Robert Apgar-Taylor and his husband, Robert Taylor, remember the moment their lives changed. It was December 2022, and the couple—both Americans—paused at the Canadian border, snapped a photo in the biting winter air, and looked ahead with hope. "We wore our plaid shirts and hats, and showed our immigration papers with the moving truck behind us. We were so excited," Apgar-Taylor told CBC. But beneath the excitement was a sobering truth: they were fleeing a United States that no longer felt safe, searching for a new beginning in Canada.
Their story is not unique. Since Donald Trump’s election in 2016, a growing number of Americans—especially those in marginalized communities—have felt increasingly uneasy. Apgar-Taylor, once a reverend at the United Church of Christ in Maryland, watched with alarm as political and social tides shifted. The removal of a White House web page dedicated to the 2SLGBTQ+ community mere hours after Trump’s inauguration in 2017 was only the beginning. "But things turned out to be just as bad as we imagined," he said, reflecting on the years that followed.
Events soon escalated: the violent repression of anti-racism protesters near the president’s residence in 2020, the shocking attack on the U.S. Capitol in 2021, and a mounting sense that the safeguards of civil society were eroding. Apgar-Taylor, openly gay and outspoken, even received a death threat while serving in Maryland. For his husband Rob, a Washington, D.C., police officer, witnessing these changes was deeply unsettling. "I couldn't believe that the Constitution and the safeguards of civil society were being dismantled and that people were blindly following [Donald Trump]," Rob recounted to CBC.
But the final straw came in 2022, when the U.S. Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade. The Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization decision not only stripped away federal abortion protections but also signaled a broader conservative offensive. According to Paste Magazine, the ruling was the culmination of decades of strategic litigation and grassroots mobilization by conservative networks—well-funded, tightly knit, and determined to reshape the judiciary and the law of the land. The reverberations were immediate and far-reaching.
For Apgar-Taylor and Rob, the news was devastating. "Fifteen seconds after hearing the news, Rob looked at me and said, 'That's enough. We have to go.'" By the end of that year, they were on Canadian soil, Apgar-Taylor newly appointed to a United Church of Canada parish in London, Ontario.
The couple soon discovered they were not alone in their decision. In the two weeks following Trump’s re-election in November 2020, they received about 30 messages from Americans asking how to move north. The United Church of Canada, which previously received only three to five such requests annually, reported about 20 inquiries from American clergy since January 2025. The numbers reflect a growing anxiety among Americans—particularly those targeted by the rolling back of rights and the surge in intolerance.
Just a few kilometers away in London, another American has also found sanctuary. Rev. Joshua Lawrence, a civil rights activist from Texas, moved to Canada with his wife, Amariee Collins, and their young son about four years ago. Lawrence explained to CBC that the rise of the Make America Great Again (MAGA) movement brought with it a resurgence of racism and white terrorism. "There have been acts of violence. Black churches have been burned in the South. The issues of slavery, the emergence of the Ku Klux Klan ... white terrorism. All of these things have begun to resurface in other forms," he said.
Lawrence’s commitment to justice and inclusion came at a price. In his former Texas parish, his support for the 2SLGBTQ+ community and anti-racism efforts provoked backlash. He received an email suggesting his wife leave the parish, and eventually, he was asked to go because his values were deemed too liberal. The open carrying of firearms in Texas, even in churches, heightened his fears. "We packed our things and left, perhaps faster than necessary, but we were scared and didn't know what might happen," Lawrence admitted.
Despite finding relative safety and acceptance in Canada, both Apgar-Taylor and Lawrence have faced significant hurdles. Their work visas are tied to the United Church of Canada, but hopes of obtaining permanent residency have been dashed by Ottawa’s recent lowering of immigration thresholds. Without permanent residency, Apgar-Taylor and Rob cannot buy a home, as they would be subject to a 25 percent foreign buyers’ tax in Ontario. This instability even forced Apgar-Taylor to postpone prostate cancer surgery for three months, as the couple had to urgently move out of their rented apartment. "I couldn't have surgery and move at the same time. I was devastated," he shared.
Lawrence’s wife, a trained midwife and ultrasound technician, has also struggled to get her qualifications recognized in Ontario. She spends several weeks each month in the United States to earn a living, leaving the family separated for long stretches. "There were times when we wondered if we had made the right decision," Lawrence confessed.
Immigration lawyer Greg Willoughby, who works in downtown London, has heard similar stories from American clients. The reality, he explained to CBC, is that there’s no easy or automatic path for Americans disillusioned by U.S. politics. "When Trump was first elected, I received calls from people asking if there were specific immigration options for Americans, and the answer is 'no,'" Willoughby said. Canada’s points system favors young, highly educated applicants with Canadian experience. Humanitarian and compassionate applications, though increasing, rarely succeed. "It's not the Vietnam War anymore, and we no longer welcome draft dodgers. It's the same for transgender people. The door is closed," he added.
Even so, Apgar-Taylor, Rob, and Lawrence remain hopeful. Apgar-Taylor sometimes introduces himself to his Canadian parishioners as "a recovering American." In the basement of their home, the couple contemplates a family tree painted on the wall, missing their children and grandchildren every day—but convinced that returning to the U.S. is not an option. The year they moved, two friends back home were assaulted in separate attacks because of their sexual and gender identities. "You don't realize how much you're holding your breath until you don't have to hold it anymore. That's how it feels to be in Canada," Apgar-Taylor said.
Their journeys underscore a larger story: the overturning of Roe v. Wade was not just a legal earthquake, but a catalyst for personal upheaval. As Paste Magazine observed, the conservative movement that engineered the Dobbs decision is intent on rolling back not just abortion rights, but a host of other fundamental freedoms. For some Americans, the only answer has been to seek a new life elsewhere—even if the road to belonging is steep and uncertain.
For Apgar-Taylor, Rob, and Lawrence, the promise of Canada is not just safety, but a chance to breathe freely—at last.