Currently, commercial radio and television face varying requirements in terms of playing Canadian content. 35 per cent of popular music content on commercial radio must be Canadian, while for television broadcasters the requirement is 55 per cent. New media outlets, however, put this system in question. When the CRTC recently requested access to Netflix’s information, it received a clear no, sparking a debate among Canadian cultural commentators. The question at the core of this dispute has been the ability of a government regulator to ensure a minimum level of Canadian content in Canada. But is this goal still valid in 2015 – does Canadian content even merit protection?

Canada’s Broadcasting Act sets out the CRTC’s mandate as “serv[ing] to safeguard, enrich and strengthen the cultural, political, social and economic fabric of Canada” while also “encourag[ing] the development of Canadian expression […] that reflects Canadian attitudes, opinions, ideas, values and artistic creativity.”

Although these goals might appear admirable at first glance, underneath the fluffy language, not much is actually being said. What are the Canadian “attitudes, opinions, [and] ideas” in question, and who gets to define them? Broad themes of being overly polite and non-confrontational, such as those depicted in Canadian ‘classics’ like Little Mosque On The Prairie undoubtedly look nice on screen, but in reality present little of the critical self-reflection that Canadian content in a democratic society should provide. When the Minister of Justice conflates terrorism with ‘culture,’ folksy sitcoms on Canadian diversity run threadbare.

It’s only sensible that Netflix should be obliged to give back to the society that it so readily profits from.

The best screen content coming out of Canada is often independent, usually avoiding stereotypical Canadian narratives to tell stories that run deeper. These narratives comes from outside of the large networks. Quebec is a hotbed for such successful, creative content: 19-2, 30 Vies or productions by Xavier Dolan, Denis Villeneuve, and Denys Arcand to name a few. These widespread films have gained critical acclaim in Canada and abroad for their evocative and critical portrayals of Canadians and Canadian life.

To say that English Canada lacks good filmmakers is nonsense: local films like My Winnipeg or short films like The Chaperone similarly shape our perceptions of what we think of as ‘Canadian.’ Rather, what’s clear is the lack of investment in local productions, as opposed to attempts at bland mainstream shows like the new CBC sitcom Schitt’s Creek.

The advent of the internet has, in many ways, been a huge help to local works, as new media provides more accessible avenues to produce and distribute content. When Netflix argued that it need not subject itself to CRTC oversight for online video broadcasting – as it did this past fall before a CRTC commission hearing – its words rang hollow. With millions of Canadians using Netflix, a company that doesn’t pay a dime in HST or GST or contribute to Canadian productions in any meaningful way, it is difficult to imagine that it is under no obligation to support local filmmakers and artists producing Canadian content. Online giants embody the same monopolistic qualities that the CRTC strives to regulate in terms of other service providers – it’s only sensible that Netflix should be obliged to give back to the society from which it so readily profits.

The best Canadian television content comes out of local directors and actors that receive little exposure on the larger media circuit run by the big networks. This is a mistake. One such example is Orphan Black, a sci-fi drama written, filmed, and produced in Toronto, as an example of high- quality television made in Canada and produced by BBC America.

The best Canadian television content comes out of local directors and actors that receive little exposure on the larger media circuit.

The investment in and development of shows like Orphan Black speaks to the quality of ‘made-in-Canada’ productions that the CRTC content restrictions indirectly facilitate. If they were to foster a space for Canadian productions, larger networks would gain this pool of talented filmmakers, directors, and producers to draw from. Protecting and supporting our local artists, screenwriters, and producers is a win-win situation, even for Netflix – the more quality content is produced, the more quality content Netflix has to distribute. Canadian networks may complain that they cannot afford to support locally-grown content in a competitive field of content providers, but the issue is a circular one: without exposure, Canadians are less likely to know what’s being created in their own backyards.

Ultimately, Netflix’s ability to provide Canadians with access to different media content is simply the next step in commercial broadcasting. The CRTC does not and should not constrain Netflix – this would be both overly restrictive and beyond the mandate of the CRTC itself, to facilitate, not control, Canadians’ access to online media. Rather, it’s the role of intermediaries like Netflix, Google, and large Canadian networks to invest in the type of local content that demarcates us in a globalized and intertwined world. These filmmakers’ stories provide alternative narratives; they show us parts of Canada that some of us might never otherwise know.

Individual Canadian viewers, of course, are the final arbitrators of what is considered worthy television to watch – American, Canadian, or the like. The protection of Canadian content should not constrain this selection process, but rather add to it with content that would not be generated otherwise. The current system needs to evolve to better capture the core of Canadian content – the local talent that is driving it forward. It’s seems only reasonable then, Netflix included, that we all do our part.

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“I think that I may be the voice of my generation –or at least a voice of a generation.”

