Every year, March 8 serves as a benchmark to gauge the causes that women are fighting for, a moment to reflect on the progress of last year’s concerns, and on the wave of new ones that have since emerged. This year, indignation towards legislative amendments in the province dominated demonstrations in Montreal and Quebec City, with thousands of participants protesting recent changes including threats to religious freedoms, reductions in women’s access to healthcare services, and narrow immigration policies.

A notable point of contention is the government’s ongoing pursuit of secularism. While in 2019, Bill 21 initially banned public service workers, like teachers, from wearing religious symbols in the workplace, last October, Bill 94 went a step further, prohibiting school staff, volunteers, and students from doing the same. According to CBC, the Quebec government intends to “defend equality between men and women,” though the bill can often carry out the opposite effect. Dolores Chew, a member of Women of Diverse Origins, the group who organized the march, explained that “women who wear hijabs are going to lose employment, making them economically dependent.” Thus, instead of reversing the effect of patriarchal power dynamics, measures like these reinforce them. The consequences of Bill 94, which encourages women to choose between faith and involvement in civil society, are already evident. In January, the Riverside Elementary School in Montreal banned Sabaah Khan, a mother who had volunteered at the library for 8 years, for wearing a hijab due to its compliance with Bill 94. Furthermore, the new secular proposal of Bill 9 expands the current restrictions on religious attire to subsidized daycares and private schools, in addition to banning prayer spaces and religious foods in public institutions.

Another central issue among protesters is women’s access to healthcare. Funding and staff shortages have led to the temporary closure of obstetrics clinics across the province. In the last few months, several women have had to travel hours to give birth due to a lack of professionals or clinics near them, particularly in the Gaspésie region in eastern Quebec. As reported by CBC, a member of the Parti Quebecois and a health critic, Joël Arseneau, denounced the government’s idleness, which treats women in the Gaspé like “second class citizens.” Those without access to public health insurance face even more obstacles, since the community groups that are meant to help them also face severe funding drawbacks from the provincial government. Moreover, intimate partner violence reports in Quebec tripled from 2015 to 2024. The rise in reports throughout the decade might not only reflect the quantity of cases, but also an increase in women reporting violence to the police. In the first three weeks of 2026, at least four men killed women in a context of intimate partner violence in Quebec. Additionally, women’s shelters are in demand now more than ever, with the housing crisis and limited access to the appropriate resources women need to leave dangerous situations.

Furthermore, the stricter immigration policies in the last few years have created an especially precarious environment for female immigrants. Filipino protester Deann Nardo, from Migrante Quebec, claims women of colour who immigrate to Quebec are more vulnerable to “exploitation and abuse,” both at home and in the workplace. These women are more than 20 per cent more likely than men to arrive in Canada with spousal status. They are put in precarious situations where the right of many immigrant women to remain in the country depends on their partner’s employment. This systemic economic dependence binds them to their partners resulting in not only a lack of self- sufficiency, but also a difficulty in leaving a patriarchal household. While open work permits were a gateway into finding employment, now, with greater restrictions on the eligibility of spouses and dependents, financial autonomy for immigrant women seems even further away.

The provincial instability mirrors a broader concern. On a global scale, the ascension of the far-right threatens the security of women’s rights. “There’s a rise in anti- feminist discourse,” says Anne- Valérie Lemieux-Breton, the coordinator of the social services group Regroupement des Groupes de Femmes de la Capitale- Nationale. Québec Solidaire (QS) leader Ruba Ghazal highlights how hateful comments online targeting female public figures discourage many women from continuing to share their views online. She partly attributes targeted online harassment to “a rise in misogynistic and masculinist discourse, even in schools.” Montreal-based author, India Desjardins, shared a recent comment in which she was targeted on one of her posts: “You’re a crazy bitch. Go get help.” Ghazal defends the importance of not trivializing such violence, as well as the need for a service that addresses the issue and helps victims feel safer. The QS leader claims “There is a lot of work to be done to educate and raise awareness among the population.”

International Women’s Month is here not just as an opportunity to celebrate all that women have conquered over centuries of oppression. It’s a reminder that systemic barriers against equality perpetually rig the game, and that women of colour constantly find themselves in a lose-lose. In this political climate, women like protester, Mathilde Leduc, are fearful that “the rights that we had will disappear over time.” Though standing tall March after March is a tiresome battle, we’re still standing, as resistance is imperative so that no woman is left behind.

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It doesn’t take long at McGill to get a good sense of the university’s culture. As a highly-ranked anglophone institution, McGill attracts students from across the country and around the world. It’s fair to say that for many who move here to study, the school itself is the main selling point, not the city of Montreal. It appears that everything we need is right here on campus.

