According to the CBC, 130 Palestinian students admitted to Canadian universities cannot enter Canada due to related administrative barriers. Empty Seats includes written testimonies from four out of five Palestinian scholars admitted to McGill but are currently in bureaucratic limbo, unable to enter Canada; as well as testimonies from McGill faculty members and students expressing solidarity with these Palestinian students. It also includes concrete calls to action.

The project was kickstarted by an article written by Calame and Delafoulhouse in October 2025. The piece, which included interviews with McGill’s Palestinian scholars and members of the Palestinian Scholars and Students At Risk (PSSAR) organization, highlighted the bureaucratic barriers that keep admitted Palestinian scholars from attending on-site school in Montreal. The PSSAR identifies Palestinian scholars and connects them to academic opportunities in Canada. Upon the article’s publication, Associate Professor of Anthropology Diana Allan, who is also the acting faculty liaison for PSSAR at McGill, proposed broadening the project scope to better uncover and uplift these students’ circumstances in hopes of changing them. Subsequently, Professor Allan hosted a zine-making workshop in collaboration with media-maker and activist Stefan Christoff as an extra-credit opportunity for her classes, with interested students encouraged to participate in the zine’s creation. Thus, Empty Seats was born.

The zine format, commonly used for social justice, welcomes academic writing while also centering other valuable sources of knowledge like testimonies, interviews, and artworks. It is also remarkably collaborative and approachable, which was imperative for engaging students regardless of their background and experience in organizing and activism. 

“It was a very McGill student-centred project,” says Louise Deroi, one of Empty Seats’ student organizers, in correspondence with The McGill Daily. Voluntary testimonies were collected from McGill students via a Google Form disseminated via social media and word of mouth, with respondents ranging across year groups and faculties. “A common theme expressed in the [student] testimonies was the disillusionment of and anger at attending a university that doesn’t do more for these students who, despite having submitted an excellent application and having been admitted, have the world pitted against them, which prevents them from being here. Putting the testimonies of the Palestinian scholars and other students and activists side by side shows the [Palestinian] students that they’re not alone; that there’s a community backing them up that desperately wants them to make it and is willing to mobilize for that.” 

At the zine launch, the team screened video testimonies by Palestinian scholars Shereen and Majd (last names not given), who were respectively admitted to McGill’s Master’s programs in Neuroscience and Computer Science but remain in Gaza due to multiple barriers preventing them from receiving their visas. Biometrics, a key component of the Canadian visa application, cannot be obtained in Gaza, meaning that individuals seeking them must travel through the Rafah crossing to neighbouring West Bank or Egyptian territories to do so. However, the Rafah crossing has been closed since May 2024, making it extremely difficult for these students to fulfill the necessary steps for their visa application without external intervention.

However, in the last few years, nations like France, the United Kingdom and Ireland have enabled Palestinian students to complete their visa processes through various means, from evacuating them to neighbouring countries like Jordan to creating streamlined bureaucratic pathways. Historically, Canada has also proved itself flexible by making concessions for individuals in extenuating circumstances during the visa application process. For instance, applications for the Canada-Ukraine Authorization for Emergency Travel (CUAET) visa, temporary emergency visas which were issued to families and individuals fleeing Ukraine, waived the requirement of medical examinations and COVID-19 vaccinations. 

At the institutional level, McGill belongs to lobbying bodies like U15 with mandates that encourage international talent and scholarship to drive Canada’s innovation. Moreover, McGill, registered as an active in-house lobbyist in Ottawa, meets regularly with Canadian government officials to discuss a host of notable issues including immigration. “It’s hard to access the content of these meetings, but we want to make sure that McGill is using all of its political power to make sure these students make it [to Canada],” states Deroi.

The zine’s launch hopes to spark a larger national movement to bring Palestinian scholars to Canada by pressuring the IRCC to expedite their VISA processes. “This is a Canadian issue, and is much bigger than McGill,” affirms Deroi. “Eventually, it would be amazing if other universities wanted to replicate the zine format and the project.” 

McGill students can follow the Critical Media Lab to receive updates about the Empty Seats project and other follow-up events currently in the works. In addition to staying informed about Empty Seats, Deroi encourages students to get involved in the other various forms of on-campus activism pertaining to the Palestinian genocide. “Seeing these issues as interconnected and knowing that there are many different approaches to activism in support of Palestinians is very important.”

Copies of Empty Seats can be found at Cinema Politica. Any further inquiries can be directed to mcgillemptyseats@gmail.com.

The post Taking Attendance for Empty Seats appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Sometimes, all we want is to sit down, cuddle with a pillow, and press play on the next episode of their favorite series. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how streaming platforms have trapped us into loving our screens and the romance and drama they portray, instead of the messy reality of loving the person next to us. In today’s media landscape, love is no longer just a feeling but a product. Shows like The Summer I Turned Pretty, Better Late Than Single, and Love Island USA may seem wildly different, but each demonstrates how romance is packaged, marketed, and sold.

Jenny Han ’s The Summer I Turned Pretty began as a young adult book trilogy published in the late 2000s and was adapted into a Prime Video series in 2022, with every new season timed for a summer release. The story follows Isabel “Belly” Conklin as she spends summers at Cousins Beach, caught in a love triangle between brothers Conrad and Jeremiah while navigating the awkward but intoxicating shift from adolescence to adulthood. By the time the third and final season dropped this July, the show had cemented itself as one of the defining comfort watches of the season.

On the surface, it’s a teen romance: sunsets, heartbreak, and Taylor Swift ballads. But the show’s appeal goes deeper, tapping into multiple layers of nostalgia. For longtime fans of the novels, the adaptation commodifies memory itself. Amazon is selling not only a streaming series but the chance to revisit a beloved story in a new format. Some viewers compare scenes to the dog-eared pages they once read under their blankets. Some viewers simply watch to relive the feeling of being that teenager again. What was once private imagination is now communal, bingeable content.

The release strategy sharpens that effect. By releasing each season in the summer, Prime has turned the series into an annual ritual, one that feels less like coincidence and more like a marketing cycle. Fans may forget about Belly and her romantic indecision during the school year, but when summer rolls around, the show becomes a seasonal marker, pulling viewers back into the story exactly when they’re most susceptible to longing for beach days and first loves. In this way, The Summer I Turned Pretty commodifies not just romance, but the rhythm of time itself: selling the very idea of summer back to its audience.

While The Summer I Turned Pretty sells nostalgia, Love Island USA sells pure spectacle. Now in its seventh season, the show drops a group of singles into a luxury villa — this time in Fiji —and isolates them from the outside world. No phones, no internet, no distractions. Their lives shrink to bikinis, challenges, and strategic re-couplings under the constant gaze of cameras. The twist is that viewers play judge, jury, and executioner: voting on their favorite contestants, deciding eliminations, and ultimately crowning the winning couple.

