Amy Lloyd, The McGill Daily (MD): Why does the prisoner correspondence project specifically focus on members of the LGBTQ+ community? How does life present differently in terms of queer experiences?
Ivory Tong, The Prisoner Correspondence Project (IT): Well, we focus on members of the LGBTQ+ community because certain groups within the LGBTQ+ community are way overrepresented in prison. For instance, 47 per cent of Black trans women have been incarcerated or experienced incarceration before. But even so, these groups are often forgotten about. Just like when people think about prison, if we think about prisoners at all, they don’t remember queer and trans people go to prison. Even other Canadian prison abolitionist groups have told us, “we’re glad you exist for many reasons. But part of it is because you remind us that this is part of our struggle.” And of course, members of the LGBTQ+ community face certain unique difficulties that other groups in prison don’t necessarily face. It can be very difficult to find your community when you’re in prison, which is what we seek to change with our penpal program and with our newsletter that we send out. It is difficult for me to answer what life is like in prison because I’ve never been inside. But from the letters we get from our members who are inside, people can be very scared to be out, which isn’t to say that everyone who’s in prison is afraid to be out. There’s definitely people up there who are running their own LGBTQ+ support groups in prison, which is amazing. But it can still be a very difficult experience. They can be more likely to be subject to sexual assault. A lot of times trans prisoners, this a noted phenomenon, where trans prisoners who are at higher risk of assault will be put into solitary confinement, allegedly for their own protection instead of protecting them in other ways, which is obviously a form of punishment in and of itself. And of course, it can be really difficult for trans prisoners in other ways, like not being in the prison, but it’s their gender or not being allowed to express their gender.

MD: What has the response been to the project? How is it helped those both in and outside of prison?
IT: So the response to the project has been pretty overwhelming. We started twelve years ago. We’ve gotten a lot of spread in and out of prisons, which is really great. We currently have 4,000 members in our database and about 1,500 members, so that’s like penpals to people. I think that’s affected people’s consciousness. A lot of outside people will similarly say that they never thought about what it’s like for queer prisoners until they found us, or until they watched Orange is the New Black and then Googled “gay prisoners.” On the inside, we get a lot of letters from members that say that they’re glad that someone is thinking about [them], that they feel less alone, that it’s good to know that there’s like a lot of a lot of people like them, which is, again, one of the things that we tried to address with our newsletter, which we send out bi-yearly to about 3,000 of our members who have requested it, where we publish writing from other members so everyone can kind of see what each other is thinking. We’re working on building bridges between those on the inside and the outside, and through the project, people have made amazing friendships. They made friends even after getting out. Like sending each other [letters], just keep[ing] each other updated on their lives. I think it is just really important for understanding for people on the outside who may not necessarily know what someone on the inside has been through.

MD: And on your website, you described letter-writing as a form of allyship. Why is this?
IT: Oh, I think the letter-writing is kind of like the most basic form of allyship. It’s literally just listening to someone and hearing their problems and hearing them describe their lives. Then hopefully someone with the privilege of not being a prisoner [will be] able to share that story or share the experiences that your penpal had [through] this listening and [in turn amplify]their voices.

MD: And you mentioned earlier about trans prisoners being put in isolation. I’m wondering what is the correlation between prison isolation and mental health?
IT: [In regards to] solitary confinement and mental health, it’s pretty startling that any country would continue to use that kind of treatment. I don’t really have the statistics in front of me, but it’s pretty obvious. I think when you think about it, anything about how the UN has considered solitary confinement a form of torture, but pretty much every country should abolish that. It’s not good for you. Prison is already a place where a lot of mentally ill people end up because of the ways that we criminalize and push mentally ill people out of our society. People are far from their family and friends. They can’t get good health care, especially getting mental health care. They face abusive treatment from other prisoners and guards, there is also little to no gender-affirming health care, which can enforce gender dysphoria. So having that compounded with solitary confinement, it’s a pretty severe set of stresses.

