In the vast snowy landscape of Iqaluit, the capital city of Nunavut, Alethea Arnaquq-Baril narrates a true-to-life image of the cultural practice of seal hunting within Inuit communities. Studying a photo of two joyful toddlers with bright red mouths raising blood-stained bloody fingers, she chuckles at the thought that this playful moment may look bizarre to an outsider.

In popular imagination, the Inuit community of Nunavut is often envisioned living in igloos and idealized as a contained, self-sufficient group that is untouched by the passage of time. Arnaquq-Baril refutes such stereotypes in the documentary, Angry Inuk, screened at Cinema du Parc last month. The film shows how Inuit peoples have not only been subject to evolving thresholds for survival within the growing capitalist economy, but are also excluded from Eurocentric notions of modernity. Illuminating the colonial context in Canada and addressed to a global audience, Arnaquq-Baril speaks to the deteriorating living and working conditions of her Indigenous community as a result of environmental activists’ misrepresentation of seal hunting.

Beyond its value as a food source to Inuit peoples, seal hunting sustains Nunavut’s economic structure through an intergenerational cycle. Inuit peoples use the entirety of the animal: the community is fed, and mittens, coats, and shawls are produced. The seal skins are also sold to the Canadian government. The money made is then used to buy gas as a means to continue hunting in order to feed their family. To complete the cycle, the skills of seal hunting are passed down from generation to generation.

Angry Inuk shows how Inuit peoples have not only been subject to evolving thresholds for survival within the growing capitalist economy, but are also excluded from Eurocentric notions of modernity.

Arnaquq-Baril illustrates the fight and the frustration she faces on behalf of her community when mainstream animal rights activism declines her access to the public conversation on seal hunting. The success of this activism peaked in the seventies when the United Nations approved a ban on seal products in the international market.

In response, the makers of Angry Inuk travelled across the world to lobby the U.N. to abolish it. The documentary follows them in their creation of an online community and the beginnings of their counterprotest. Their efforts, however, would fail in the face of well-endowed anti-seal campaigns.

This ban, although it includes a clause which allows for the Inuit peoples to continue their hunt, has negatively affected the community. Seal skin prices have dramatically declined, which has an impact on all facets of Inuit daily life, especially when a cabbage in Nunavut can cost $27. When the ban was introduced, its disruption amplified the marginalization and oppression Indigenous populations already face, resulting in such bleak consequences as increased suicide rates. With a detailed account of life in Iqaluit, Arnaquq-Baril shows the devastating effects of mainstream animal rights activism on her community.

Angry Inuk presents the anti-seal activist National Government Organizations as near-caricatures that are as absorbed in their cause as they are tragically misguided. The documentary uses illustrations, statistics, and interviews to evoke aggravation in the audience while maintaining a tone of restraint and understated anger. The audience learn that the adorable, fluffy seals are not in danger, and that activist groups exploit the sensationalist image of the teary seal because it produces a huge profit. In reality, all seals are teary, not due to sadness, but due to the harsh cold.

When the ban was introduced, its disruption amplified the marginalization and oppression Indigenous populations already face, resulting in such bleak consequences as increased suicide rates.

By challenging activist groups to reconsider their skewed vision of her lived reality, Arnaquq-Baril demonstrates the violence of climate change activism that ignores the ways of life, culture, and lived experiences of Indigenous peoples. Organizations like Greenpeace use gory campaign images to target Inuit seal hunters, demonizing Inuit communities and perpetuating colonial and racial stereotypes. The celebrity followings of such organizations further undercut Indigenous activism. Angry Inuk calls for change both poignantly and earnestly as Arnaquq-Baril takes a stand for her Inuit community.

Angry Inuk highlights the importance of self-representation and the potency of social media activism. The film challenges traditional anti-seal rhetoric with starkly beautiful images, illustrating a haunting problem that is ultimately unresolved. It also makes clear the audience’s responsibility in relieving the plight of Inuit peoples living in socio-economic marginalization. Inuk anger may not be plastered on multimillion dollar billboards but it is nonetheless essential.

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In the MAI’s cafe-bar, a line-up of speakers kicked off the event, featuring mainly members of the organizing groups as well as one Montreal-based artist. Lori Schuman, the executive director of the Quebec Writers’ Federation (QWF), introduced the QWF to the audience. Speaking mainly of the group’s initiatives and touching briefly on the evening’s theme, Schuman set the partially promotional tone of the event. She presented the act of writing as an act of sharing one’s culture and highlighted that “writers feel compelled to express their views of the world.”

Deborah Forde, executive director of the Quebec Drama Federation (QDF), spoke about the QDF as well as about the challenges faced by visible minorities in the theatre world. She highlighted the “survival of culturally diverse arts, art, and people,” and emphasized the need to make “alliances and build a collective force” to meet this aim.

