Mr. Teri Westerby

07/23/2025

Today, I’m remembering someone who truly made a mark on this community: Peter Michael Brown.

Peter led his life of 80 years with courage and humility, and while I didn’t know him as closely as some, I had the privilege of meeting him several times over the years. Each time, he left an impression. He was one of those people who showed up, not just in title or reputation, but in action.

He was a longtime educator and school leader here in Chilliwack, known for connecting with students, mentoring colleagues, and finding joy in the day-to-day moments of learning. He brought both wisdom and laughter into his work—always with a practical joke or a story up his sleeve.

But Peter didn’t stop contributing when he left the school system. He gave decades of service to the Kiwanis Club of Sardis. He spent his retirement years still focused on community, still mentoring, still making people feel seen and filling his life with laughter and service.

What stood out most to me was Peter’s commitment to using what he had—his experience, his humour, his time—to lift up others. That’s a legacy. That’s what being a pillar in the community looks like.

He inspired me. And I know I’m not the only one.

Peter’s Celebration of Life will be held on July 31st at Fraser River Lodge from 2 to 4 p.m. His family has asked that in lieu of flowers, donations be made in his name to Chilliwack Community Services or Chilliwack Search and Rescue—two organizations that reflect his values.

Rest well, Peter. And thank you. Your legacy will live on in all of us whose lives you've touched.

07/21/2025

Twenty years ago today, when I was 17 years old, something monumental happened in this country; something that rippled through kitchens, courtrooms, Parliament halls, and most importantly, through the lives of q***r people who had spent their entire existence being told their lives and their love were less than.

On July 20, 2005, Canada became the fourth country in the world to legalize same-sex marriage nationwide.

Let me rephrase.

Canada decided to stop discriminating against their own citizens.

Because on that day, Q***r people didn’t suddenly become deserving of love, dignity, and legal recognition. We always were. What changed was that the government stopped upholding values in law that controlled its citizens.

That’s what oppression looks like. Beyond hate speech or violence in the streets, it’s policies that quietly exclude you from the rights others take for granted. It’s being told you can pay taxes, but not visit your partner in the ICU. It’s watching the law call your love “invalid” or “unnatural,” while pretending it’s about “protecting tradition.”

July 20, 2005 wasn’t about governments giving us anything. It was about finally getting narrow minded beliefs out of the law.

Freedom isn't the absence of hardship. It means the absence of government-sanctioned discrimination. It means no one gets to use the law to eliminate what they don't like. It means our lives aren't up for debate or control.

And yet, we know this milestone didn’t end the fight.

Trans rights, healthcare access, inclusive education, protection from hate, all of these are still on the line. But today, we remember what is possible when we push. When we organize. When we refuse to be quiet about what is rightfully ours.

Freedom is not what we've been told it is in populist media. It's not given to those who deserve it. It's rightfully all of ours. We must protect it in our laws, in our culture, in our hearts, and in the structures of power.

Thanks to the q***rs who fought before my time, my partner and I could get married in 2023. Every anniversary we celebrate not only the union of our love and lives, but also those who made it possible for us.

And the work continues.

07/16/2025

Kim is one of the most talented musicians I’ve ever known. She wrote the original music for our games. She’s won awards. She’s brilliant. And yet, the world continues to pass over her—not because she lacks talent, but because it refuses to see trans women for who they are: whole, worthy, radiant people.

It makes me reflect on my own privilege, on how much harder it would be if my gender experience were different. I know deep down—I know—that I would not be embraced by society the way I am now if I were a trans woman. That truth stays with me. It humbles me. It fuels me.

Kim and I have reconnected recently, in this new chapter of our lives, and I see her now more clearly than ever. All that heart. All that brilliance. All that quiet courage. Our shared history has become a bridge between us—not just something in the past, but something that brings deeper understanding and connection in the present.

Having someone witness your life, walk beside you, hold your truths even before you know them yourself—that’s the real purpose of living.

And if we could just let go of our fear and bias, imagine what kind of world we could create. One with deeper friendships. Richer stories. More love than we ever expected.

Kim is a gem. I’m so lucky to know her.
And I’ll never take for granted what it means to be known—and to know someone in return.

07/16/2025

You never really know who’s going to change your life.