And maybe that’s a problem. Despite sitting at the heart of Canada’s second-largest city, McGill’s self-sufficiency isolates us from the broader Montreal community while fostering a culture of its own. With access to food, sports, leisure, healthcare, and social activities of every sort on campus, it’s easy to be disincentivized from exploring the rest of the city. We become entrapped by the idea of the McGill bubble, a subconscious limitation of our scope of the city to the McGill Ghetto and Milton Parc area. We’ve normalized taking the city and the province’s complex cultural fabric for granted, living at McGill but not truly in Montreal.

Justine, an exchange student from Sciences Po, became immediately aware of this social detachment between the campus and the city. She described how, if you live near McGill, you’ll naturally end up spending most of your time around campus. It’s not unreasonable to imagine a routine where you can grab coffee, go to class, have lunch, hit the gym, join sports clubs and activities, and even attend your medical appointments all within the comfort of McGill’s downtown campus. “It’s like a city within a city,” she says. Staying in this convenient microcosm makes an Opus feel like a luxury rather than a necessity, insulating downtown McGillians even more while limiting their gateway into all the city of Montreal has to offer. If you stop to think about it, the farthest many students have ventured in the last two weeks was likely a 15-minute walk to a club on Saint Laurent.

Thinking beyond convenience, International Development student Olivia suggests that the ‘bubble’ could also be a product of community building. She argues that “part of what makes the McGill bubble so profound is that a large part of McGill isn’t just from Quebec: the students from France stick with each other, just like the Torontonians and the Americans.” Olivia specifies that this is a cycle that begins when we first move into student residence. We form bonds with people who share similar backgrounds and create our friend groups in these limited spaces, rarely reaching out to students at Concordia, UQAM, and UDeM. After living in the McGill Ghetto for four years, Olivia is excited to “finally move from McGill to Montreal” after graduating. It will as she says, give her a chance to experience the city in a new light.

For those of us who won’t stay and fully experience this astounding city after finishing our studies, there are many other opportunities to exit the bubble. Keona Gingras, a 4th-year Linguistics student from Toronto, shared that bursting the bubble can be as easy as exploring the city’s bustling art scene. With countless concerts, plays, museums, and festivals throughout Montreal, there’s always an excuse to explore somewhere new. Bursting the bubble can also translate to hitting a pub in a new corner of the city to watch a hockey game, striking up a conversation with a local, joining sports groups in the park, or meeting someone new on a night out. If all of this sounds overwhelming for your social battery during midterm season, try these out when you have more breathing room in your schedule — stay for March break, explore for a bit of the summer, or dedicate a weekend to discovering a new neighbourhood.

McGill coddles us with unbound convenience, and in many ways, we’re privileged to have such an ecosystem at our disposal. But the real privilege should be being here at all: in a vibrant metropolis beyond our campus gates. At the end of the day, the ghost of the McGill bubble amounts to the choice of being accommodated. Burst the bubble. Choose differently. I dare you not to fall in love with the real Montreal.

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In response, the Canadian government has devised new immigration policies as part of their 2026–2028 Immigration Levels Plan, which aims to recalibrate the immigration system to lessen the pressure on these sectors. Their overarching objective is to reduce immigrant intake and limit admission to favour those who meet certain criteria. These include higher job qualifications, proficiency in French, and skills in provincially-determined sectors of the economy.

The new policy restricts the number of permanent resident admissions to 380,000 in 2026. Of the permanent resident candidates, the government seeks to prioritize those who fall under “economic immigrants”: newcomers with high economic potential based on their work qualification and competence for particular jobs. This encompasses the Minister of Immigration Lena Metlege Diab’s push for the Provincial Nominee Program (PNP), in which provinces select immigrants with backgrounds in areas of labour based on particular economic needs. The remaining permanent residencies will be allocated to family reunification and humanitarian aid for refugees and protected persons.

From 2018 to 2024, the number of temporary residents in Canada more than doubled, increasing from 3.3 to 7.5 per cent of the population. With the new Immigration Levels Plan, the department of Immigration, Refugees, and Citizenship Canada (IRCC) wishes to lower this number to below five per cent by 2027. The overall number of study permits issued was capped in January 2024, eliciting a downward trend of admitted international students. While nearly 675,000 temporary residents entered Canada in 2025, the target for 2026 is 385,000. From these, 230,000 will be workers and 155,000 students, this is 47 per cent lower than last year’s target “economic immigrants.”