On the surface, it’s fun, sexy, and easy to watch. It’s the kind of show you put on when you want your brain to turn off. But Love Island isn’t really about romance. It’s about selling romance as a product. Contestants quickly realize that relationships are less about intimacy and more about performance. Stay likable, stay desirable, stay “shippable” — that’s the real strategy. Love becomes a currency, traded for screen time, social media clout, and eventual sponsorship deals once the villa doors close.

The commodification doesn’t end with the finale. Love Island creates online frenzies, spilling into Twitter threads, TikToks, Instagram edits, and dinner-table conversations. Viewers aren’t just passive consumers; they become active participants, debating recouplings with strangers on the internet and bonding with friends over favorite contestants. The show sells love twice — first as drama on-screen, and then as discourse in everyday life. Even our conversations, our opinions, our memes become part of its reach, proof that romance packaged as spectacle can extend far beyond the villa.

Netflix’s Better Late Than Single, which premiered this July, feels worlds apart from the glossy drama of Love Island. Instead of Instagram-ready contestants, it introduces “모태솔로 (motae solos)” — a Korean term for people who have never dated in their lives. These men and women, mostly in their late twenties and thirties, move into a shared house where they receive style coaching, attempt first crushes, and stumble through awkward conversations with all the hesitation of absolute beginners.

What stands out is how different this feels compared to the norms of Western reality dating shows, which tend to center young contestants who present themselves as effortlessly confident in love. Here, awkward silences, tentative gestures, and shy confessions take center stage. The effect is surprising for viewers used to high-drama formats: intimacy is portrayed not as fast-paced spectacle but as slow, uncertain progress.

Until recently, a series like this might have reached mostly K-drama fans. But Netflix’s global distribution has carried Better Late Than Single to audiences around the world, many of whom find its vulnerability refreshing. That’s the irony: what is framed as “authentic” is also carefully curated, packaged, and sold as novelty. Even sincerity, even awkwardness, becomes a product for global consumption.

Maybe that’s the real butterfly effect of these shows: what starts as a simple binge on the couch ripples into how we think about love off-screen. Why risk heartbreak when Belly, or a villa full of strangers, can give you an adrenaline rush or butterflies on demand? Why settle for awkward first dates when you can watch others stumble through theirs in high definition? These series soothe us, entertain us, and sometimes trick us into expecting too much. That’s the irony of commodified love: it feels just real enough to keep us hooked, even if the romance in our lives can’t quite compete.

The post The Commodification of Love appeared first on The McGill Daily.

“Mountain Scale” – Asher White

Providence-based artist, Asher White has recently garnered attention after receiving an 8.0 on her most recent album, Home Constellation Study, as well as having a song featured on the compilation album for trans rights, Transa. She has released an abounding 26 albums on Bandcamp, the first of which were put out when she was just 14! Her songs take on a DIY-feel, yet the arrangements are intricate and eccentric. The song “Mountain Scale” from her album Elmwood Cassette stands out with its soft, but dynamic, vocals and harmonies. Although it is followed by a more punk-sounding song, the track order feels complementary. 

“Acabemos Con El Femicidio” – Pelada

There can never be enough praise for the irreplicable Montreal techno-dance-punk duo Pelada. Although they disbanded last year, their energy can still be felt through the screen when rewatching past performances, especially their Boiler Room x Primavera Sound set in Barcelona. Chris Vargas’ vocals blend perfectly with strong dance beats in an unexpected way. “Acabemos con el femicidio” translates to “let’s end femicide;” sexism being a core theme in their lyricism. Listen to them when getting ready to go out, or, honestly, whenever!

“Limitless Night” – Drinking Boys and Girls Choir

Drinking Boys and Girls Choir are a punk band from Daegu, South Korea. They emerged in the local scene there as a women-fronted band. After signing with British record label, Damnably, they’ve toured extensively around North America and Europe, often opening for the Japanese all-women band, Otoboke Beaver. The band played at Théatre Beanfield in March of last year. The audience was blown away at the band’s ability to keep up with such a fast drum beat while remaining somewhat calm. I included the first song of the album in this list because it gets you wanting to listen to the rest; a perfect hook if you will.

“My Pal Foot Foot” – The Shaggs

The Shaggs are a favourite of many influential musicians; Kurt Cobain and Frank Zappa were huge fans. The band consisted of four sisters from New Hampshire who were forced to learn to play instruments from an early age by their superstitious father. Their intense musical training unfortunately did not get them very far. Their album titled Philosophy of the World, doesn’t actually consist of any lyrical depth either. However, after developing a cult following in the 80s, they have been deemed to be unintentionally brilliant. Afterall, it must have been hard to be that bad. Or is it truly genius and only the real ones get it? But it is bad, right?

“The White Tent the Raft” – Jane Siberry

Jane Siberry is a Canadian singer/songwriter whose music is often categorized as “high art” rock. Her album The Walking is a treasure chest filled with songs that feel like movies; not just a scene, but the movie in its entirety. “The White Tent the Raft” is no exception. The nine-minute song is made up of independently unique verses, a strong chorus, and randomly recurring themes. Her voice can be compared to dramatic soprano singers like Kate Bush and Elizabeth Fraser. Along with songwriting and vocal/instrumental credits, she is also the co-producer of the album. It is rare but inspiring to see women in the technical roles of song-making. Her songs are not for casual-listening, but perfect for car rides or walks where her voice can be your main focus!

The post Have You Heard These Sweet, Sweet Tunes? appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Cooper’s warm, conspiratorial, and familial tone masks the fact that rather than her speaking to a close friend over the phone, she is addressing an audience of millions. Cooper’s podcast, the most-listened-to podcast by women and Spotify’s second largest podcast in 2023, reflects a growing infatuation with podcasts around the world.

Over the past decade, podcast listening has steadily increased in popularity. Today, there are over 400 million podcast listeners globally, with more than two million independent podcasts.

What explains this increasing obsession with podcasts? For Dr. Mark Lloyd, associate professor in the Department of Art History and Communication Studies at McGill University, podcasts are nothing new. Dr. Lloyd, who has worked as a journalist with platforms like NBC and CNN, told the Daily in an interview over Zoom: “There is nothing particularly unusual or unique about podcasts.” He added that “oral forms of communication as distinct from video and text have been around for centuries.”

Dr. Lloyd pointed to ancient texts from the likes of Homer and Aristotle as stories that were originally transmitted orally well before they became written narratives. Dr. Lloyd noted that “we are extraordinarily drawn to the human voice and the human voice that tells stories.”

