Hosted by the McGill Institute for the Study of Canada, in collaboration with the McGill Indigenous Studies Program, Vowel’s talk is part of a series called “Books That Matter.” And matter they do — Vowel’s Indigenous Writes is considered essential reading by many within academic circles and beyond. One reviewer, Shelagh Rogers, a broadcast-journalist based in British Columbia, was particularly touched by the book, calling it “medicine.”

Following an introduction and land acknowledgment by Professor Gabrielle Doreen, speaking first in Cree and then in English, Vowel begins by reading a series of tweets she received that morning. The tweets, unabashedly anti-Indigenous, reveal brazen cyberbullying: a digitised enactment of white supremacy and colonialism.

After denouncing the acquittal of Colten Boushie’s murderer, Vowel shifts gears to discuss the portrayal of a shaking tent at the Musée des Beaux-Arts. Vowel liked that the exhibition gave no explanation or translation for the sacred ceremony or its cultural context. She notes that it is not a place or experience that is shared openly but that the artists were able to give the viewer a sense of its feeling, its intensity, without telling them what it was. “I felt like you weren’t going to understand it unless you already knew something about it, and it felt like something for me,” Vowel explained.

In her trademark tongue-in-cheek style, Vowel discredits her own book as a bestseller. “It is ridiculous, in 2018, that anything in that book comes as a surprise to anyone,” she declares, calling it an introductory scope of Indigenous peoples in Canada — stuff we should already know. “The fact that people can still open that up and go ‘Woah, I didn’t know that,’ means that we have a really, really long way to go.”

Vowel feels, after the Colten Boushie verdict, that reconciliation is dead. “I don’t want reconciliation, I want a reckoning,” she clarifies, insisting that the “truth” in “Truth and Reconciliation,”is still missing. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) was established by Canada to address and expose the abuse of residential schools.

The book was born, according to Vowel, in response to people in the comments sections of Indigenous-related news articles, starting with news coverage of the federal government’s audit of the Attawapiskat First Nation in Ontario. Vowel looked up the numbers — which, she noted, are publicly available to anybody — and proved that the actual funds that landed in the community were insufficient to begin with. Yet fellow commenters would shift the conversation from fact to fiction quickly, veering away from the content of the article or Vowel’s research to spout racist comments about the Indigenous community.

The battles in these comments sections, Vowel says, are indicative of the everyday experience of many Indigenous people: “You have to answer to all of these assumptions and stereotypes that people have […] you don’t get to just talk about a shaking tent installation that is so cool.” She adds that in these conversations, Indigenous peoples have to prove every claim they make, whereas non-Indigenous people can spread stereotypes that are believed immediately.

Vowel, who is now the mother of six daughters, wrote the book for two hours a day during her three-month maternity leave for her fifth baby. She shares the ideas she had for covers and titles, which were ultimately rejected by the publishers. The final title, Indigenous Writes, was actually a snarky suggestion by Vowel, which the publishers loved and is now revered by audiences for its wit.

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I did not feel this way during the first week of school. I felt ostracized and alone. I was convinced that everyone around me was succeeding in finding friends while I struggled to keep a conversation going for more than a few minutes. Particularly isolating was the night that Molson residents climbed Mount Royal – I didn’t talk to anyone for most of the excursion. At the top of the mountain, I met a floor fellow and student from another floor, who has since moved out of Molson. I felt better – that is, until I walked back down the mountain alone, coming home to a game of beer pong that I would never want to participate in, nor feel comfortable doing so.

I am confident that I am not the only person who found that night alienating; it is surprisingly easy to believe you are alone in a building of 220 people. But classes started, Frosh ended, and I made friends, found communities, and even felt comfortable enough to run for a Hall Council position. I decided that Molson would only become the experience I wanted if I made it that experience. For me, that meant joining Council, trying a lot of different things, and meeting a lot of different people, until I found what worked for me. ­­I believe that this process, though often uncomfortable, is an important part of life in residence and in university.