Although the policies in the 2026–2028 Immigration Levels Plan do not directly affect current international students at McGill or any Canadian university, they may be an impasse for international students who plan on staying in Canada after graduating. In addition to the Immigration Levels Plan restricting the volume of work and study permits, applicants in Quebec are required to demonstrate higher proof of funds, confirming access to annual funds of $24,617 when applying. Before January 1, 2026, this provincial requirement was $15,509.

Moreover, the significant reduction of temporary permanent residency programs has limited the options of any McGill international student who wishes to remain in Quebec. For example, the Programme d’experience québecoise (PEQ), which was shut down in November 2025, used to allow international students with a CLB level 7 French (intermediate) graduating from Designated Learning Institution (DLI) to fast-track their permanent residency application. Now, this can only be made possible through the Programme de sélection des travailleurs qualifiés (PSTQ). Unlike the PEQ, which offered a predictable pathway to permanent immigration, the PSTQ uses a point system based on specifications like work experience in Quebec, in-demand occupations, French expertise, and educational qualifications, among other requirements, with still no guarantee of admission or acceptance.

2026 marks the start of a less accessible, more economically-driven, and highly restrictive admission process for permanent and temporary immigration to Canada. If this affects your plans for remaining in Quebec or Canada after the duration of your studies, it is recommended that you search for alternatives or check your eligibility for the remaining immigration programs. Do not hesitate to reach out to the International Student Services if you need any further assistance.

The ISS can be reached at https://www.mcgill.ca/internationalstudents/.”

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As a major urban hub in Canada and the most populous city in Quebec, Montreal differs from the rest of the province in terms of its vast linguistic and cultural plurality. This diversity is often perceived as either a threat to the French language, or as an opportunity to embrace the privilege of multilingualism.

If there’s one thing I have learned in my three years studying linguistics, it’s that language changes. All languages spoken today are merely a result of countless natural transformations throughout human development, in spite of longstanding anti- change narratives. These range from Plato’s complaints about the deterioration of Ancient Greek, to Cicero regarding Latin, to critics of Shakespeare’s neologisms. I have also been well trained to notice red flags whenever conservative discourse about language emerges: be it when people claim that contemporary slang is corrupting our speech, or attempt to police how people should and shouldn’t talk. Quebec’s recent Bill 96, which aims to minimize foreign language use in product labels and business signs, raised one of these red flags.

While the history of the French language in the province should be respected and assimilation into Quebecois(e) culture should be encouraged, using a tape measure to check if French writing occupies over 50 per cent of every sign’s surface area is definitely not the way to achieve this. Fining business owners $30,000 CAD for failing to conform to these guidelines is ineffective as a method to foster a new francophone community. The same goes for censoring the cheerful “Go Habs go!” signs in buses for “promoting anglicism,” which not only ignores an attempt to nurture a communal sense of pride among Montrealers, but also inspires more division than unity.

In my conversation with Dr. Charles Boberg, a professor of sociolinguistics at McGill, he explains how both sides of the French language debate are valid. On one hand, he points to the fact that our new mayor Soraya Martinez Ferrada, born in Chile, describes herself as a “daughter of Bill 101,” exemplifying the law’s success at integrating immigrants in Montreal using French. On the other hand, he argues that the tens of millions of dollars spent by the “language police” to reinforce the use of French could instead be allocated to paying bus drivers, supplying hospitals, and improving our schools.

Dr. Boberg also raises the question of how, in Quebec, there is an “ethnocentric nationalist protection of French and only French.” Despite being spoken by 85 per cent of the inhabitants of Quebec, French has been granted far more safeguarding measures than Cree, Mohawk, and Innu-aimun, endangered languages threatened on a larger scale due to historical marginalization.

This leads us to the problematic nature of Quebec’s nationalist approach of equating language to culture. Defining Quebec through the French language alone rids the province of the opportunity to further recognize its rich and diverse culture. This overemphasis on the French language erases the history of immigration and diversity that has been prevalent in the province for generations, particularly in the construction of Montreal. If being Quebecois(e) is defined only in terms of speaking French, what does this mean for the status of new immigrants and anglophones that have resided in Montreal for centuries?

From the standpoint of an outsider, when I hang out with my proud Quebecois(e) friends and observe the cultural unison of francophones, it doesn’t seem to me like French is going anywhere anytime soon. The conservation of the province’s astonishing culture, though, can only be attained from within: from the people’s motivation to speak the language of their grandparents and to keep the tradition going for generations to come. And this can be accomplished alongside welcoming change and the opportunities that new languages can bring.

In the city of “Bonjour Hi,” the eternal English/French debate should be settled by embracing the power in the metropolis’ bilingual identity.

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