Before there were podcasts, this innate attachment to the human voice manifested through radio. “I’ve always loved the radio,” Dr. Lloyd told the Daily. “I’ve always been interested in why radio was so powerful.”

Like any form of communication, radio can be “extraordinarily valuable” but also “extraordinarily harmful to societies,” Dr. Lloyd cautioned. In the 1930s, priest Charles E. Coughlin used the radio to broadcast extreme anti-Semitic rhetoric in the United States. Today, podcasts are used for similar ends. As Dr. Lloyd commented in reference to The Joe Rogan Experience podcast: “What Joe Rogan is doing is really no different than what Charles Coughlin was doing in the 1930s and 1940s. There is no real difference between them in terms of [how they] incite people to believe in conspiracies.” Dr. Lloyd added, “It’s given a different name – ‘podcast’ – but it is essentially a radio form.”

To be sure, there are some differences between current podcasting and the mainstream radio of several decades ago. Malcolm Sanger, PhD student in Communication Studies at McGill University, told the Daily in an email that podcasts are both “a new medium and an old medium.” Sanger added, “[Podcasts] are very similar to radio, obviously, but are accessed in a different way.”

Dr. Lloyd also acknowledged that podcasts are more accessible than producing radio or video content. It is less expensive for people to create podcasts, especially regarding the ease of editing, storing, and transmitting oral content.

That said, despite the distinctions between podcasting and older forms of oral communication, the “fundamentals haven’t changed,” Dr. Lloyd told the Daily. Aristotle’s early cautions about speech and rhetoric illuminated the power of oral communication to drive large crowds to action within their communities.

Today, the significance of oral modes of communication as a medium to influence large groups of people is more relevant than ever. We are specifically seeing major politicians utilize podcasting to reach voters, like US President Donald Trump’s appearance on The Joe Rogan Experience and Kamala Harris’s interview on Call Her Daddy. As Sanger explained to the Daily, “politicians and their advisors know that podcasts attract larger and larger audiences, and so it is important for politicians to appear on them, just as they once went on radio and TV.”

Lewis Goodall, former policy editor of Newsnight and presenter on the popular podcast The News Agents, discussed a hunger for political podcasts with Elle UK. “There is a real desire from younger people for news and politics content that’s not being well-served by more traditional outlets,” he said.“People like the immediacy of just sitting down, listening, and feeling like they’re part of a podcast.”

No matter the genre, it is evident that podcasts fulfill the strong human demand to interact with information through oral means of communication. With a rich history of audio communication through media like radio, our draw to podcasts is nothing new, but rather reflects an innate attachment to the human voice. As Sanger stated, “I think people have never lost their attention for a well-told, exciting story, […] and it would seem lots of podcasts provide that for lots of people.”

The post I Want to Hear Your Voice appeared first on The McGill Daily.

These characteristics are a hallmark of Ousmane Semebene’s Black Girl (1966) and Djibril Diop Mambéty’s Touki Bouki (1973), two Senegalese films that explore the desire for a life abroad seen within many African communities.

When Black Girl’s protagonist, Diouana, steps off the boat in France, she only has a few moments to take the city in before the harsh reality of life abroad sets in. While Diouana comes to France expecting to work as a nanny for a couple, she is deceived into becoming their housemaid. She quickly learns that France is neither an escape nor her new home. France is ironing and laundry. France is cleaning the kitchen and bathroom. France is work.

Touki Bouki’s Anta and Mory are on the other side of the same dilemma. Dakar lacks opportunity, and the young couple can no longer envision a life of freedom at home. Therefore, with no money and unsupportive families, Anta and Mory connive to escape to Paris. Their desire to emigrate is not shaped by a lack of love for Senegal, nor is it determined by a measurable goal they hope to reach in Paris; it is simply the prospect of change that fuels their move.

Both Black Girl and Touki Bouki take place in the first ten years of Senegalese independence from France, a time filled with uncertainty for what the future of the country might look like. Yet, this newfound independence makes the audience wonder why these characters would want to move to France after finally gaining independence from French domination. What pushes people to leave home without certainty of success elsewhere?

Franz Fanon first coined the term “colonial alienation of the person” in 1952 to describe the internalized inferiority complex of colonized societies. The term has grown to be incredibly useful when examining the ways colonized peoples internalize harmful ideas about their cultures, view their societies through a colonial lens, and measure themselves based on their proximity to whiteness. The term is additionally beneficial in explaining why the Occident is held in such high regard. It is a clear way to explain why Diouana, Mory, and Anta are sure that moving to France is the key to a better life. However, while useful, it is important to not solely rely on the sheer power of Western brainwashing when examining choices made by Senegalese people post-independence. It is important to also recognize Senegalese self-determination and consider the rational approach many people took to the issue of immigration.

For instance, France has had a presence in Senegal since the 16th century, with Senegal only becoming an independent state in 1960. Interestingly enough, many Senegalese academics actually advocated for assimilation instead of independence. This did not mean that people simply forgot about the barbaric nature of imperialism. The understanding of Western hegemony was precisely why a moderate approach for greater Senegalese rights was taken and can account for why so many immigrants decided to move to France. As Aisha Balabare Bawa states in the article “From Imperialism to Diplomacy: A Historical Analysis of French and Senegal Cultural Relationship”, the policy of assimilation was adopted by Senegalese activists and leaders as a way for the Senegalese people to gain equality with French citizens in a non-violent manner.

The pretence of a European life being the best one was not just a misaligned viewpoint – it was, and still is, regarded as the determinant of success. Proximity to European standards determines a nation’s stage of development and immigration to Europe is many Africans’ only way of picturing a life of stability. Whether one profoundly believes in Eurocentrism or not, its stark influence on our day-to-day lives is unavoidable.

As most of the film takes place in France, Black Girl explores Eurocentrism from an immigrant’s perspective. Halfway through the film, we see a flashback of Diouana telling her lover that she will soon be working in France. While skipping around the city, Diouana anticipates that her lover will claim that she is submitting herself to domestic slavery. Diouana shakes these concerns off, as nothing can dwindle her excitement. Through these brief scenes of her life in Dakar, it is made clear that Diouana has internalized the idea of a French utopia imposed on so many colonized peoples. After all, she is willing to abandon the only home she knows for a vague and empty promise of a better life. Yet, her blissful optimism is not merely a result of ignorance.

When foreign powers have controlled your home, an attraction to the thought of immigration is perfectly reasonable. Diouana is not a fool for accepting the world as it is presented to her. While she is not particularly displeased with her life in Senegal, France is portrayed as a paradise, and it would have been foolish of her not to capitalize on an opportunity promised to be thrilling. The isolation she faces in France was not just a result of her ignorance but also of the lasting impacts of colonialism. Her mistress promises her a better life abroad, in the same way that French dominance promised to make the African continent prosperous. Through Diouana’s disillusionment, Sembene illustrates the social and psychological manifestations of the colonial alienation of the person.

