Canada’s immigration detention system has a racism problem

Guest post by Yanmi. Yanmi is a former immigration detainee who has lived for many years in Toronto, Canada. An activist and public speaker, he has played a pivotal role in raising awareness about Canada’s immigration detention system. While detained, Yanmi co-organised and led actions that brought national attention to detention conditions and contributed to meaningful reforms in immigration detention practices. (Yanmi’s full name has not been published to protect his identity.) This post is the first in a two-part series on structural racism in Canada’s immigration detention system.

I came to Canada in 2008 believing what many newcomers believe – that Canada is committed to human rights protection, fairness, and equality. I did not know that Canada subjects many newcomers to immigration detention. That ignorance became a haunting reality after my refugee claim was denied, and I was pulled into the immigration detention system.

Between 2015 and 2016, I was detained for nearly a year in a maximum-security provincial jail. The Canada Border Services Agency deemed me a “flight risk”, one of the statutory grounds of detention under Canadian law. That is, they suspected that I might not appear for a future immigration proceeding. I was not charged with a criminal offence, and was never said to pose a threat to public safety. 

Inside immigration detention, one thing was impossible to ignore: the overwhelming majority of detainees were, like me, Black men from countries in Africa and the Caribbean. I often asked myself why that was. The disproportionate representation of Black, unwanted migrants did not feel like a coincidence. We all knew that our race played a part in our detention, even if we could not prove how.

Life inside was difficult. We endured brutal lockdowns. Some of us were beaten by guards or thrown into solitary confinement. Despair was constant. Some of us contemplated suicide. But the most excruciating part was the uncertainty. Canada is one of few countries in the Global North – along with the UK – with no maximum time limits on immigration detention. For all of us on the inside, there was no set timeline for release. Not knowing when, or if, we would regain our freedom was psychologically torturous. 

Over time, I watched men deteriorate. Many began taking psychotropic medication for depression and anxiety they developed during detention as they struggled with hopelessness and mental anguish. I struggled too. It was almost impossible to make sense of things – my detention felt endless, unfair, and arbitrary. It’s been 10 years since my time in detention, but the trauma never feels far.

My experience conflicted sharply with the image I had of Canada as a country committed to human rights. I asked myself: how committed can Canada be to human rights, if the people it detains are disproportionately Black men?

Race as a pathway into immigration detention

In detention, we passed the time by sharing stories. We talked about who we had been before detention, and what we hoped to do with our lives if we were ever released. Through those conversations, a pattern emerged. The racial disparities we experienced in detention did not begin in detention. These disparities drove us into detention, and trailed us there. 

Few people realise that policing is a primary gateway into immigration detention. For Black migrants, immigration enforcement intersects with long-standing patterns of racialised policing. When police officers stop someone, even if they do not lay charges, they can still check that person’s immigration status. That means that every police stop can determine whether someone becomes a candidate for detention. Black communities in Canada are simultaneously over-policed and under-protected. Between 2015 and 2019, Canadian police forces averaged over 10,000 immigration status check calls per year. We are statistically more likely to be over-charged, increasing the likelihood of contact with immigration authorities. Valid legal status does not protect someone from the possibility of detention. Any person who does not hold Canadian citizenship can be detained, including refugee claimants, permanent residents, international students, and children.

Racism doesn’t just drive Black migrants into detention at disproportionate rates; it also keeps us there. Release from detention is much easier to secure if you can afford legal representation, and if your family can post a bond on your behalf. Because Black migrants are statistically on the wrong side of a staggering wealth gap, many lack the financial resources to secure timely release. Race becomes an unspoken determinant not only of who is subject to detention, but also who remains detained.

Confronting structural racism in detention

The measure of a country’s commitment to human rights is how it treats its most marginalised. Canada cannot credibly claim global leadership on human rights while maintaining an immigration detention system that disproportionately confines Black migrants for years on end.  The Canadian government does not collect or publish race-disaggregated data on immigration detention. Without such data, racial disparities become difficult to measure, understand, and address. 

The first step toward solving any problem is to define it clearly. Numbers reveal patterns. Data forces accountability. Without data, disparities can be dismissed as anecdotal rather than systemic. 

Canada must align its practices with its stated values. This begins with transparency, the collection and publication of race-disaggregated data, and a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths about racial disparities in immigration detention. Only then can the promise that drew so many of us to this country begin to feel real.

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