Lena Dunham will probably be overshadowed by this sentence for the rest of her career. The fact that Hannah Horvath, the main character in Dunham’s Girls, was high on drugs when she made this pronouncement, seems to get lost in the popular discourse that Girls has sparked in the media, online, and around the dinner table. Dunham is hailed as an icon, a maker of media, culture, and style, and a role model for young women. The popular rhetoric around her show ranges from discussion on the everyday abuse that modern women face, to the perpetuation of the negative perceptions of women that Dunham’s work strives to overturn.

Responding to these sexist themes in media representation of Dunham and women in general, Concordia Masters students Chelsea Barnett and Dane Stewart created Free Press Libre, a monthly anti-oppressive art event that addresses “the lack of formal opportunities to respond to the media” concerning different cultural issues. In Free Press Libre’s first event “Girls: The Voice of a Generation(?),” Barnett and Stewart took aim at the media’s portrayal of Dunham’s work, inviting a variety of artists to contribute to the conversation. Through performances, essays, video compilations, and personal narratives, the evening brought a raw outlook on the discourse of Girls that some might say has been exhausted since it first aired three years ago.

The artists engaged with Dunham’s work and the subject of women in the media in a multitude of ways, their presentations balancing between a focus on individual stories and collective experiences. Gillian Sonin, a Concordia artist, presented a personal perspective, exploring Dunham’s importance to her by recounting a trip to see Dunham speak in Boston. Sonin’s highly engaging narrative mapped out her relationship with Dunham’s depiction of the lives of women that, as she put it, gives her “shivers of recognition” and an incredible “[sense] of consciousness.” As a Masters student focusing on naked performativity, Sonin described how Dunham’s casual use of nudity in Girls allowed her to reflect on the way the world sees women’s bodies and the pain inflicted upon them.

Stewart’s presentation was less about Dunham’s importance as a cultural figure and more about how her cultural figure is the subject of abuse. Through article exerpts, he depicted the jarring framing of Dunham by well-renowned authors in the media and questioned the foundations of their criticisms, pointing out how they are often premised in demoralizing and insulting characterizations of the female body. Frances Maychak, on behalf of the Sexual Assault Centre of the McGill Students’ Society (SACOMSS), also addressed representations of sexual violence and consent in the TV show.

Building off of Sonin’s use of the autobiographical narrative, but less directly about Dunham and Girls, the most organic presentations of the evening were a series of “Subway Essays.” Essay readings by Barnett and Dylan Boyko allowed for a moment of reflection on the complex circumstances in which sexual assault often occurs, and the strength of these survivors who carry on – particularly in light of Dunham’s work exposing these abuses for what they are: abuses. An essay by Boyko on the “silent heroes” surrounding him on public transit demonstrated the beauty and strength in the everyday, explaining that the seemingly innocuous city dwellers are “interesting because they’re unaware of their own importance.”

Although remarked upon but never tackled head-on, numerous artists identified the race and class privilege of women portrayed in Girls as problematic, but ultimately defined this issue as distinct from the value of Dunham’s narrative. This critique of privilege seemed to be bubbling underneath many of the artists’ comments and behind questions from the audience. Solomon McKenzie and Ruby Sniderman featured perhaps the most explicit acknowledgement of the show’s privilege in a satirical skit that stated “we should be asking why POCs [people of colour] aren’t getting shows.” However, the evening would have seriously benefited from a more critical approach to the show. A more nuanced lens would have allowed for a far more engaging and open discussion of oppressive discourses not only in media but also in Dunham’s own show.

That said, the nature of the works presented and the depth of narratives told added a refreshing perspective on the misrepresentation of women in Western society that so many cultural critics demonstrate when addressing Girls. Encouraged by Dunham’s lead, the evening was a show of strength and, most importantly, of women’s voices being clearly heard.

In an earlier version of this article, The Daily incorrectly stated that Laura Bates represented SACOMSS at Free Press Libre’s anti-oppressive art night to speak about sexism. The article also incorrectly stated that “We should be asking why POCs aren’t getting shows” was the title of the satirical skit.

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The prize winning photo, by John Stanmeyer for National Geographic, ushers in newcomers to the exhibit with its depiction of migrants on the coast of Djibouti, looking for a cellular signal. As figures seemingly congregate toward the sea under the pale moonlight, the image serves as a perfect example of how the World Press Photo exhibit challenges perceptions – in this case countering mainstream media’s often condescending or derogatory reporting on migrants. As juror Susan Linfield noted, “So many pictures of migrants show them as bedraggled and pathetic…but this photo is not so much romantic, as dignified.”

The selection of the image for its subtle representation of seeking within the unknown markedly avoids the more common tropes associated with photojournalism: rather than choose an image of war or suffering, the level of abstractness in the image provides it with an engaging level of depth. The photo goes beyond figures simply standing on a beach, and evokes ideas of movement and transience.