On the other hand, Anta, the female lead in Touki Bouki, is a college student and belongs to a group of pan-Africanists. It would be naive to assume that her desire for a life in Paris with Mory is solely influenced by false notions of Western supremacy. In actuality, anyone watching Mambety’s depiction of Dakar through Anta and Mory’s eyes would come to realize that the couple deeply care for the city. For Anta and Mory, Dakar is driving in the sun and love on the beach. Their city is vibrant and marked with mischief. The love for Dakar seen in Touki Bouki is conspicuous, an aspect that, over time, complicates their decision to leave.

The root of Anta and Mory’s dissatisfaction is not with Dakar itself, but can instead be attributed to the elitism and hypocrisy within post-colonial Senegal. The couple only begins to receive acceptance by their community when they are draped in expensive European fabrics. Moreover, Anta’s so-called revolutionary classmates harasses Mory for his working-class status. While some traditional customs, such as animal slaughter and folklore, are still present in their society, the Senegal they once knew is changing. Like many immigrants, Anta and Mory come to the conclusion that they may not be able to grow with their home, so instead, they must leave it. Similarly to Black Girl, Touki Bouki highlights how a love for your country and a thirst for change are not mutually exclusive – our attitudes toward what and where home is are variable and can always be subject to questioning.

France currently has the largest African diaspora in Europe. The leap of faith Diouana, Anta, and Mory take when choosing to immigrate to France illustrates the core of the African diasporic experience: immigration is not solely a decision based on disregard for one’s home. The insatiable drive to leave home in search of socio-economic stability is taxing, and the alienation one can face after leaving home is burdensome. Immigration is a heavy choice for many. Yet, Touki Bouki and Black Girl magnetically depict the flexible idea of home in a time struck by revolutionary change.

The post From Dakar to Paris appeared first on The McGill Daily.

After months of brainstorming, organizing, and arranging the details for this event, Wang said, “We’re just really excited to put it out to the world. Not only are we following this TED tradition of platforming interesting, compelling, innovating ideas to foster a community hub of free exchange, but it is also just a moment to bring the community together.” 

TEDxMcGill, founded in 2009, organizes a yearly showcase to continue the TEDx legacy of “ideas worth spreading.” This year, they are presenting the theme “Kaleidoscope,” based on the instrument designed to display varying patterns through refractions of light, shifting in colour and design. The TEDx program was initiated to promote and encourage people from all across the world to speak on experiences, new ideas, or contrasting perspectives to shift our understanding of reality. Most often, speakers provide a space for breakthroughs or new innovations in research, but their talks are meant to spark productive conversation across global communities. Thus, the theme “Kaleidoscope” is meant to express everything that TEDx stands for: the exploration of beauty and diversity among the societies we live in. Nanami Haruyama, VP Memberships for the organization, commented on her brainstorming process for this theme. 

“Originally I thought of ‘Kaleidoscope’ to try to think of a simile or an analogy to what TEDx represents,” she explained, which she found to be “a combination and a platform for so many different ideas [and] people from different backgrounds and walks of life.” Rather than settling on a distinct idea, TEDxMcGill sought to reimagine what it feels like to engage in such bustling academic discourse, where anything and everything is possible. This theme also gives audiences a hint as to what they can expect to feel coming out of the event. Haruyama believes “that if you shift the Kaleidoscope, you have an entirely new perspective, and we wanted TEDx to represent that Kaleidoscope – a shift in perspective. That if you come to our event on February 4, you will leave having a new idea, a new perspective that you haven’t thought about.” 

This year’s application and recruitment cycle for TEDxMcGill was especially difficult due to the sheer number of people who applied or reached out to participate. Haruyama reflected on the process of looking through each applicant’s video and blurb about their speech topic to decide on who would be chosen. In total, there were 90 applicants – a large pool to select from. In addition to those who applied, many interested parties contacted TEDxMcGill themselves. She said, “It was so exciting just to hear the different possible talks that it was really hard to narrow it down to the final nine that we ultimately chose.” Despite the wide variety of options and topics that the team was presented with, they still tried to reach out to people who they felt would bring something unique and special to the TEDx stage. Wang in particular discussed their selection of McGill professor Oran Magal, who she was influenced by after taking two of his courses. She felt that his ideas were extremely compelling and worth sharing with the public. This once again relates to the goals of the TEDx organization: to find people who have voices that need to be shared, who would greatly contribute to the sphere of academic discourse. 

“We look through all of these videos, look at all their talks, and then we start to narrow it down in terms of the quality, the potential that we see, and the topic that they’re talking about,” said Haruyama in discussion of what the team has to do in choosing their final lineup. Wang described how ambitious the team was this year to seek out people who perhaps did not apply but who the team felt would bring so much to the table.

“Recruitment through application is great and all, but what we find a lot of the time when it comes to opening the doors and letting anybody come in and give us their ideas is that people try to exploit the name of TED, seeing it as a pedestal to boost their own careers or their personal agendas,” Wang stated. “That’s why curation and the membership team is just so important in terms of closing those floodgates and really actively crafting a speaker list that is not just ideologically oriented or politically driven, but actually idea-based – or talks that are action-oriented, that seek active solutions, and you’ll find that in all of our speakers this year.” The organization wants to be a space where true productive conversation can ignite; instead of simply platforming theory or new research, they want to highlight personal experience and real struggles – stories which can inspire change.

TEDxMcGill is also committed to delivering one-of-a-kind thoughts that not only pertain to the world but are special to the McGill and greater Montreal communities. They seek to provide a space for young people, who are often bypassed in favour of adults or those with more life experience, to voice their ideas. 

“This year we’re really emphasizing undergrad. We feel that undergrads feel like they should not – or cannot – talk for some reason,” said Wang,, speaking about what she believes to be one of the most important things to come out of this year’s conference. Of their nine speakers, four are McGill undergraduate students, each with their own perspectives to share. The program finds itself unique in its ability to offer such an important stage to these students who are passionate and well-versed in their area of study. 

Hanna Eik, one of the team’s Speaker Coordinators, also said, “I think it’s nice to see a lot of younger voices on our stage. When you see people who look like you on stage, it makes you think ‘Oh! I can do the same.’” The team believes that, in order to foster curiosity and learning, it is imperative to have this sort of diversity presented at their conference. Over the years, students have become inspired by the TEDxMcGill event to apply and get a chance to present their own ideas, Eik added, which she finds is one of the most important things this organization can offer to aspiring students at McGill. Ultimately, she believes that “one of the big beauties with TED is the circular nature of being an active viewer and wanting to be a TEDx speaker.” 