Reducing Molson to a boozefest comprised of oppressive displays of heteronormative sexuality, masculinity, and racism does students in Molson and all residences a disservice. Publicly shaming the “Molson lifestyle” as if it is universal not only perpetuates, but validates the stereotype people hold about the residence, just like the description on the Unofficial McGill Guide does. Sometimes, Molson is an oppressive boozefest, but those are usually the same nights that McConnell, Gardner, New Rez, and other residences are also swamped with parties you feel like you can’t escape. Most of the time, Molson’s bark is worse than its bite, and ­­the idea of Molson is much more harmful than the experience itself.

I acknowledge that residence life can be oppressive to students with marginalized identities in ways with which I can only sympathize, rather than empathize. As a queer white woman, my Molson experience has been this: I have felt pressure to go out when I didn’t want to. But this conversation sounds a lot more like “are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” than “she’s so boring for staying home.” I am sure casual sex happens in Molson, but I don’t hear about it constantly because conversations about sex seem to be contained between friends, as one would expect. I tell my friends about the sex I’m having or not having, and they tell me the same. It is definitely not elevator conversation that infiltrates every part of my life.

I agree with arguments that criticize Molson’s problematic culture. However, the ‘Molson problem’ exists in all residences at McGill and on university campuses across Canada and the U.S.. The Molson problem exists because the residence itself exists within a society that has the same problems. For a lot of people, university means freedom, and to a lot of those same people, freedom means drinking and casual sex. This is a reflection of our society, its restrictive alcohol policies, and its systemic sex negativity – not the particular students in Molson. Upper Rez is overwhelmingly white, but so is our university. Molson is a breeding ground for unfettered displays of masculinity because we live in a patriarchal society. Other residences are not exempt from these problems just because they aren’t Molson; to be the most valuable, our criticism of Molson must focus on the systems of oppression that make Molson what it is, rather than the residence itself.

What is the solution, then? One option is to stop buying into the Molson stereotype and to prevent other people from making the same mistake. Eliminating the element of choice in ranking Upper residences could help with this – if Molson, McConnell, and Gardner were pooled together on the residence application, the same people would live in Upper Rez as a whole, but there would be more variety within each residence. For now, when people in Molson perpetuate its oppressive culture, we need to talk about it. By failing to say anything, offer a solution, tell my floor fellows, or even directly address the behaviour, I’m contributing to the problem.

To that end, I’d like to give floor fellows the credit they deserve in this conversation. From the first night, when the group activity was an excursion to a bar on St. Laurent, our floor fellows offered us alternatives to drinking-­related events. Posts in the Molson Facebook group from students and floor fellows alike promote almost exclusively dry events. It is very possible this is not what the author’s floor fellows did, but it needs to be said that this year, the floor fellow role has gone far beyond harm reduction. I believe that progress has been made since the author lived in Molson, and continues to be made thanks to our floor fellows.

I will not deny that, sometimes, I feel uncomfortable in Molson. Sometimes, hearing someone yell “bitch” five times in the common room feels like a Molson-specific problem. Sometimes, I feel like the ten people downstairs playing beer pong every night are living the quintessential Molson life, and that I can’t and won’t ever fit in. But there is so much more to Molson, its 220 residents, its floor fellows, and the way people experience it. Life in Molson can be one-­dimensional, but only if you decide it is. I refuse to do so.

Geneva Gleason is a U0 Arts student. To contact her, email geneva.gleason@mail.mcgill.ca.

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According to the American Enterprise Institute, the average U.S. student will spend over $1,000 on textbooks in 2015 – that’s an 812 per cent increase since our parents went to school, and almost half of the cost of tuition for a Quebec resident. This problem is compounded for students at Canadian universities, thanks to regulations under the Copyright Act, under which Canadian publishers (including Canadian branches of foreign-owned multinational brands) have exclusive rights to import and distribute titles published abroad. This means they are allowed to charge a 10 per cent premium for American titles and a 15 per cent premium for titles from outside North America, usually from the UK, making a $100 book cost $110, and your five $100 books cost $550 – not to mention the profits bookstores make on top of this, the burden of which is then passed on to us students, in addition to our four- or five-figure tuitions.

