My name is Kristina Van Hombeeck, and in 2009 I was expelled from Notre Dame Regional Secondary. This letter is not just about me — it is for every misfit, every chubby kid, every queer, trans, coloured, or simply different student who was crushed beneath the weight of a community that claimed to be Catholic but lived as a mob. A community that only celebrated those who fit its narrow mold: those who excelled at football, those who looked the part, those who mirrored the standards of a predominantly Italian, white culture. Speaking as someone who is half Italian, I can say with certainty: this was not faith. It was fear. Fear of difference. Fear of truth. Fear of anyone who refused to bow.
I was expelled not for violence, not for crime, but as a political move when Mr. Rogér DesLauriers took power after Mike Cooke. Propped up by parent committees and emboldened by a culture of conformity, he “cleaned house” by making examples of the students who didn’t fit. I was one of them. It was never about education — it was about image, control, and intimidation. The message was clear: if you don’t bend, you will be broken.
I will not pretend I was perfect. I skipped classes out of boredom. I altered my uniform because I was mocked daily for being fat and ugly, and I needed some way to reclaim dignity. I carried wounds and sometimes acted out of them. But what was overlooked — what was buried beneath the weight of ridicule and rejection — was my intellect, my creativity, my potential. Notre Dame never nurtured that. It only punished me for daring to exist outside its mold. And the trauma of that exile — the shame, the humiliation, the sheer cruelty — followed me for years.
Mr. DesLauriers was no more than a figurehead of a deeper rot. When I was expelled, my elementary school took me back, but even then, parents in the community who had children at Notre Dame complained that I was a “bad example,” a “menace.” I was sixteen. A child. And yet a whole community of adults chose to demonize me rather than reflect on the ugliness in their own hearts. This was not Catholicism. This was cowardice dressed in vestments.
Sixteen years have passed. I have built a life, a career, a voice. I am a marketing director. I am successful. I am whole. And yet, when I recently heard a faculty member call Mr. DesLauriers “Voldemort — he who must not be named,” it hit me. She told me that kids like me become “the most interesting people.” Interesting. I am not interesting because you broke me. I am interesting because I refused to let you keep me broken. But I am also proof of your failure: proof that you buried brilliance under your biases, that you silenced potential with cruelty, that you confused punishment with righteousness.
Do not point the finger solely at Rogér DesLauriers. Look inward. Look at every time you dimmed a child’s light, every time you mocked someone for their body, their race, their difference, every time you chose popularity over compassion. That is your confession, not the rehearsed words you whisper in a booth on Sunday. Do not hide behind stained glass and Latin hymns. If you wish to call yourselves Catholic, then live with the courage to see your sins for what they are.
If Mr. DesLauriers is Voldemort, then I am Harry Potter. And unlike you, I have never been afraid to call evil by its name.
“Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves.” – Matthew 7:15
I was a strong student at Notre Dame High School, graduating on the honour roll in 2012, being named Student of the Year, and receiving thousands of dollars in scholarships for my academics, volunteerism, and extracurricular involvement. I genuinely loved learning, and many of my teachers created an environment where I could thrive despite personal challenges at home. School became a place of growth and strength for me except when it came to interactions with Roger. Rather than encouraging me, he repeatedly challenged me in ways that felt targeted, not because I was failing, skipping class, or causing problems, but because I did not fit into the mold of the students he chose to uplift. As a young female child at the time, who worked hard to excel despite coming from a divorced family, I felt scrutinized rather than supported. He would remind me of my “broken” background as though it disqualified my achievements, rather than recognizing that my perseverance was something to be celebrated. His behaviour toward students was not aligned with the values of compassion, fairness, or Christian principles that the school claims to uphold. Instead, it reinforced damaging stereotypes and created barriers for those who did not fit his narrow idea of success. To this day, I believe men like him are part of the reason our society struggles to move forward because they use positions of power not to empower, but to diminish. For these reasons, I support his removal.
I have never liked the so-called "principal" and never will. He was touchy, touching girls intimately and overly aggressive (know to swear at students especially when alone in his office). He is a ticking time bomb. Each year, he has been ruining the reputation of the school. He does not care about racism or bullying; students are not his first priority. For the school's motto to be 'Know, Love, Serve' the "principal" has completely lost the meaning and purpose the motto was supposed to bring. As a graduate of this school, I urge parents to not send their children to this school.