These same themes can also be traced throughout the various photo categories presented by the exhibit. In the Nature segment, a series of still lifes on Norwegian fishing hamlets depicts their slow and inevitable decline, while also showing an Egyptian migrant drying cod where locals have ceased doing it themselves. This migratory theme interplays with that of transience, as images of demolished cities in the Philippines, and of a man and woman embracing in the rubble of a Bangladeshi garment factory, call for a reflection on the fleetingness of life and the momentary nature of the photos themselves.

In selecting the finalists, the head of the jury panel, Gary Knight, stated that the choice of images by the jury would be based on their photographic quality and that the jury would refrain from any editorializing, beyond what the photographers themselves were striving to achieve. This internalized approach is not uncommon in judging competitions; however, in the case of World Press Photo, some concern has been raised as to the existing business relationship between Stanmeyer and Knight, co-founders of VII Photo Agency. David Campbell, the current secretary of World Press Photo, addressed the controversy by detailing the extensive steps taken in the voting procedures to ensure transparency, going so far to say, “There is simply no basis in evidence for questioning the conduct and integrity of Gary Knight, the general jury chair, who at all times created an open environment for free debate on all entries.” Given the multiple levels of voting, as well as the anonymity of jurors’ selection and a point-based system, it’s difficult to suggest anything out of the ordinary (Knight was unable to recuse himself due to World Press Photo rules).

More disconcerting were the statistics released in the same blog post with reference to photographers and the contributions: only 14 per cent of entries came from female photographers, and a little under half of the images originated in Western countries, with two thirds of the panel composed of either Europeans or Americans.

The accompanying exhibits also deserve mention, if only to emphasize the quality of their parent show. The ICI Radio-Canada section mostly misses the opportunity of playing off the photojournalism aspect of the show. With a variety of televisions playing reruns of Radio-Canada’s reports from the events pictured in the gallery, the lack of earphones or subtitles indicating what was being said gives the impression that journalists are simply talking heads. The most unfortunate of the three additions is that of Nightlife Magazine. Under the heading of the Montreal “Cultural Scene,” images of electronic concerts and revellers are jarring, falling flat after the complexity of the main show. Oxfam-Québec, on the other hand, provides for an uplifting collaboration curated by William Daniels, a former World Press Photo winner, featuring images of ‘micro-enterprises’ in Benin coordinated by Oxfam. However, despite Daniels’ addition, the exposés fail to grasp the transitory theme of the show and the depth of photography it illustrates.

The 2014 World Press Photo gallery, while perhaps lacking in a diversity of perspectives, is a collection of challenging and thought-provoking images that will resonate with viewers on each stop of the gallery’s international tour because its themes are, indeed, universal.

The World Press Photo gallery runs until the 28th of September at Marche Bonsecours, 325 rue de la Commune Est. See http://www.worldpressphotomontreal.ca/for more details.

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Be it as it may, as Quebecers line up behind their respective parties, the hypothesizing and daydreaming of an independent Quebec is already taking form. Although the PQ is playing coy on setting a date for a future referendum – as they have done since losing in 1995 – talk of a Quebec nation’s borders, monetary policy, or even passports consistently remain in the news. One topic that gets consistently forgotten, however, is the place of Quebec’s First Nations in the discussion. The laws binding Indigenous peoples to Canada are negotiated through treaties with the Crown and First Nations; not Quebec. With respect to Quebecers, on the questions of sovereignty, identity, and self-determination, many Indigenous peoples consider themselves worlds apart.

‘Nation to Nation’

“We have our own idea of sovereignty,” said Bethany Douglas. Douglas is a Mohawk from Kahnawà:ke, a reservation just outside Montreal, and a graduate of Concordia with a Bachelor’s degree in History. “Our [governing] Bound Council [and] Band Council cards are [both] established through the Indian Act.”

The Act sets out the rules governing Canada’s First Nations peoples with respect to the organization and formation of Band Councils. It also deals with the regulation of various administrative processes on reserves, even encompassing rules on spending. Within reserves, there are various other decision-making bodies. In Mohawk communities, for example, institutions such as the Longhouse serve as a focal point of traditional decision-making where the community comes together and discusses issues with the goal of finding consensus.

The Indian Act is deeply problematic for many reasons, and the Act in and of itself isn’t a treaty: it’s a piece of legislation. But it’s true that, as Mohawk journalist Irkar Beljaars said, “Our treaties are with the federal government, not with Quebec.”
The Royal Proclamation signed in 1763 sets out the basis for the relationship between the Crown and First Nations, recognizing Indigenous title and governance. At the basis of this recognition is that of Indigenous nationhood. It’s an important distinction when it comes to Quebec, because discussions with Indigenous communities about sovereignty aren’t just about recognizing the legitimacy of Indigenous voices; they’re ‘nation to nation’ talks.