The TEDx program’s goals are to highlight the importance of seeking knowledge within various communities across the world. Different localities may present a diverse array of ideas special to that particular location, and hearing from the voices that occupy our communities is so critical to giving TEDxMcGill its own unique sparkle. The upcoming presentations offer perspectives not only on their particular research areas but also on their personal experience and culture. Thus, TEDxMcGill becomes a focal point for the cumulation of research, self-exploration, and representation of the Montreal community. When discussing with a few of the executive team members, speaker coordinator Roberto Concepcion expressed excitement to hear from Elaine Xiao. 

“Her talk focuses on overcommitment and burnout, and it’s something that I feel like a lot of us recognize,” he said. Although geared towards students, the all-too-familiar loss of motivation or exhaustion from overwork is something that everyone can resonate with. Concepcion added that Xiao “is able to bring in a lot of research and her own personal experiences.” The ability to tell individual stories is what makes each TEDx speech unique.

The TEDxMcGill team also believes that having these spaces for public speaking, active listening, and academic discussion are so important to preserve the flow of imagination and creativity in our everyday lives. It is not often that one can engage in conversations pertaining to the common struggle or to new innovations that are designed to create an impact on the listener. For this reason, TEDxMcGill succeeds at preserving the integrity of what TEDx stands for. 

“It goes back to that old adage of ‘think global, act local’ in terms of whether that’s building relationships or exploring how certain thoughts can be made into actions,” Wang concluded. “Being in an environment where that is not just encouraged but is the point of that environment is really empowering. That feeling you get when you’re there is unlike anything else.” 

The post “Kaleidoscope” appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Visibly Iroquoian is an ironic name for such a hidden art piece. Tucked behind the security guard at the entrance of the museum is the first section of the work. If the big burly museum officials  don’t  scare you away from reading the text on the wall, you will find a truly interesting work of art. Loft  asks you to look out the windows and “Consider the Indigenous context in and around the city of Tiohtià;ke/Mooniyang/Montreal.’’ You are prompted to do this through audio recordings telling the stories of Indigenous people around Montreal and purple velvet “whimsies” which are suspended on the windows. The patterns on the whimsies are from Iroquoian pottery discovered on the “Dawson site” in downtown Montreal, which  also resemble architectural details seen on the buildings of the CCA. By making this comparison between settler architecture and Iroquoian design Loft wants to create an imaginary “Iroquoian Ancestral Architectural Aesthetic.” If you adjust your position to look out the windows, the whimsies reflect the details of the buildings behind them, or even of the landscape. These interactive elements make the piece very engaging, and the audio accompanying it kept me entertained as I continued to adjust and re-adjust my point of view. 

The main exhibitions at the CCA have a simple layout that guides the visitor through the start to the end –  but navigating Visibly Iroquoian was not such a simple task. If you manage to look behind the security guard you will find the first part, which explains that  the exhibition is made up of two other sections at different windows. And so the hunt begins. The second part is revealed after a short walk down the hall after all the display cases. This area  features  audio that asks the listener compelling questions and gives them prompts to think on. After you sit there and absorb what is said throughout  the 17-minute audio, you can get up and start the journey of finding the final piece of the installation. The only way that I was able to find the last piece was through my rather audacious tendency to just try opening doors whenever I’m exploring a new place. 

Behind two sets of heavy doors there is a cold waiting room area adorned with the menacing bust of Thomas George Shaughnessy, quickly followed by another set of doors leading to the old Shaughnessy mansion. I would hope that you chose the set of doors to the left. There you’ll find an open section of the house, and in the far back of the salon there should be  a booklet on a table, with maps and text on the wall and whimsies in the window. Here is the final section of Loft’s installation. It speaks directly to the legacy of development in Montreal and the destruction of communities caused by the railway run by The Right Honourable Lord Shaughnessy, whose house this  section is located in. Playing on the audio loop is “Carrying Our Bones,”  Loft’s interview with Indigenous archeologist, Katsi’tsahèn:te Cross-Delisle, about the archeology and history of their people in Tiohtià;ke. 

Having found the final part of the puzzle I sat content, looking out the window as the audio played. It turned out to be very comfy, and I figured it would be a great place to start that reading I had been procrastinating, and maybe take a nap in the little purple chair. Throughout this entire time not a single person came upon me, and no one opened the set of doors to  enter the old mansion. At 5:50 p.m. the first sign of life appeared –  it was that burly security guard informing me that the museum was closing in ten minutes. Upon my departure I had this sense of pride over finding what few others had, but more than this I was saddened that not many people were seeing Ange Loft’s interesting and insightful work. I would encourage anyone who reads this to go look at Visibly Iroquoian before the installation is closed on September 1, 2024. It’s free for students, and the quiet museum atmosphere is great for a solo visit, hanging with a friend, or even a simple date. Loft’s multi-media work  should be enjoyed by more than just trigger-happy door knob grabbers. I invite you to go and explore her work.  It might inspire you to go out and truly see Tiohtià;ke.      

Addendum: The Canadian Centre for Architecture (CCA) has extended the closing time for the installation until January 9th, 2024.

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First in line is the Venice International Film Festival, which opens on Wednesday, August 30. It will, for the most part, be unaffected by the strike. SAG-AFTRA is an American labour union, which means international actors are not affected by its protest. Actors who worked on independent films are also exempt from the injunction. Alberto Barbera, the festival’s artistic director, has stated that despite losing their opening film, Luca Guadagnito’s Challengers, the impact of the strike has been “quite modest.” Their planned lineup, which will run until September 9, remains unchanged despite the absence of Hollywood actors. Ava DuVernay’s Origin, an adaptation of Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents, Bradley Cooper’s Maestro, a biographical drama about American composer Leonard Bernstein, and Sofia Coppola’s Priscilla, based on the 1985 memoir Elvis and Me by Priscilla Presley, will be among the films competing for the Golden Lion, the festival’s top prize.

The Telluride Film Festival (TFF) will take place concurrently, starting on Thursday, August 31. Since it operates on a much smaller scale, it too should not be greatly affected by the disputes. TFF only reveals their programming at the very last minute, once their attendees have gathered on the western flank of the San Juan Mountains, making it impossible to know if their lineup was disrupted by the ongoing negotiations. What’s more, the festival is not intended to be a competition, but rather a celebration of cinema. This means no prizes are awarded, no press conferences are held, and no sit-down talks are organized. In other words, Telluride is a place where celebrities can lay low and blend in with the crowd. They could technically show up to screenings as fans, however it is unlikely they would risk being identified as strike-breakers. The festival, which will close on September 4, has become an important touchstone of the fall circuit thanks to its quirkiness. Many acclaimed filmmakers have premiered their work in Telluride, including Ang Lee (Brokeback Mountain, in 2005), Barry Jenkins (Moonlight, in 2016) and Greta Gerwig (Lady Bird, in 2017).

