I had planned to dine at Peace Restaurant, having made arrangements to stay overnight in the town just across the water. It seemed a modest dream: to sit in quiet contemplation, break bread in a place named for harmony, and find warmth among strangers who might, at least in spirit, be kin.
Alas, that small hope was extinguished at the border—where I was denied entry not for threats posed, nor laws broken, but for the apparent crime of existing as a transgender vegan with a passport not blessed by monarchy or its inheritors. A sovereign decision, no doubt, but one that casts long shadows across any claim to civility.
To those still convinced that the British Commonwealth represents a model of justice, dignity, or peace: I invite you to reconsider the arithmetic. Symbols without substance are hollow things. A restaurant may be called Peace, a state may fly the banner of liberty—but neither guarantees its practice within. The water between us may be narrow, yet what lies beneath is deep with histories unhealed and customs unchecked.
And to the gatekeeper, who turned away a fellow human on principle or protocol—may you dine well tonight. You will need the strength. Some consequences are not administered by governments, but by conscience. And it remembers what names do not.
Dylan Shotwell
We’d heard for years that Peace offered the best dining experience in the area, so we were excited to finally try it — but it turned out to be one of the worst meals we've ever had. The servi
K Hilson
My husband and I were in town for his business and decided to book at Peace Restaurant for our Saturday dinner and we were not disappointed! The service was amazing, the staff are so friendly and knowledgeable with their recommendations. The cocktails were innovative and the food was next level. Everything we tried had high quality ingredients and built complex flavours by layering just the right number of components. Would highly recommend paying them a visit and indulging in the miso ice cream!!!
I had planned to dine at Peace Restaurant, having made arrangements to stay overnight in the town just across the water. It seemed a modest dream: to sit in quiet contemplation, break bread in a place named for harmony, and find warmth among strangers who might, at least in spirit, be kin. Alas, that small hope was extinguished at the border—where I was denied entry not for threats posed, nor laws broken, but for the apparent crime of existing as a transgender vegan with a passport not blessed by monarchy or its inheritors. A sovereign decision, no doubt, but one that casts long shadows across any claim to civility. To those still convinced that the British Commonwealth represents a model of justice, dignity, or peace: I invite you to reconsider the arithmetic. Symbols without substance are hollow things. A restaurant may be called Peace, a state may fly the banner of liberty—but neither guarantees its practice within. The water between us may be narrow, yet what lies beneath is deep with histories unhealed and customs unchecked. And to the gatekeeper, who turned away a fellow human on principle or protocol—may you dine well tonight. You will need the strength. Some consequences are not administered by governments, but by conscience. And it remembers what names do not.