Our men's health lead Taimour reflects on how peer support spaces can heal the quiet rifts within our communities.
Immigrating can be tough — I’m sure I’m not the first one to tell you that.
I moved from Pakistan to the UK with my family when I was nine, at a tender age to leave behind the only home I’d ever known. The promise of a better life eventually came true, but none of it erases how disorienting that first uprooting can be. What I’ve learned since then is that it’s not the place that shapes your journey most — it’s the people. And people, by their very nature, are messy, unpredictable, and full of contradictions.
That’s certainly true of the South Asian communities I come from, especially in how we view newer migrants. Internalised racism can run deep — the belief that some recent arrivals are “giving us a bad name” or “draining resources” still lingers in conversation. These attitudes create quiet divisions within our own communities, marked by differences in citizenship status, language fluency, and even profession.
These tensions aren’t new — they’ve only deepened in the current political climate around immigration. As someone who immigrated young, I hold this issue close to heart. I want our communities to be inclusive, equal, and connected.
That’s why I’m grateful for our men’s peer support program. It’s become a space where Punjabi and South Asian men from across all stages of settlement can come together — to share, listen, and simply be. One of the hardest parts of immigration is the loneliness. Even if you already know people in your new country, nothing replaces the community you left behind.
This loneliness is especially acute for South Asian men who work long hours, face language barriers, and struggle to find spaces for genuine social connection. We see this every day in our sessions — men who join not just to talk about mental health, but to feel less alone. Over time, these circles have also started bridging gaps between settled and newly arrived men.
In Surrey, British Columbia, where we currently run the program, some settled Punjabi communities hold negative perceptions of recent migrants — believing they “give us a bad name” due to public loitering. But through shared dialogue, understanding grows. Many begin to see that these men linger in public spaces not out of disregard, but because they lack access to community spaces and feel socially isolated.
Likewise, second- and third-generation men share their own grief — about losing touch with their mother tongue, about feeling disconnected from a heritage they still long for. Through these exchanges, empathy flows both ways.
At the end of the day, my work — and my personal belief — is rooted in bringing people together, across differences, to build understanding. Whether in our communities or in wider society, progress begins with a willingness to come into the same space, listen openly, and share honestly.