This leaves us with the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF), which will take place after Venice and Telluride close, starting Thursday, September 7. The festival, which prides itself on being an event put on for the public, has been associated with big American premiers in past years. Roaming the streets of downtown Toronto to rub shoulders with A-listers is a big part of the TIFF experience, one which movie lovers will have to do without this year. The festival did manage to secure Hayao Miyazaki’s hit animated feature The Boy and the Heron for its opening night. They have also announced that Hong Kong actor Andy Lau will be in attendance for a moderated conversation, as will ​​writer-director Pedro Almodóvar. Set to premiere are Craig Gillespie’s Dumb Money, a comedy-drama film about the 2021 GameStop short squeeze, Justine Triet’s Anatomy of a Fall, which won this year’s Palme d’Or at Cannes, and Hitman, Richard Linklater’s new film starring Glen Powell. 

While film festivals are not all about pageantry, red carpets and celebrity appearances are a huge part of their appeal. Photo calls generate lots of excitement and remain an essential promotional tool for studios. The absence of actors from the festival circuit – no matter their level of fame – will certainly reduce media coverage, and in turn, lower cinema attendance. If the strikes are still ongoing during these high-profile events, the potential loss in revenue could put additional pressure on the WGA, the SAG-AFTRA, and the AMPTP to come to an agreement quickly. Although the settlement of labour disputes involves complex and strenuous negotiations, one can only hope that the spotlight cast on these festivals will amplify the need for a quick and equitable resolution. 

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This novel paints a captivating picture of life, death, love, and loss that has stayed with me since turning the first page. Arikawa tells the story of Nana, an injured street cat who is taken in by Satoru, a middle-aged bachelor with a heart of gold. The reader experiences their blossoming bond through the episodic road trips Satoru and Nana take along the Japanese countryside. Arikawa’s prose is both poetic and humorous, as she alternates between Nana the cat’s sassy first-person perspective and a lyrical, omniscient narration of events. The Travelling Cat Chronicles is truly Studio Ghibli meets Pixar’s Up with its heart-wrenching exploration of the human condition and what it really means to live a fulfilling life. I would recommend this novel to anyone who has ever loved an animal; Arikawa captures that connection in a way that will reach you like nothing else.  

— Eliana Freelund, Culture Editor

Viral Justice: How We Grow the World We Want by Ruha Benjamin

In the context of the COVID-19 pandemic and anti-Black police violence, Benjamin explores how intricately anti-Black racism is embedded in North American society. The novel aims to  offer insight into how we might go about transforming these oppressive structures. Often drawing from her own life experiences, Benjamin examines how these larger systems manifest in the lives of individuals by showcasing people who are already working to create a better world. I recommend this book to anyone looking for inspiration as to what a more just and liberated future could look like.

— Emma Bainbridge, News Editor

A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole

Although this cult classic novel was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 1981, no one I’ve spoken to seems to have heard of it. The novel was published 11 years after the death of its author, John Kennedy Toole, at the behest of his mother. There is nothing especially inspiring, captivating, beautiful, or lyrical about this novel, and I don’t believe its main character has a single good quality. However, A Confederacy of Dunces is the funniest book I’ve ever read. Thirty-year-old Ignatius J. Reilly is an unemployed medievalist who lives with his mother in New Orleans. A series of unfortunate events force Ignatius to take a job at a pants factory. The characters and circumstances he encounters in his confrontation with 20th-century capitalism – from the cowardly Patrolman Mancuso to the conniving Myrna Minkoff – colour the pages of Toole’s novel in ways that’ll have readers crying with laughter all the way through.

— Catey Fifield, Managing Editor

Another Brooklyn by Jacqueline Woodson

This novel follows the story of a woman named August who recalls growing up in1970s  Brooklyn. She and her best friends, Sylvia, Angela, and Gigi, each have their own unique experiences, yet themes of womanhood, friendship, family, Black migration, and death intersect all of their teenage years. The girls dream of a better future for themselves and for  Brooklyn. They hope for a world where they do not have to face such dangers growing up as young Black women. The novel is an excellent portrayal of growing up as a woman and how female friendship shapes this process. I would recommend this book to anyone who is interested in reading a coming-of-age story which beautifully depicts the power of female friendship and the hope for a better future. 

— Zoe Lister, News Editor

On Earth as it is in Heaven by Davide Enia

Set in 1980s Palermo, this book tells the story of Davidù, a young boy who dreams of becoming a boxer. Enia tells Davidù’s tale through exploring his various dreams and fears, which all tie into his family history. Every summer for the past five years, I have picked up my worn-out copy of this book and plunged back into this story. Enia’s gritty, vivid  writing transports readers across Italy and Africa; you can almost smell the freshness of the lemons and taste the tang of the salt. Family is at the core of this novel as complex and endearing characters navigate their relationships in an Italy still plagued by maschilisimo. Enia’s perplexing characters experience a range of emotion as they navigate both the happiest and the darkest parts of life.This book is unlike anything I have ever read and it allows me to travel to the world of 1980s Palermo without leaving my chair. I recommend this book to readers who want to escape into the world of travel when they read.

— Zoé Mineret, Commentary Editor

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Guillermo del Toro’s 2022 Pinocchio turns this moral on its head. The opening scenes revealing the idyllic Italian countryside are marred by uniformed Podestà roaming the streets. Swooping aerial shots of antique buildings and ancient Roman ruins are peppered with propaganda posters. This adaptation of Pinocchio does not take place in a distant, faraway land of fairy tales; it is grounded in the chilling reality of fascist Italy in the 1930s and ’40s. Del Toro’s decision to anchor Pinocchio in this setting changes the message and tone of the entire story. For how can we celebrate the original moral of obedience in a world defined by authoritarianism? 

Del Toro casts a shroud of doubt over the tradition of rewarding “good” children and punishing “bad” children. His Pinocchio behaves much in the same way as his Disney and literary counterpart: boisterously handling Gepetto’s belongings, running away from school, and prioritizing fun and play over obeying the will of adults. Traditional iterations of this story frame Pinocchio’s actions as reprehensible and his selfish, childlike urges as something that he must overcome. Del Toro’s tale paints Pinocchio in a different light: in an interview with the BBC, del Toro stated, “I really wanted to make a disobedient Pinocchio, and make disobedience a virtue.”