Not when you meet them.
Not even years later.

And certainly not how the universe will wind your stories together again.

When I was 18, freshly graduated from animation school, I met Kimberly for the first time. It was our final showcase. Bright lights, nerves, and the naïve confidence of people just stepping into the world.

Kim was there, hiring talent for a special project for kids. It was a bold idea: a story-rich, interactive world designed for children, before tablets and Roblox and Minecraft became everyday words.

She hired me. She hired my classmates. And for the next year and a half, we built something beautiful together.

But more than that, she built us.

Kim was the kind of leader who gave everything. She nurtured us not just as artists or developers, but as people. She modeled care, integrity, and purpose. She made me feel seen, truly seen, at a time when I was still figuring out who I was. The values we discussed as a team—the "why" behind our work—planted seeds that still guide me today.

One day, she pulled me aside and gently said she had found my social media profile. My heart stopped. At the time, I wasn’t fully out. I knew she was a churchgoer. And I was terrified.

But what she said changed me forever.

“Don’t hide who you are. Love who you are.”

It wasn’t just supportive—it was a moment of real transformation. She didn’t just tolerate who I was. She welcomed it. Affirmed it. Made space for me to grow into myself.

It would be years before I understood the full weight of what that moment meant—for her and for me.

Because now, I know the journey Kim was on too. She had spent a lifetime hiding parts of herself to survive. She, too, is q***r—more than that, she’s a trans woman. And when she finally chose to live fully as herself, the world around her—especially the church—rejected her. Not because of her heart, or her talent, or her goodness. But because of prejudice. Because she dared to be honest.

And still, she shows up with love. With music. With grace.

07/16/2025

If you don't do the hard thing today, it will become even harder tomorrow.

07/14/2025

A reminder that we are collecting your success stories in navigating inclusive education, as well as your negative experiences. until Friday July 18th!

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/14EhIFIR7eEl09KlFH4CxcL2yr7Q2UAkGzteaatGPl78/edit

07/13/2025

My heart is full 🌈

There’s something sacred about seeing q***r people step out of hiding—not just metaphorically, but literally—into a space made for them.

A space where we don’t have to shrink, pretend, mask, code-switch, or perform.

A space where being yourself isn’t radical, it’s beautiful.

A space where we can all shine.

That’s what Chilliwack Pride offers our community in days like today.

Every hug, every drag performance, every flag waved by tiny hands on shoulders—this is what community looks like when we build it for ourselves, by ourselves, with love at the center.

For so many of us, especially in small towns, q***rness has too often meant isolation. Fear. Being “the only one.” But today? We were many. We were loud. We were visible.

I saw elders who paved the way, and youth who are already kicking down the next set of doors.

I saw allies who understand that true solidarity isn’t about speaking for others but about showing up for them, listening, and helping build a world where no one is less than.

I saw families raising kids to know that love isn’t something to hide, but something to celebrate.

Pride in Chilliwack isn’t just a party. It’s a declaration: We belong here. We’ve always belonged here.

And every person who showed up today—whether in glitter or jeans, with signs or stories or just their whole, beautiful self—you helped make that belonging real.

To every q***r kid who caught a glimpse of a future today: you deserve this joy. You deserve this power. You deserve to take up space.

And to anyone still hiding—know this: when you’re ready, we’ll all be right here for you. The light is already yours.

Happy Pride, Chilliwack.

You are magic. 🌈

07/12/2025

07/12/2025

🌲🐉 Dragon eggs in the treetops? That’s what my creative mind thought when I looked up and saw these giant, green pinecones growing just outside the apartment window we were staying at in Saanich, just 10 mins from downtown Victoria.

We stayed in a place where the trees were so massive, you’d never know you had neighbours, just branches, sky, and the gentle hush of coastal wind. It felt like a portal into something ancient and enchanted.

Being that close to nature shifts something in you. You start to remember that magic isn’t just for storybooks — it’s here, in the moss and cones and cedar-scented air.

But this doesn’t happen by accident.

It takes political will to keep our spaces green. To protect the wild, to plant and preserve, to say yes to mature forests instead of decorative trees, asphalt and concrete.

If we want future generations to find dragon eggs in the trees, or whatever else may spark their imagination and spirit, we have to make sure we preserve our balance with nature... especially the trees.