MD: And what are some overlooked yet important factors that make prison for queer individuals so dangerous and so harming towards their mental health?
IT: Well, there’s so many. But some factors that I didn’t really think about until I joined the project is that a lot of queer people will have a more limited support system compared to their heterosexual and cisgender counterparts, which is already difficult in and of itself. It can be difficult for people to get money for commissary. So they’re considered indigent, which means that they have to wait to be given envelopes and all of that. So that limits their ability to communicate with other people. Now, obviously, in Canada, making phone calls is very expensive. So if you don’t have a strong support system on the outside that can support you financially like that then you don’t really get to talk to your friends and family. And furthermore, it can actually lead to people who are very vulnerable being targeted by guards. I didn’t really know about this, but apparently guards target people or target prisoners more often if they don’t hear their name being called in the mail room very much because they know that person is more isolated. I really was taken aback by the abuse of power by guards. I’ve seen movies and TV shows about prison, and I always thought it would be [for] dramatic effect. But reading the letters that we get, it is very real. They definitely target people who are more vulnerable.

MD: And what do you think people overlook about those who were present as a significant demographic in regards to mental health struggles?
IT: I think prisoners tend to just be forgotten and set aside in general – that’s how we’ve been raised to think about people in prison – in a lot of cases [those on the outside do] not think [of] people in prison [at all]. [Many] think of people in prison as like a homogenous mass of threatening individuals and not think of them as people with their own identity, who have been through their own struggles who have their own issues, just like people on the outside have issues. And some people will think that people in prison deserve not to get good health care [or] deserve to feel bad because of what they’ve done, which I do not agree with.

MD: And on the website, you refer to this project as a political act. Why should it be considered a political act?
IT: Well, we do things on more of the political side, like outside of the penpal program and our newsletter and our resource library. We are a prison abolitionist group. Even if not all of our members are abolitionists, we hope that through this project people will come to understand a little bit more about why we think that is important. In the past, we’ve done political education, like panels and workshops for people on the outside. And [we in general] tend to raise awareness about the conditions inside prison and how they negatively impact people more deeply based on other aspects of their identity. And then within prison, I think that we’re raising a group consciousness. Like I’ve been saying, people feel less isolated knowing that we’re there and they can see themselves as part of a bigger group that has the ability to change things. And I think that we’re just a political act because we build bridges between people who aren’t in prison and people who are, and people who aren’t in prison learn a lot about what it’s like in prison. And I think that in general, the way that a society chooses to treat people in prison reflects a lot about how society thinks in general.

MD: And lastly, what would your advice be for those who are considering becoming a penpal?
IT: A lot of things are kind of similar to being a good student – being diligent is great, just like not forgetting that you have letters to reply to and not forgetting to go to the postal office. That’s a pretty big step. It can be hard for a lot of people. Being a good listener, learning how to express that through writing. Definitely being open to other people’s experiences, most likely people on the inside have had a very different life. And it can be good to hear about, and […] good to hear about their viewpoint. It’s not something that you necessarily agree with, just understanding and building empathy. And don’t put it off, just do it today. Join the cause.

Readers who are interested in getting involved with the Prisoner Correspondence Project can visit their drop-in hours on Tuesday and Thursday from 3:00 p.m. – 8:00 p.m. at QPIRG Concordia (2100 Guy St #205). General inquiries can also be emailed to info@prisonercorrespondenceproject.com. More information can be found at www.prisonercorrespondenceproject.com.

The post Letter Writing as a Political Act appeared first on The McGill Daily.

SAM aims to be a  forum to serve progressive groups at McGill. They will aim to start discussions campus on  official objectives of the new constitution, including starting discussion on campus involving issues associated with progressive interests; draft and publish shared statements;  coordinate events between groups; create greater institutional memory to improve efficiency for campaigns.along with memories to improve efficiency for campaigns; and issue endorsements of policy and candidates in student electoral politics.

In terms of membership, SAM represents a coalition of numerous groups on campus, each group is awarded one voting representative. Some groups, such as the Daily and the Union for Gender Empowerment, hold observer status, and are non-voting members but are still welcome at meetings. Current voting members are QPIRG, Socialist Fightback McGill, Divest McGill, STAND for Prison Justice McGill, NDP McGill, and Independent Jewish Voices McGill. 

The coalition will be creating social media platforms in order to inform the McGill student body, including email, Facebook, and Instagram account. In terms of event planning, Solidarity Alliance will collect money through ticket sales, for example, and donate said proceeds to a charity that will be decided before the event.

For more information, visit SAM’s Facebook page.