With cultural diversity merely mentioned at the beginning of each speech by the organizing groups, the discussion felt at times more like a promotional event than a critical look at diversity in the arts. While the speakers each offered a slightly different interpretation of “cultural diversity,” the topic of the event as a whole was far too broad to have left the audience with much insight. Cultural diversity can have any number of meanings, but the speakers, for the most part, reduced it to an aphorism.

The more thought-provoking moments in the event came not from the organizing speakers, but the artists present.

The more thought-provoking moments in the event came not from the organizing speakers, but the artists present. Self-described social artist Salima Punjani, in particular, took the stage to present an artistic, in-depth exploration of Montreal diversity. A photographer and multimedia journalist, Punjani presented her project called “My Montreal, Our Values.” The project, she explained, revolves around “diverse group of people ages 19-67, telling their own stories” and is a “safe middle ground [on which to] explore diversity.” She gave the audience a glimpse of her project with one of the multimedia stories – a video of a day in the life of Gianhi Tran, a francophone woman in Montreal with roots in Vietnam.

Short but sweet presentations by audience members also set off the creative exchange with ten artists who had signed up on a first-come first-serve basis at the beginning of the event, each promoting their art projects in under a minute. Inna Zenona presented a hypno-anthropological theatre troupe; Parker Mah presented his radio project that revolves around storytellers and music lovers. These pieces were true representations of cultural diversity in Montreal and the creativity it fosters.

Amy MacDonald, the production coordinator of the event, told The Daily, “We want to provide places for folks to come to share each other’s experiences and to connect with one another no matter what their mother tongue is, no matter what their cultural background is […] we try to maintain an open door.” This was the real value of the event – the opportunity it provided for artists to share their lived experiences, without having to book an art gallery or launch a Kickstarter page.

Later, in the networking session that followed the discussion, participants seemed open and enthusiastic about their new encounters. Many happily jotted down and exchanged contact information. Regardless of how in-depth this discussion started by ELAN and QDF may have been, it ultimately brought Montreal artists together to take part in an important conversation – hopefully they can focus the conversation and keep it going.

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Fun-A-Day was founded in 2004 by the Artclash Collective in Philadelphia, a group that seeks to inspire creativity and promote art as an accessible form of expression. According to Artclash’s website, the project is designed “to be fun, inclusive, and participatory,” and the annual showcases are free and accessible to all ages. Since 2004, the event has gained popularity and spread across North America, evolving into an annual celebration of art.

The organizers of the Montreal event encourage participants to document their daily efforts for presentation at the February event. They also offer some project ideas on their website for those who are interested, such as reading a zine, writing a letter, or learning something new about your neighbourhood.

“Both projects were about working through various anxieties and learning to gain self-confidence. So they were something like DIY mental health care for me.”

Despite its title, Fun-A-Day is about more than just having a good time. Engaging in a creative experience for just a few minutes each day can also serve as a way to counter stress or depression, as Amber Dearest, one of the organizers, explained to The Daily. “For a lot of people, winter sucks. Especially so in Montreal, where we’ve had record-breaking snowfalls over the last few years, and this current cold snap. Then there are the early sunsets and the rising cost of public transportation, to say nothing of seasonal depression,” Dearest said. “Sometimes you just need something to look forward to, or something to pass the time. This is one way of turning the month into something fun and exciting, to try to forget about the grey days and frigid weather.”

Fun-A-Day also gives participants the chance to share their work and their fun with each other along the way. The event is open to anyone who is interested. According to Dearest, “the majority of participants are queer artists, writers and musicians, punks, and some really lovely weirdos.” These participants are encouraged to share their projects and their progress on the Fun-A-Day Facebook page. Some have commented that they are having a good time; others post clips of music they have danced to for the day, or zine ideas to be put into print. In bringing people together through fun self-care, the event ultimately cultivates an inclusive community where creativity can flourish in Montreal.

Dearest’s personal experience with Fun-A-Day speaks to the variety of ways in which it can be helpful to participants. “Last year, I drew a picture everyday, and the year before that, I experimented in my kitchen and wrote about my relationship to food as a person who was raised in a single-parent working-class home,” she told The Daily. “Both projects were about working through various anxieties and learning to gain self-confidence. So they were something like DIY mental health care for me.”

Self-care, just like creating art, is a process. While winter can be lonely, Fun-A-Day proves that you don’t have to go through it alone. As Dearest told The Daily, “I feel like I’m constantly learning how to work through depression and I have a lot to share – I’m getting really good at this winter survival thing!”

Find out more about this event by checking out their Facebook page. Artclash.com has information about starting an event in your own city, and the Montreal event’s website can be found here.

