation for Emancipation Day and for my community. As Black people, we need to keep having these conversations—not only because they educate us, but because they strengthen our solidarity and remind us of our resilience.

So, I urge you: go out and learn more about other Black identities. As for me, I’ll be celebrating Emancipation Day this year at a barbecue with friends—better informed, more connected, and deeply grateful.