In a world under the influence of surveillance, violence, and compulsory loyalty, Pinocchio’s naïvety provides a breath of fresh air. Del Toro highlights this positive take on Pinocchio’s “flaws” through juxtaposition with the Podestà’s son, Candlewick. The two boys are set up as foils of one another, as Candlewick desperately attempts to become the perfect, obedient Italian soldier at every turn, while Pinocchio marches to the beat of his own drum and only follows the rules he deems most appealing. If the moral of Carlo Collodi’s original tale were applied to the pair, one would assume that Candlewick, the obedient boy, should be rewarded, while Pinocchio, the naughty boy, should be punished. Yet in one of Pinocchio’s most heartbreaking scenes, the fates of the boys are reversed. Despite his tireless adherence to the rules, Candlewick wins the approval of neither his father nor his nation, and dies a pointless death in an Allied air strike. Pinocchio survives. 

What did del Toro intend with this storyline? In his BBC interview, del Toro speaks on his goal to celebrate Pinocchio’s childish nature: “I wanted everybody to change but him. As the movie progresses, the cricket learns from Pinocchio, and Pinocchio learns very little from the cricket. I was being contrarian in a way, but it was more truthful to what I felt as a kid. I felt all this domestication was daunting and scary.” 

Perhaps the most disturbing representation of such domestication is Pinocchio’s forced indoctrination into fascism. After the puppetmaster Count Volpe learns of Pinocchio’s desire to be seen as a “good” boy by Gepetto, he forces Pinocchio to perform skits propagandizing Mussolini’s regime. Volpe and the Podestà both interpret the rigid indestructability of Pinocchio’s wooden frame as emblematic of Italy’s nationalist persona. When the Podestà recruits Pinocchio into the military, it is with the assumption that he will be the perfect soldier. No matter how many times Pinocchio is killed in battle, his wooden body will always reanimate.

Although the adults of del Toro’s world attempt to morph Pinocchio’s inner self into one that mirrors the ideology they have imposed on his outer self, Pinocchio’s rebellious spirit cannot be broken. Instead, del Toro frames the pressure to acquiesce to the wishes of adults as a stifling, oppressive force. In this Pinocchio, the concept of obedience is magnified to a national scale to the point where it is made equivalent to the mindless cruelty of fascism. This theme is not isolated in del Toro’s repertoire. His other two most critically acclaimed works, Pan’s Labyrinth (2006) and The Shape of Water (2017) both feature main characters defined by their childlike innocence whose free spirits are stifled at the hands of fascist forces.  

Del Toro’s films frequently grapple with what it means to be truly alive. In Pinocchio, he equates being alive with being childlike. Pinocchio is not granted life because he rejects disobedience but because he embraces it. The stop-motion medium of the film adds to this idea that life begins where rules lose their power. The impossible movements of the puppets, the sheer breadth of their expressions, and the exaggerated lines of their character designs create a world that resembles our own – but with a fantastical twist. Viewers are encouraged to strip away their ideas of the rules and laws that govern our world and instead immerse themselves in a setting as boundless and disobedient as Pinocchio himself. 

In an interview with Polygon, del Toro explains, “The first idea I had when I was a kid was to do it in stop-motion, because I thought that way, the humans and [Pinocchio] exist in the same world. The most difficult element of design to solve in a Pinocchio movie is that Pinocchio and the humans need to feel like they belong in the same universe, and of course, the stop-motion solves everything.” This choice of medium requires that all the puppets, even the ones representing humans, be given life by the animators. The very making of the film mirrors the journey of the wooden boy himself. As a result, del Toro creates a world that visually equalizes all the characters, thereby drawing attention to the personal qualities that set Pinocchio apart rather than his physical differences. One of the most heart-wrenching scenes occurs when Pinocchio compares himself to the wooden crucifix that adorns the town church. Pinocchio gazes into the eyes of the audiences both inside and outside the film and asks, “He’s made of wood, too. Why does everyone like him, not me?”

The crux of del Toro’s Pinocchio centres on the question of whether or not it is always right to teach children obedience. Carlo Collodi’s original tale and Walt Disney’s famous adaptation both indicate that this is the case. Good, obedient children are rewarded while bad, disobedient children are punished. The very transformation of Pinocchio from a wooden puppet to a real boy hinges on this moral. By positioning the story of Pinocchio in the midst of fascist Italy, however, del Toro pushes the concept of obedience to its extreme. In this version, Pinocchio cannot achieve life by following the rules and being a good boy. In del Toro’s story, to be curious about the world, to play without abandon, and to indulge in childish desires is to be truly alive. That is what makes a “real” boy.

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And indeed, it seems that content about the hyper-wealthy truly has dominated entertainment in recent years. In the number of weeks since its release on December 23, Glass Onion has become the third most-watched movie Netflix has ever released. HBO’s recently aired second season of The White Lotus has become a massive hit met with widespread critical praise. Triangle of Sadness, from Swedish director Ruben Östlund, was also commercially successful as well as well-received by critics, winning the Palme d’Or at this year’s Cannes festival. Other popular films and TV series in recent years are similarly concerned with the lives of the ultra-wealthy: Succession, the Gossip Girl reboot, Selling Sunset, Elite, Inventing Anna, and The Dropout are all examples. Many of these have become viral sensations, and several were even nominated for Emmys in 2022. 

These stories often contain valuable underlying political messages about power dynamics and wealth. The actions of the characters are defined by who works for who, their relationships by those who have and those who have not. The uber-wealthy guests in The White Lotus are generally selfish and flawed, exemplified by how they treat the hotel employees as disposable. Tanya in particular crosses all boundaries of respect with her assistant Portia, abusing her conference of wealth and privilege. Similarly, in Glass Onion, all the characters are subservient to the ultra-wealthy Miles Bron, treating him with deference and respect because of the power he wields over them due to his great wealth. And in Triangle of Sadness, scenes depicting the extent to which the ultra-wealthy demand subservience from  the employees and staff that surround them are excruciating and uncomfortable to watch, demonstrating the dehumanizing power wielded by the ultra-rich. 

Yet I wonder if this anti-capitalist political message becomes lost amidst the spectacle of wealth in such content. The lives of the rich sure are entertaining – beautiful and fantastic, even. When watching The White Lotus, I couldn’t help but gape at the magnificence and beauty of the show’s setting, marveling at how much I would like to stay in a palazzo in Sicily. I found myself coveting Harper’s chic and quietly luxurious wardrobe, composed of luxury brands like Loewe, Sandro, and Bottega Veneta. The dark, luxurious-looking wood interiors and the bright, clear pools on the sundeck of the cruise in Triangle of Sadness were equally enticing. And Miles Bron’s elaborate, exclusive private island in Greece situated right in the middle of the Aegean Sea is certainly seductive. It’s clear that the producers of these works have invested in the image and spectacle of wealth, and it sure looks sexy. 

