We knew. You just didn’t believe us.

I have had my driver’s license since I was 16. I’ve never had a criminal record or been involved in any kind of illicit activity. I’m now 45.

In the three decades since, I have been racially profiled by police at least five times a year. That’s a conservative estimate.

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My story isn’t unusual. It’s what many Black people expect when they live in this city.

When news broke that Service de police de la Ville de Montréal (SPVM) officers in Montréal-Nord had been allegedly collecting locks of hair from Black boys and men as trophies, my community wasn’t shocked. It was like hearing about another symptom of a disease we’ve known for decades.

We grieved once again — not because of the hair alone, but because of what it confirmed: that those who have never experienced the police as a repressive force so often refuse to believe us.

Last Friday’s news conference revealed that 16 SPVM officers are under investigation for alleged racist and hateful acts committed against Black and Arab people during police stops. The public reaction has been revealing in the worst way.

Part of the white community’s reaction has been disbelief — as in: “Oh my God, this really exists in 2026?” (as if there was ever a time it would have been justified) — while the other is already scrambling to brush past it.

But no elected official has turned to the people of Montréal-Nord and said: “We see you. We’re sorry. Here is what changes now.” Not the premier, not our mayor and most importantly not the police chief.

Here is what I want people to understand about being Black and navigating this city: from the age of 10 or 12, you are a mouse in a cat-and-mouse game. You just don’t know it yet. You are living freely, doing entirely legal things, wearing skin that someone with a gun and a badge has decided is a threat.

No, not every officer. But from a distance, they all wear the same uniform, carry the same authority and have the same power over your life. It’s similar to how people once said, “Not all priests.”

When they enter your bubble, your world changes — sometimes for five minutes, sometimes for many years. That is not a metaphor. That’s any random Tuesday.

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The needle on this story only moved when cops themselves spoke up.

Thirty years of complaints, commissions dating back to 1988, families broken by over-policing — none of that was enough. It took officers to confirm what we had been saying for it to become real.

Think about what it says about us as a society.

Think about what it says that the people who lost their hair didn’t feel confident their complaint would be taken seriously.

And think about what it says that, even now, nothing meaningful has changed. As you read these words, something similar could be happening to another young person. Yet nothing has been said or put in place to change the system in any way. Not even temporary measures.

The police are supposed to be society’s guard dog. The problem is the guard dog now not only believes it makes the rules, but that it is above them. When society allows this type of police dominance over one group long enough, it should not be surprised when it turns on everyone else. Malcolm X understood this first.

A better world for Black people is a better world for everyone — history has proven this again and again.

But we cannot get there without honesty.

Not a grand gesture.

Just: I didn’t know. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you!

Those words cost nothing. And right now, they may be the most important words this city could hear.

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Renzel Dashington is a Montreal-born stand-up comedian, author, producer and activist. In 2022, he was named a CBC Quebec Black Changemaker in recognition of his cultural impact.