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To Kanazi, the topic of Palestinian human rights is a personal one, his family hailing from Jaffa, Haifa, and Nazareth, all parts of historical Palestine. His whole family has felt the shock of displacement first hand. In an interview with The Daily, Kanazi explained that his grandmother was forced to leave Palestine when pregnant. He joked that when his mother was born in Lebanon, she “came out of the womb […] and said ‘Where am I?’” His poetry conveys such harsh realities and rages against these oppressions.

At the event, Kanazi juxtaposed his hard-hitting content with an approachable demeanour, introducing himself to the crowd with characteristic eloquence. Kanazi explained that with his poetry, he opposes oppression in a non-violent manner. He acknowledged that many of the issues he describes are unsettling, touching on atrocities which Palestinians experience daily and which most of us in the audience could never imagine. However, he is also firmly unapologetic about this difficult subject matter. Kanazi emphasized at the event that the short amount of time we spend speaking about pain pales in comparison to what a three-second decision by the U.S. government can inflict on the targeted people of Palestine.

Often focusing on brutally real and overwhelmingly personal experiences, Kanazi’s poetry shocked the audience into awareness. Before passionately launching into a rendition of his poem “Tone it Down,” Kanazi shared his source of inspiration for the piece. He was once approached after a poetry reading by two drunk men at the bar in which he was performing. “You’re brown and angry,” shouted a drunk white man, to whom Kanazi considered replying, “You’re a white supremacist.” But he held his tongue and saved his words for the poem, turning his frustration into an eye-opening performance.

“People don’t want dialogue, they want domination,” he boldly claimed in a space where dialogue had been indefinitely postponed just a few weeks before. “Actively investing in oppression is not neutral.”

With titles like “This Divestment Bill Hurts My Feelings,” “An Open Letter To Campus Zionist Groups and University Chancellors,” and “Normalize This,” much of Kanazi’s poetry also pushed against the normalization of violence and the rhetoric of neutrality with regard to the Israel-Palestine conflict. “People don’t want dialogue, they want domination,” he boldly claimed in a space where dialogue had been indefinitely postponed just a few weeks before. “Actively investing in oppression is not neutral.” Kanazi’s voice rang out clearly as he uttered these powerful poems and statements, making it hard to believe otherwise. He stood tall and convincing. In a white t-shirt emblazoned with a painted fist, symbolically colored green, red, and white like the flag of Palestine, Kanazi angrily expressed his disgust as he spoke about “neutral” (read: complicit) university chancellors in the U.S. and in Canada. “This is not [a] two sided [conflict],” he proclaimed.

Kanazi also reminded the crowd of our own complicity in the violence, as our tuition fees are used towards militarization. His poems rejected normalization through complicity. Kanazi’s eyes pierced the crowd as he hit them with phrases like “nothing normal about putting a civilian population on a diet.” Passionate verses like “images of old men/cupping seas of tears/on mounds of crushed homes/and limbs of children” transferred his heartbreak to the audience.

When asked what he would like to accomplish with his words, Kanazi told The Daily, “In the most ideal sense, you hope to inspire people, educate them, and hopefully get them to act.” He explained that poetry is his medium of choice because it is accessible. “I was a freelance writer before I became a poet and I figured […] the average 19-year-old didn’t necessarily want to read an op-ed, or watch cable news, but they’d listen to a spoken word piece.”

This audience was certainly listening. During what he introduced as a series of untitled short poems, Kanazi spoke loudly, pausing after each line so that audience members could absorb the sting of his phrases. Often he would take a single breath in between words, emphasizing different beats to make his performance all the more captivating. The audience was on the edge of their seats, waiting for him to continue. As he spoke about “the sirens” and “batons” that “always seem to have [Palestinian school kids’] names on them,” Kanazi’s words became his own sirens: his voice shook the ballroom and then just as suddenly caused a deafening silence. Holding the microphone in one hand, Kanazi gesticulated with the other, emphasizing the down beats of certain words, as the audience snapped, clapped, and shouted in agreement. The performance itself became a full-body experience for the audience – hearing his words, internalizing their powerful connotations, and then reacting collectively.

Kanazi also expressed that it is important for students to fight against all forms of oppression. “l know that sometimes you feel like you’re one against 35 million,” he admitted. But while one person may not be able to change the world, Kanazi maintained that “those small steps make a big wave.”

Indeed, one of his pieces is rightly titled, “This Poem Will Not End Apartheid.” But while Kanazi may not single-handedly be able to right all injustices, he has at least created an open environment for learning and discussing. For those who have only ever looked at the the Israel-Palestine conflict through an abstract political lens, Kanazi’s performance was vastly enlightening in conveying the harsh realities suffered by the people of Palestine. His words painted haunting images that won’t leave us anytime soon.

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