And yet it is also true that by the end of these stories, the seduction and spectacle of wealth has often shattered. In The White Lotus, it is the hotel employees that wind up on top, as the audience watches the interpersonal relationships of the guests implode. In Glass Onion, Miles Bron is exposed as a fraud and gets the retribution he deserves. And in Triangle of Sadness, the rich guests all drown after violently losing their dinner in a literally stomach-turning scene, while those remaining are subject to the authoritarian rule of Abigail, who formerly worked as a crewmember on the ship.

These instances of retribution are certainly satisfying. After watching these ultra-wealthy characters be aloof and entitled assholes to everyone around them, one can’t help but cheer while watching them get what they deserve. Yet this begs the question, is this satisfying because of a cognizant political condemnation of the hyper-wealthy? Or is it simply pleasurable to watch shitty people – particularly those who seem to have everything you yourself could ever want – get what they deserve? 

I’m certainly not one to talk, as I’m just as hooked on these shows and movies as everyone else. I wonder, however, if the massive success of this burgeoning genre depicting the ultra-wealthy really needs to continue. I can imagine that television and film producers across their respective industries are trying to come up with the next hit like Succession or The White Lotus. But do rich people really need more representation? I argue that the sheer amount of content currently being produced about “rich tears” – about a group of people who only make up a small percentage of the world’s population – is concerning and unsustainable. And while it certainly is satisfying to watch the ultra-wealthy fall down from their spot atop the social hierarchy, the inundation of content pointing out the flaws of ultra-wealthy fictitious individuals in ways that are voyeuristically pleasing and entertaining to the audience is not truly a meaningful way to deconstruct privilege and wealth. While this trend itself is not inherently problematic, I worry that the future of television and film will stray further from telling the experiences and stories of low- and middle-class people, skewing representation towards this alluring spectacle of wealth.

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Ajuinnata (“aye-yoo-ee-nah-tah”) means “to never give up and to commit oneself to action, no matter how difficult the cause may be.” In choosing this name for the series, the Office of the Provost and Vice-Principal (Academic) writes, McGill seeks “to recognize the Inuit studying, researching, teaching, and working in the McGill community, who champion ajuinnata and help move McGill forward.”

The series kicked off with an opening ceremony and exhibitio vernissage at the Macdonald-Harrington Building, where Inuit Qaujimajatuqangit: Art, Architecture, and Traditional Knowledge exhibition and the McGill Visual Arts Collection’s complementary Inuit art installation, Takunnanguaqtangit, remain on display. Professor Celeste Pedri-Spade, McGill’s first Associate Provost (Indigenous Initiatives), addressed a crowd of about fifty people, as did Interim Principal Christopher Manfredi and, via a somewhat off-putting pre-recorded video, Minister of Crown-Indigenous Relations Marc Miller. Isabelle Laurier, the curator of Inuit Quajimajatuqangit, then discussed her goals of integrating Inuit artwork into architecture and of giving Inuit artists visibility in an exhibition that has visited venues across Quebec, Iceland, and Dubai in the last five years. 

The real star of the evening, however, was Inuk elder Reepa Evic-Carleton, who performed a ceremonial lighting of the qulliq, a traditional oil lamp usually made of soapstone and filled with seal oil or whale blubber. Evic-Carleton hails from a small Inuit village on what is known as Baffin Island. When she was six years old, she and her family were forcefully relocated to “the South,” where she has lived ever since and where she once worked as a counsellor and program coordinator for the Ottawa Inuit Children’s Centre. Evic-Carleton may be far removed, by distance and by time, from her home in Nunavut, but she has fond memories of the qulliq. She explained to the audience the many uses of the lamp, among them lighting, heating, cooking, melting ice, and drying clothing. For Evic-Carleton, to feel the flames of the qulliq today is to recall a quieter, more tranquil way of life. “It’s soothing to me, and it’s grounding for me,” she said.

Following the opening ceremony, guests were ushered into the Exhibition Room of the Macdonald-Harrington Building to view the Inuit Qaujimajatuqangit exhibit and to enjoy hors-d’œuvres prepared by the award-winning Inuk chef Trudy Metcalfe-Coe. Having consumed far more than my fair share of feta cheese cups and blueberry-lemon parfait, I was ready to take in the stunning photos, videos, drawings, and sculptures capturing Inuit Qaujimajatuqangit.

Qaujimajatuqangit means “Inuit ways of knowing” and “Inuit ways of doing things.” In the words of Richard Budgell, an Assistant Professor in the Department of Family Medicine and an organizer of Ajuinnata at McGill, “It’s a beautiful term because it’s all-encompassing.” Laurier’s exhibit celebrates the convergence of Inuit art and architecture in the construction of the Canadian High Arctic Research Station (CHARS), located in Ikaluk-tutiak (Cambridge Bay), Nunavut. A competition opened to Inuit artists across the Inuit Nunangat territory – which encompasses Nunatsiavut, Nunavik, Nunavut, and Inuvialuit – solicited drawings and a sculpture from seven artists: Victoria Grey, Ulaayu Pilurtuut, Timotee (Tim) Pitsiulak, Sammy Kudluk, Ningiukulu Teevee, Koomuatuk (Kuzy) Sapa Curley, and Bobby Nokalak Anavilok. The artworks, digitally enlarged to cover the walls and floors of the research station, “illustrate the traditional Inuit knowledge’s contribution to the development of world-class science and technology, showcasing the past and present resourcefulness and inventiveness of the Inuit,” says Laurier.

Inuit Quajimajatuqangit challenges the myth that Indigenous knowledge and traditional knowledge are incompatible with Western science. It recognizes Inuit ingenuity and the impact this ingenuity has on Euro-Canadian enterprises in Canada’s Arctic. While I stood staring at a sunglasses-shaped diagram, a man approached me and asked if I knew what it was I was looking at. He explained to me that they were snow goggles, invented by the Inuit some eight hundred years ago to protect against snow blindness. “The Inuit were geniuses,” the man remarked. Although he used the past tense, it became clear to us both as we circled the exhibition room, continually raising our eyebrows in surprise as we drank in the written wisdom that accompanied the visual presentation, that the Inuit are geniuses still.

You might have missed the opening ceremony and exhibition vernissage, but there’s still time to celebrate Ajuinnata at McGill. All members of the McGill and Montreal communities are invited to attend the following: a screening of the film Three Thousand and a Q&A session with the director, asinnajaq (September 20); a roundtable discussion on Inuit self-governance (September 22); an Inuit games demonstration (September 28); a talk by the curator and anthropologist Krista Ulujuk Zawadski (September 29); the Zacharias Kunuk Film Festival (October 4, 18, and 25); a conversation on Inuit health and wellness (October 17); and a Climate change presentation by Sheila Watt-Cloutier. Members of the Indigenous community are invited to attend a niriqatigiit (“coming together to eat”) with Chef Trudy Metcalf-Coe on September 26.

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