A date forever etched into the hearts of so many of us in New Brunswick. A date that changed policing in Canada. A date that forever changed me.
The Moncton shootings took place on June 4, 2014, and in a matter of hours, three RCMP officers were killed in the line of duty. We all know when we put on the uniform that there is always risk. We know danger exists. But in a smaller city on the East Coast of Canada, something of that magnitude never truly felt imaginable.
Until it was.
That day changed my career, my life, and ultimately became one of the driving forces behind why I speak today.
Before the shootings, policing culture was very much built around the mindset of “suck it up.” You did your job. You pushed through. You kept going no matter what you had seen or experienced. Talking about feelings was often viewed as weakness. Struggling silently became normalized. Being “fine” became part of the job description.
But trauma does not disappear simply because we refuse to acknowledge it.
In the days, weeks, months, and years after the shootings, I watched people suffer quietly. I saw officers who never returned to their careers. I saw others return physically, but emotionally they were shattered. Good people trying to continue doing their jobs while carrying unimaginable pain behind the scenes.
Some became shells of who they once were.
And the truth is, you cannot witness that level of trauma and remain unaffected while still being human.
Yet so many first responders, healthcare workers, military members, and even everyday people continue to feel the pressure to function like robots after experiencing the unimaginable. We expect people to keep performing while ignoring the emotional injuries they carry. We reward silence. We praise people for “holding it together,” while privately they are falling apart.
That has to change.
The greatest lesson I took from that tragedy was not only the importance of operational preparedness, but the critical importance of psychological safety and human connection.
People need safe spaces where they can say:
“I’m not okay.”
“I need help.”
“I’m struggling.”
“I need support.”
And they need to know they will be met with compassion instead of judgment.
Mental health conversations matter not only after catastrophic trauma, but also in the everyday stressors of life. Sometimes it is cumulative stress, burnout, grief, or years of carrying too much without ever setting it down. Sometimes the wounds are invisible to everyone else.
But invisible does not mean they are not real.
One of the reasons I speak today is because I never want people to feel they have to suffer in silence simply to appear strong. Real strength is not pretending you are okay when you are not. Real strength is having the courage to speak. To ask for help. To support one another. To create workplaces, organizations, and communities where people feel seen, heard, and valued as human beings first.
Because silence is not resilience.
Human connection is.
As June 4 approaches each year, I continue to hold space for the grief, the memories, and the lives forever changed that day. I also hold space for all of the police officers, dispatchers, civilian staff, first responders, support teams, and families who lived through that crisis and the difficult days, weeks, and months that followed. For every officer who responded, every employee who answered phones, coordinated resources, covered shifts, supported coworkers, or simply showed up and carried on while grieving themselves, the impact was real and lasting.
Trauma does not always leave visible scars, but it leaves lasting ones.
Some dates never get easier. They simply become part of who we are.
Today, I honour the memory of the three RCMP officers who lost their lives in the line of duty during the Moncton shootings:
- Constable David Ross
- Constable Fabrice Gevaudan
- Constable Douglas Larche
We remember them not only for how they died, but for how they lived, served, and impacted those around them.
And we acknowledge every person who carried the weight of that tragedy, both publicly and privately, long after the headlines faded.
They are not forgotten.
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