Even more disturbing is that according to the National Association of College Stores, 77 cents on every dollar spent in the U.S. on textbooks go straight to publishers (which helps to explain the phenomenon of professors assigning textbooks they wrote, since authors only get about 12 cents on the dollar on average). However, while these professors may be getting ripped off by publishers, professors can also be part of the problem for students. A study by the University of Iowa found that the constant revisions to textbooks, one of the main drivers for increasing prices, are largely unnecessary despite the fact that many professors insist on assigning the most recent versions of a text.

Our University is failing to uphold its own principles by not doing its part to make basic academic materials financially accessible.

Students attempt to mitigate the high cost of textbooks in various ways, though a solution isn’t always easy to find. Some point to rental books as an option, but this isn’t available for all textbooks. For example, my Arabic textbooks, which I won’t need once I move to upper levels, would be great texts to rent and return at the end of the semester, but instead I was directed to the Paragraphe bookstore to purchase new copies. Further, rentals are only slightly less expensive than buying the new version – I suspect the steep rental fee is really just a monopoly issue.

There are coursepacks, which, to be fair, release us from some of the monopoly held by the five major textbook publishers in the world. Some coursepacks are available online, which are also available at a cheaper price, but this doesn’t help students who learn best from using paper materials and taking handwritten notes. This also doesn’t allow for students to resell the online coursepack to a student taking the class in the future – which is also hard with paper coursepacks when there are different professors for a class each year.

Online versions of textbooks in general can’t always be the answer, either. In my Russian literature class, for example, there are certain books that really can’t be easily found online, particularly as specific translations are required due to the nature of the course. So I understand, in this case, why these editions were chosen.

Textbooks are also available on reserve in the library, but if everyone relied on that service, there would have to be at least 500 copies of every book for every course taught in Leacock 132. There are interlibrary loans, but this can take time, and again, there are not enough copies to go around for everyone. The viability of these loans also relies on the idea that a book you need will be less in-demand at another university; and for courses with the most expensive books, like biology and psychology, what are the chances that Concordia and UQAM will have extra copies lying around? For students who learn best through active reading (writing and taking notes directly on what they are reading), library loans seriously restrict the quality of learning. Due to the unreliability of many of the above options, many student turn to illegal downloading for popular books, and I don’t blame them.

I know I’m lucky to be from a background that makes these prices an inconvenience rather than a total roadblock. But there are students at McGill and other universities across Canada, as well as other countries with huge price tags on education (I’m looking at you, America), for whom textbooks are the one extra cost that makes education inaccessible, if it wasn’t already. When professors assign specific editions of books, this restricts students from buying used copies. When online textbooks or coursepacks are your only affordable option, you can’t always resell them or buy them used from other students. This can lead to students struggling through courses for which they cannot afford the materials, or avoiding those altogether.

There needs to be an open dialogue between students, professors, and the University about what causes high textbook prices, and what can be done to mitigate them. Professors do have control over what they assign – if specific editions are truly necessary, then assign them, but when they aren’t (and please, professors, be realistic here), recommend multiple books or editions instead of just one. Professors should also try to take advantage of public domains and publicly accessible texts. The University should also prioritize the availability of shared resources in libraries on campus. Textbooks and coursepacks should be available on reserve when classes start, not several weeks later, and having more than a few copies would make the process easier for students and professors alike.

McGill states in its mission statement that it aims to advance learning by “offering the best possible education […] and by providing service to society.” McGill also lists its principles as responsibility, equity, and inclusiveness. As such, our University is failing to uphold its own principles by not doing its part to make basic academic materials financially accessible. If McGill really cares about equitable access to its supposedly prestigious educational experience, it must prioritize guidelines for professors who assign course materials and initiatives to lower the hurdle of exorbitant textbook prices for students.

Geneva Gleason is a U0 Arts student. To contact her, email geneva.gleason@mail.mcgill.ca.

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