On a chilly Sunday evening in St. Stephen, New Brunswick, about a dozen people gathered at the edge of the town’s wharf, holding flashlights and candles that cut through the darkness of dusk in late January. Facing the St. Croix River, they raised their lights in unison toward the skyline of Calais, Maine. 

 Vicki Hogarth – Local Journalism Initiative 

Within moments, beams of light began to flicker back from the American side, where a small group of people stood at the edge of the river in Calais, Maine, holding their flashlights in response. Tears filled St. Stephen resident Tracey Matheson’s eyes as she witnessed this simple but profound exchange, a bridge of light stretching across two countries.

“I don’t have words for it. That’s the whole point,” Matheson said, her voice heavy with emotion. “It’s to show that we’re here, that we support you.” 

Matheson, an active member of Charlotte County Pride, organized the vigil on short notice, reaching out through social media in less than 24 hours. Motivated by her deep commitment to inclusivity, she felt compelled to act in response to new executive orders signed by U.S. President Donald Trump targeting marginalized communities, particularly the transgender community—orders that could restrict gender-affirming care, define gender strictly by biological sex, and revoke military protections for transgender individuals.

“People are scared, and we have to do something,” Matheson explained. “It’s just a river, so we have to think of each other. The trans community is already feeling it. Who’s next? Immigrants are struggling over there too. Once this kind of discrimination becomes accepted, we all know what could happen. It’s a real fear.”

The vigil resonated with St. Andrews resident Todd Ross, a fellow member of Charlotte County Pride as well as a Canadian Navy veteran.

"Just watching everything that's been happening in the US in the past week, the number of executive orders, the rights that have been taken away," Ross said, before reflecting on his own experience. "My story is that I was in the Canadian Navy at a time when I couldn't be openly gay in the Navy and was kicked out of the military for that.  And I just felt it was really important to be out here tonight and to show a little bit of support. Just to say we know that people are suffering, and we want to do what we can to show support on this side."

After seeing the glow of lights from across the river shining back, Ross couldn't help but reflect on the enduring connection between St. Stephen and Calais. The two communities share everything from a joint International Festival that sends a parade across the border,  to emergency assistance from first responders in times of need.

“It was really amazing to see the lights. It's not something that I expected to see it reflected back from the US side, but it speaks about this border town," said Ross. "It speaks about the rich history and the communities that were so entwined. And we've got family, we've got friends that are on both sides of the border. We constantly travel back. So it's great to see that the word is spread to the other side, that we're here showing the support, and they're also bringing it back to us. So it shows the solidarity between. Even though there are divisions that are happening down in Washington, we see that this community is still strong.”

Like Charlotte County, New Brunswick, Washington County, Maine, is a microcosm of political diversity. In the 2024 U.S. election, 58 per cent of voters in Calais supported Donald Trump, while in neighbouring Eastport, 58 per cent voted for Kamala Harris. Yet in these close-knit communities, where neighbours are more than just acquaintances, there’s a remarkable ability to find common ground and maintain friendships across political divides—and even international borders. For Ross, moments of solidarity, like this vigil, where people hold up their phones as flashlights instead of hiding behind their screens, serve as a reminder of our shared humanity. 

“It's the same story you see, whether it's in Ontario, or in British Columbia, or in the Prairies--the interconnectedness of border communities," said Ross. "So I think that border communities can really show throughout the U.S. and throughout Canada that closeness that we've historically had and that we continue to have regardless of the policies of governments."

In an era where algorithms often seem designed to divide, Ross believes small communities have the unique ability to light the way forward, bringing people together in meaningful and unifying ways.

“It's so important for us to be involved," said Ross. "I look back to the harms that were caused--thousands by the Canadian government and by the US government as well. They have their history in the lavender scare that had happened. You hope that we are vigilant enough, that we don't allow this to happen again, that we protect those who are most vulnerable. And we see this slip from time to time, and it's really a call for us to make sure that we stay engaged in all levels. We [must] stay engaged in community, but we're also vigilant around politics and that we use our voice when we have the opportunity towards education and dialogue. It's really a conversation that we need to continue to have with everybody. We may disagree, and social media may force us apart through their algorithms. But when we have conversations, when we meet face to face, and when we have those opportunities, particularly in small communities, to have those conversations, I think that's how we move forward, and that's how we keep strong together."