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Venezuela is a petrostate — a small country which is rich in oil — however, wealth only circulates among the powerful few. Furthermore, petrostates rely on exports instead of taxes, meaning Venezuela’s economy is heavily dependent on oil. Ninety-eight per cent of export income is from oil sales, and 50 per cent of Venezuela’s GDP is made up of oil. In 2013, after former President Hugo Chávez died, the economy collapsed. His successor, Nicolás Maduro, inherited an economic crisis that resulted from dropping oil prices. This financial instability led to immense inflation and a shortage of necessary resources such as food and social programs. In response, young citizens began protesting against authoritative security forces, putting pressure on the government to find a solution to the ever-worsening economic state of the country.

The opening night, Thursday January 24, was symbolic for Canadian-Venezuelan playwright Joy Ross-Jones. The day before, Juan Guaidó was sworn in as interim Venezuelan president, replacing socialist leader Maduro. Ten countries, including Canada, have recognized Guiadó as the transitional leader. Hopefully, Ross-Jones stated in her post-performance discussion, this will provide the people of Venezuela access to a fair, non-violent presidential election.

One of the most impressive aspects of Elsewhere was the versatility of Ross-Jones’ acting. As the only performer in the play, Ross-Jones took on the role of six different characters. The first character introduced in the play is a Canadian-Venezuelan woman expressing her griefs about the economic crisis. She is conflicted about her own identity, wondering if she is Venezuelan enough. During the discussion, Ross-Jones explained that this character was not based on herself, but instead embodied the anger Ross-Jones has towards the Venezuelan government, and served as a vehicle to address her own questions of identity.

The second character is a young protester who remains silent throughout the entire play, his part composed of only actions. He is the only character with more than one scene. The silent protester stands for the citizens who feel voiceless.

The third character is a mother and former beauty queen; she at first presents herself as vain, discussing looks and men. However, as her part progresses, she delves into an extremely personal monologue, initially articulating her fear over the safety and well-being of her children. She then addresses the pressures she feels to import goods to sell in order to buy food, and reveals that she is considering a government-sponsored surgery to tie her fallopian tubes. The mother struggles with her decision to get the surgery; she appears confident, but her self-assured persona slowly wavers. Abortion is illegal in Venezuela, and the government announced that they could no longer administer birth control in July 2015 due to lack of resources. Furthermore, a “36-pack of Trojan condoms now costs $755 at the official exchange rate.” A clinic in the Miranda state of Venezuela hosts “special sterilization days,” where free sterilizations are offered. There are 500 women on the waiting list. Considering the insolvent state of Venezuela’s economy, many citizens feel it would be reckless to reproduce in a country without food. In short, taking care of oneself during pregnancy, along with the costs involved with raising a child, is too expensive. Birth control is sold on the black market; it is, however, pricey as well. According to Ross-Jones, the beauty queen represents Venezuela’s history in pageantry and its reputation as a beautiful country, as well as the ways in which this reputation clashes with the current chaotic and desperate state of the country.

The fourth character is a cop who shares his internal conflict about occupying an authoritative position and simultaneously holding views opposing those of Maduro. Though often associated with corruption and control; he, like all citizens, is influenced by fear and coerced into silence. Living in an environment of uncertainty and instability, citizens are fearful of the current political situation, as well as violence and punishment. Those who protest are detained and even murdered. According to the United Nations, 40 citizens were killed and 850 detained during an anti-Maduro protest in January. The cop also expresses concern for his nephew, who he suspects has joined a group of young protesters. He describes finding an adolescent boy lying on the ground, wearing the same shirt as his nephew. The cop’s monologue highlights the plethora of narratives and how they are all interconnected.

The fifth character is an older homeless man struggling with alcoholism. He recalls his past, along with the love of his life, who had recently left Venezuela. He, like many other characters, expresses his concerns about the shortage of food.

The last character is a grandmother, who symbolizes the bridge between the past and present. She speaks of Venezuela during her youth, reminiscing on its beauty and the economic opportunities that were available. The grandmother then transitions into the present, describing robberies she has witnessed and having to wait in line at supermarkets, only to find nothing to eat.

