From atop the Canadian Museum for Human Rights (CMHR), juts the Tower of Hope, a 23-story illuminated glass architectural feature meant to symbolize "the goal of the human-rights journey," namely, "hope for a changed world." The prominence of hope as an ideal is literally set in stone at the CMHR. Hope for the museum itself is less secure. Sentiments ranging from casual cynicism to outright protest over its prospects and plans suggest that not everyone is convinced of whether or how hope is befitting. Hope is not a universal dream for tomorrow; it is a symptom, or clue, as to the circumstances of here and now. This paper considers various expressions of hope by and about the CMHR that reflect the specific situation of the museum, as well as the particular cultural, political, and economic stakes that invest the museum and its diverse publics in differing versions of a desired future and ways of getting there. Examples of expressions of hope described in this paper not only provide a glimpse into the affective life of a cultural institution at its inaugural moment, but they also help expand the range of what it could mean to be hopeful in relation to the institution. This paper argues that a version of hope--in which the future is held open to change through critical and unsettling engagements with present and ongoing histories of colonial violence in Canada--creates a generative framework through which to explore the potential of a human rights museum.