22 Murders

Twenty-two lives lost.
One province shaken.
And years later, a nation still searching for answers.


If you think this title sounds like a murder mystery, you’re partly right. But this is not fiction. It is a real life tragedy that continues to burn in the minds and hearts of men and women who believe that truth matters.
I’ve been slowly reading 22 Murders by Paul Palango, stopping every few pages to catch my breath. It isn’t the gruesome spectacle one might expect from a crime thriller. Instead, it is something far more unsettling: a detailed and carefully researched account of real events that still feel unfinished.  A massacre that occurred within a hour of where I live.  

The book examines the 2020 Nova Scotia mass shooting—the deadliest mass killing in modern Canadian history. Veteran investigative journalist Paul Palango approaches the tragedy not simply as a crime story, but as a deeper examination of institutional accountability, transparency, and the many obstacles that can arise when the public seeks answers.

Palango’s reporting goes far beyond recounting a timeline. He examines the investigative response, the decisions made by authorities in the aftermath, and the many questions that remain unresolved for victims’ families and the wider public. Drawing on interviews, public records, and years of investigative experience, he constructs a narrative that challenges readers to look carefully at how information was handled in the wake of the tragedy.

One of the book’s strongest qualities is persistence. Palango methodically revisits key moments—communication failures, investigative gaps, and public statements—highlighting inconsistencies and raising questions about whether the full truth has been examined. The book reminds us that journalism plays an essential role in a democracy, particularly when institutions appear reluctant to provide clarity.
Reading it stirred something deeper in me because I have personally experienced the consequences of questioning systems and institutions. When you step outside accepted narratives or investigate uncomfortable possibilities, the response can sometimes be swift and isolating. Even raising concerns about difficult issues—whether institutional failures or potential criminal activity—can create tension within families and communities.

For a long time I hesitated to speak openly about some of my own experiences. When difficult topics surface, especially those involving potential harm or exploitation, people often react with fear, disbelief, or a desire to silence the conversation entirely. But silence rarely brings healing or truth.

The tone of 22 Murders is serious and often sobering. Rather than sensationalizing violence, Palango focuses on the systemic issues that can create confusion and mistrust during moments of crisis. In doing so, he reminds us that the human cost of unanswered questions is enormous—especially for the families and communities most directly affected.

Critics of the book have noted that its willingness to challenge official narratives may feel provocative or uncomfortable. But perhaps that discomfort is precisely the point. Transparency and accountability are not luxuries in a democratic society; they are essential conditions for public trust.

Ultimately, 22 Murders is not really about the perpetrator. It is about the systems surrounding the tragedy: policing, communication, governance, and the ongoing struggle for truth after a national trauma.
There were moments while reading about the history and structure of powerful institutions when I felt a wave of discouragement. When systems appear closed or resistant to scrutiny, it can make the future feel bleak.
But then I stopped and reframed the picture.

The real power is not in institutions alone. The real power is in the men and women who create them.
It is in readers who are willing to examine history honestly.
It is in communities that continue asking questions.
It is in individuals who refuse to turn away when something feels wrong.
You and I who are willing to read, think, question, and seek truth—we are the future.

As a collective, we have the power to bring more love, wisdom, and courage into the conversation. Systems are not fixed. They are shaped and reshaped by the awareness and actions of the men, women and children within them.

If there is a hill worth standing on, it is the protection of our children and the health and integrity of the next generation. And that responsibility doesn’t belong to someone else--it starts with each of us, right now.

It begins with finding your truth and having the courage to speak it. History shows that when people remain silent, harmful patterns and powerful industries can continue unchecked. But when ordinary people begin asking questions, sharing information, and supporting one another, change becomes possible.

Around the world, enormous amounts of money move through industries that shape our lives and our environment—pharmaceutical and medical systems, human trafficking networks that operate as a multi-billion-dollar global crime industry, large-scale chemical and industrial agriculture, and the broader defense and surveillance sectors tied to national security infrastructure. These systems are complex, powerful, and often difficult for ordinary citizens to examine or influence.

That is why public conversation, transparency, and investigative journalism matter.

​If you struggle to find the words, borrow someone else’s. Read widely. Listen carefully. Share ideas that move the conversation toward truth, compassion, and accountability.

Silence tends to preserve the status quo. Conversation and awareness are what move societies forward. The truth sets you free. 

Paul Palango is a writer I respect for his willingness to investigate difficult subjects and ask uncomfortable questions.  May his work ignite curiosity and inspire others to participate in conversations that strengthen our communities and help manifest the beautiful future we are co-creating together through our thoughts, words, and actions.

Over the years, I have sometimes been accused of being cold, harsh, or uncompassionate when speaking about difficult issues. But compassion, in its truest sense, means to be a companion to pain—to acknowledge it and face it honestly. There is certainly a place for sitting with grief and sorrow. Yet remaining only in sympathy can leave us stuck there.

True empathy, in my view, carries a different energy. It recognizes suffering while also empowering movement forward. It asks us to take what hurts and transform it into purposeful action, wisdom, and courage.
Pain, when faced honestly, can become fuel for change. When ignored or suppressed, it can trap us in cycles that repeat themselves. Perhaps the balance lies in allowing ourselves to feel deeply while also asking the harder question: What will we do with what we now know?   Sympathy stagnates, empathy empowers.  

Awareness alone is not enough. Awareness paired with thoughtful action is what moves individuals, communities, and societies forward.

Books like 22 Murders remind us that truth may move slowly, but it moves because people care enough to keep searching for it. Truth is not found in silence or avoidance—it is forged in the courage to see clearly, speak boldly, and act with purpose. Stand with it, and let it shape the world you are helping to create.

And that means our story is still being written....