Ross-Jones incorporates masks, hats, and scarves to distinguish each character. Despite wearing the same beige cargo pants and black t-shirt throughout the performance, she continuously alters her shirt (i.e. tying it, tucking it in) to fit the persona she is about to embody. The set was simplistic, with long metal rectangles decorating the stage. Most of the metallic structures were accessorized with hats and masks, each one specific to a certain character. Liv Wright, the set designer, said her inspiration derived from the idea of protest. Cold metals reminded her of empty supermarkets and fences. The final scene of the play included Ross-Jones presenting three diagonal lines of red, blue, and yellow ribbon to represent the Venezuelan flag. By featuring the flag colours, the ending moments concluded on a tone of solidarity and pride. 

The discussion at the end of the show included playwright Ross-Jones, Concordia professor and documentary director Liz Miller, Venezuelan journalist Rafael Osío-Cabrices, the play’s director Cristina Cugliandro, and the Artistic & Executive Director of Imago Theatre Micheline Chevrier. They discussed the importance of including a variety of voices and narratives in storytelling. In doing so, they highlighted the numerous and complex ways in which Venezuelans, both in and outside the country, are affected by the economic crisis. When asked why there was no character in support of  Maduro’s regime, Ross-Jones responded that she could not include a perspective which she failed to understand. It is evident that Ross-Jones is speaking from a personal point of view, which imbues the piece with an authentic and genuine sensibility. Despite the heavy subject matter, she managed to incorporate humorous moments throughout the performance.   

There is no hierarchy between the characters; each person represents a pressing issue. Ross-Jones provides a platform for voices that are currently being marginalized without passing judgement. Playwrights like Ross-Jones are challenging privilege through their art by questioning ideas about who is allowed to speak, both in the governmental system of Venezuela and in a settler-colonial Western context. Western political conflicts are often prioritized in the media over the crises present in petro-states, countries whose resources continue to be exploited. The organizers of Elsewhere ask their viewers to challenge their notions of what constitutes a crisis “elsewhere,” and to recognize the humanity of those affected.

The post The Complexity of Crisis appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Eating Disorder Awareness week at McGill, organized by SSMU runs from February 4 – 8. Sophia Esterle, VP Student Life, spearheaded the initiative with the goal of raising awareness around eating disorders in relation to stigma and McGill life. Below is an interview with Esterle, addressing what the week’s efforts and  problematic attitudes towards eating disorders.

McGill Daily (MD):  What was the driving catalyst behind SSMU’s Eating Disorder awareness week?

Sofia Esterle (SE): I consider this a very important issue, but I think what drove me to put all this energy and time to organize is my personal experience with it. I have experienced an eating disorder while being a SSMU executive. I recovered from it throughout my term. I know how much of an isolating and terrifying experience it can be. I really wanted have a series of events that talks about this issue and spreads resources. McGill is lacking resources for students to deal with eating disorders.There are a lot of societal and cultural issues around the language and habits that are normalized. I really wanted to address those for the Eating Disorder Awareness week.

MD: What does the week consist of? What kind of events will you host to raise awareness?

SE: We’re hoping to have an art show with art related to this topic. The art would be an expression of their experience. This will take place on February 1. On February 2 and February 3,  we’re hosting discussion groups on campus and and in residence. We’ll have active listeners to facilitate. There is going to be workshop on February 4 with someone from the Douglas institute, and on February 5 or 6, there will be a discussion panel with someone from eating disorder treatment centre, Clinique Baca.

MD: What services does McGill offer for those struggling with eating disorders, if any?

SE: They have counseling services and psychiatric services. An eating disorder is a coping mechanism, and those services will help you find someone if you actually can wait until someone is available to see you. They can help you with the issues that may have lead to it. They have two part-time dietations, one of them specializes in eating disorders, and that is great, but it’s definitely not enough resources for enough people to have access to them and to have an actual full treatment.

MD: Does McGill marginalize students that struggle with mental illness?

SE: I think McGill, consciously or unconsciously, creates a narrative that asks: are you “bad” enough? Are you in a state “bad” enough to get resources? We shouldn’t get care  if someone is not “bad” enough.” This attitude increases the difficulty of getting care when you’re going through a mental illness or mental health problems, regardless of degree. Getting help is hard enough as it is. This narrative increases barriers to access, which marginalized students.

This interview has been edited for clarity and length.

To learn more, visit:https://www.facebook.com/ssmueatingdisorderawareness/

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