07/10/2025

Opinion: BC Just Made Schools Safer. And it’s about time.

For years, advocates have been saying what we already knew deep down: youth are not immune to the toxic drug crisis. Kids, teens, and young adults are being lost to preventable overdoses.

And while it’s easy to pretend school is a bubble where nothing bad happens, anyone who’s worked in or around schools knows that emergencies don’t wait for the right context. They happen in real time, to real people, right here.

Which is why this announcement matters.

As of July 1st, the Government of British Columbia has officially updated its K–12 school emergency response policy to include toxic drug poisonings. That means every school in B.C. must now ensure life-saving first aid tools like Automated External Defibrillators (AEDs) and naloxone kits are present, maintained, and accessible. Just like we would never open a school without a fire extinguisher, we’re finally acknowledging that drug poisoning is a health emergency and it deserves a health response.

This policy shift sends a clear message that our public education system has a duty to care for every student, including those who use substances or are at risk. It recognizes that harm reduction isn’t “controversial,” it’s compassionate. It affirms that the job of a school is not to moralize, punish, or turn away, but to protect and prepare; to act with courage in the face of crisis.

And for that, I want to offer my deepest thanks to Kim Dumore SD42 Trustee whose tireless work helped lead this change. Policy wins like this don’t just show up on a website one day. They are the result of years of advocacy, relationship-building, heartbreak, research, and community pressure. Kim, your leadership has saved lives. And it will continue to.

Let’s also be clear: this didn’t come out of nowhere. Students, parents, harm reduction workers, teachers, and trustees (like myself) have been calling for this for a long time. It took far too many lives lost before action was taken—but today we’re taking a step toward the kind of school system our kids deserve: one that doesn’t bury its head in the sand, but meets reality with readiness and care.

This policy requires implementation in all secondary schools by the end of 2025, and in elementary and middle schools by September 2026. That’s a fast turnaround by education standards—and a necessary one.

Because every school should be equipped to save a life.

Because every student deserves safety.

Because no family should lose a child to something that could have been prevented.

Today’s update is a win for harm reduction.

A win for student health.

And a win for everyone who believes our schools should be sanctuaries, not battlegrounds in a culture war.

Let’s keep pushing. Let’s keep protecting.
And let’s never go back to pretending this crisis doesn’t belong in our schools.

Mr. Teri Westerby
School Trustee | Chilliwack Board of Education
Advocate for inclusive education, harm reduction, and systems change

07/10/2025

Tonight, the museum felt different.

Growing up, I loved museums. I thought they were sacred. Full of knowledge. Proof of what mattered.

But somewhere along the way, I realized there weren’t many people like me in the exhibits.

No one who was q***r. Or trans.
Certainly not anyone who didn’t fit the story Canada liked to tell about itself.

And like a lot of us, I started to believe the lie: That our stories didn’t count.

That if we weren’t in the exhibit, we weren’t part of the history.

That maybe we didn't matter enough to be part of history at all.

But tonight, we cracked that story open.

The Chilliwack Museum intentionally made space for us to remember ourselves.

Not with someone else’s labels or timelines.
But with our own words, our own hands, our own memories.

We wrote. We listened. We made zines and scribbled out moments that have lived inside us — sometimes quietly, sometimes loudly — for years.

Moments of q***rness, of becoming, of hiding, of healing. Of quiet cheering to our list selves.

Moments that never made it into textbooks but are no less real, no less important, no less impactful.

And I kept thinking:
What would it have meant to see this when I was a kid?

To walk into a museum and find my people on the walls and know that I too can make a difference?

To be told that our love, our resistance, our joy, our pain — that it all mattered?

We can’t change the past. But we can change how it’s remembered.

Tonight, we did.

To everyone who came: thank you for being brave. For telling your truth. For making space for others to do the same.

To the Museum staff who are willing to do the hard work of unlearning and rebuilding: this is what decolonizing looks like in action.

This isn’t a one-night event. It’s a shift.
A slow, intentional rewriting of what counts.
And I’m honoured — so honoured — to have been part of it.

With a full heart,
Mr. Teri

Chilliwack PRIDE Chilliwack Museum and Archives