Not so, argued the Quebec government in 1995. The then-PQ government, led by Jacques Parizeau, claimed that in the event of secession, the treaties governing First Nations would be transferred from Ottawa to Quebec. Problematically, such a claim runs up against the very notion of the ‘nation to nation’ negotiations that are required of Canadian governments in discussion with First Nations. Simply transferring treaties without Indigenous consent goes against the very rights of determination that First Nations have been fighting to maintain over the centuries. Separatism in this form, as far as Beljaars is concerned, would be “just another form of colonialism.”

A fraught relationship

The interactions between the Quebec government and First Nations over the years have sometimes been complicated. “[Since the Oka crisis in 1990], there have been some improvements, but not enough,” said Beljaars. Indigenous communities are spread out across Quebec, with, to name just a few: Mohawk communities around the island of Montreal, Mi’kmaq peoples in the Gaspe region, the Cree to the North, and Inuit peoples to the far, far North. In the case of an independent Quebec, Beljaars added, “There will be a lot tension because Aboriginals don’t want to sign treaties with Quebec.”

Negotiations with First Nations have figured into the post-secession game plan. Both the 1995 and the current PQ election platforms envisage creating a National Assembly to write a Quebec constitution that includes First Nations participation, and replacing the Indian Act with a law more “adapted to the current realities,” according to the party’s platform. As of press time, the provincial Liberal Party’s platform contains no mention of Indigenous issues; its 2012 election platform is similarly vague.

“There isn’t much difference between the PQ and the PLQ,” Beljaars said bluntly. “For the political parties in question, First Nations issues are a second or third afterthought.” Although the PQ promises to increase housing, particularly in the North, government inaction is considered to be the norm. “It sounds good on paper to promise anything, but nothing ever comes of it,” replied Douglas flatly when asked about political promises.
The right to self-determination, drawing on Quebec’s distinct language and culture, forms the basis of the PQ mandate for separation. But it’s difficult to imagine seceding from Canada where Indigenous title consists of large swathes of territory and trust in political negotiations is weak at best. Many on reserve First Nations have little interest in Quebec political discourse and engagement.

“We don’t vote in provincial or federal elections,” said Douglas. “Engaging in them would be recognition of a foreign government that isn’t First Nations.” This position would be a significant roadblock to any kind of move towards Quebecois nationhood that would take Indigenous communities into consideration. The Cree people of northern Quebec have made clear their interest in retaining a relationship with Canada, which would be a serious concern to any newly seceded Quebec, considering the hefty amount of electricity generated in the James Bay area on Cree territory.
“The Cree are on some very valuable land that will come under dispute,” said Beljaars. “And [if it does,] Canada will definitely have some claim to Quebec’s north.”

The PQ’s insistence that negotiations with First Nations take place alongside consultations of other minority groups ignores the rights that Quebec’s Indigenous people have that go beyond legal title to their lands. The PQ’s current electoral platform, notably including its Charter of Values, grates on any idea of fair and considerate treatment of First Nations. “How would they improve relations with first nations if they can’t even build relations with minorities?” said Ikar. “[Pauline] Marois is using her ideology to instil fear in white Quebecers and promote her own political agenda.”

A Two Row path

The lack of understanding exhibited by politicians is one that fails to appreciate the political and cultural rights of First Nations people compared to those of the majority of Quebecers. A way that one might envision the situation is through the Two Row Wampum Treaty signed between the Iroquois and Dutch settlers in the 17th century. Drawn on a white belt, the treaty is symbolized by the separation of two parallel purple lines on a white backdrop, one representing a canoe of the Iroquois, the other that of settlers. “We can co-exist, but never touch,” said Douglas.

The settler-Indigenous nexus in Canada remains a difficult and complex question; however, as often is the case concerning Indigenous affairs, politicians have shown little appetite for discussing the realities, cultural, legal, or otherwise, of engaging with Quebec’s Indigenous groups regarding sovereignty in any meaningful way. Ultimately, the question of a sovereign Quebec is not one that a majority of Quebecers could unilaterally decide on. Rather, historical treaties and obligations between First Nations people and the government, federal or provincial, demand a commitment to First Nations’ right to decide which country they want to be bound to, regardless of the outcome of a referendum.

Alas, the experiences of 1995 suggest that even if there is a referendum in the next few years, Indigenous voices will be once again sidelined.
A future sovereigntist government might prefer to ignore the hypocrisy of denying First Nations’ right to self-determination in promoting their own. First Nations rightfully may think otherwise.

To see a parallel piece on separatism, from a historical perspective, see Monolithic? I don’t think so.

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Monolithic? I don’t think so | Another idea of sovereignty

Alice Shen | The McGill Daily