For those of you who didn’t actually see “Finding Dory,” the film follows a blue regal tang fish as she searches for her family and confronts short-term memory issues in a harsh ocean reality. This time, Marlin and Nemo accompany her on the adventure from their home-sweet-home – the Great Barrier Reef – to the entirely different world of the Marine Life Institute.

While “Finding Dory” may look like an attempt to simply evoke similar emotions to the highly popular 2003 “Finding Nemo,” it accomplished a much bigger task of building a better narrative around disability. This time, Dory’s story speaks for itself: her experiences of severe short-term memory loss are this movie’s focus, rather than a coincidental addition to a major parable. Dory’s daily struggle of dealing with disability is centered, with its portrayal reflecting the lives of 15 per cent of the world’s population.

Television, and particularly animated movies, constitute a big part of children’s early education, where Disney plays a key part in building a childhood for the viewer through their multimedia influence. The choice of a next cartoon adventure matters, mostly because it will stay in children’s memory for the next few months after many playbacks on a home cinema. With children’s favourite regal blue tang Dory battling disability, her surroundings sensitive and responsive to it, younger viewers are encouraged to develop a deeper understanding and empathetic attitude for disabilities in real life.

“You’re lucky: no memories – no problems” or, Is “Finding Dory” Any Different?

It is not the first time Dory’s memory loss is showcased, but the fact that a whole narrative is built around an active attempt to work through her disability, with her friends beside her, is a step forward from the powerless portrayal that Dory was assigned in “Finding Nemo.” In fact, the first movie also drew a picture of the helpless clownfish Nemo, whose victory over the constant battle with his movement disability due to a smaller right fin was left behind the curtain. Disney applies “the discourse of pity” to conceptualizing their movies, which was first described by philosopher Michel Foucault, and later found to characterize the film scene that features characters with disabilities in Hollywood. “Finding Dory” is moving the viewer to the realm of being empathetic toward and understanding of Dory’s struggle and not solely feeling sorry for her.

Throughout the sequel, Dory has agency, determination and, most importantly, a life story that everybody is eager to discover. Her fearless stubbornness that gets her through the comical journey of the Marine Life Institute is crucial to picturing her personality, making her a role model to other fish in the sea. Martin’s meaningful line “What would Dory do?” in time of crisis might as well be the point when Dory’s role in the movie forever shifts from a secondary character with a disability to defining her by anything but disability.

What effect does this portrayal have on children and teens? The 2016 hit gives its young audiences an idea of an everyday reality that is challenged by circumstances, which a person with a disability is often unable to control. “I remember like it was yesterday. Of course, I don’t remember yesterday that well,” says Dory reminiscently in her search for her family. Her accessible monologues and contemplations are meant to bring the viewers closer to the screen through their relatability, except that Dory’s unstable memory prevents her from experiencing some feelings and situations in the same way as others, exposing children to non-normative ways of experiencing the world.

In the end, “Finding Dory”’s narrative is built upon the belief that one has to be exposed to disability in order to comprehend its crushing force and develop empathy. This shift in attitude is in itself a breakthrough in children’s education that has throughout time taken a more ‘protectionist’ approach to learning.

Representational past, present, and future: did it get better?

Disney’s impact in cinematography has certainly been recorded in research; however, scholars have not always linked animated movies’ influence on young audiences. Michael Bérubé, Director of the Institute for the Arts and Humanities at Pennsylvania State University and expert on disability studies in cinema told The McGill Daily in an email: “I think I can suggest, somewhat optimistically, that [Disney and other major corporation’s] portrayals of disability have begun, over the past 10 to 20 years, to reflect the lived experiences of people with disabilities. The contrast between Dumbo and Dory, for example, is pretty stark, and not every disability gets “cured” by the narrative.”

Bérubé’s analysis offers a somewhat contradictory juxtaposition of ideas. On the one hand, he investigates how disability is portrayed in films and animated movies. On the other, he discards the significance and deep impact of pivotal plot scenes that can be crucial for representation of people with disabilities. In the interview Bérubé claimed that “much interesting work can be done if we allow animated characters to stretch beyond the boundaries of the human,” a statement that could be said to indirectly undermine his own work.

Indeed, it is naïve to assume that Disney’s movie project goals are altruistic. What it has done, however, is introduced young viewers to a larger scope of awareness regarding disability. In one way or another, choosing to portray disability in pop culture becomes “an alternative form of political participation.”

The disability narrative in Disney’s animated movies is only a fraction of a larger representational issue in entertainment media. Dory’s character may have gained agency and produced an effect on viewers, but large commercial channels such as Zodiak Kids, Nickelodeon, and Disney have not been very good at representing disability. In 2015, The Guardian found that these media giants had no lead characters with disabilities in their shows.

It is fair to say that step-by-step, Disney has been moving away from the white-male-saviour of the world––or a princess––perspective, by focusing on the empowerment of women, multi-ethnicity, and inclusivity. But to achieve an animated movie reality that wouldn’t tacitly endorse societal gender norms still has a long way to go. Linguists discovered in 2015 that men in most of Disney’s animated cartoons have on average three times as many lines compared to women. The road to representation on TV is still paved with toil.

One reassuring development in our current movie production scheme is that consumers can have a say in a conversation about disability, gender equality, and representation in general. Corporations often ignore academics, researchers, and experts’ advice on how to do their jobs, but thousands of people’s voices are difficult to ignore. One such example is a petition that was started on October 1, 2014, asking Disney to portray characters with Down Syndrome, carrying a message that “children with Down syndrome are princes and princesses, too!” It is mid-November 2016 now, and the petition was signed by almost 99,000 supporters, short of only a thousand people to reach the 100,000 goal.

The amount of support that the campaign received demonstrates that the movie corporation crafts its products for a narrow audience, ignoring those that don’t fit the story definitions. The result is: children with disabilities, who deviate from the norms prescribed by the movies, cannot dream of the same fairytale world inhabited by princesses and princes, unlike their peers. What is a better indication of Disney’s influence on children?

From ‘super-powered’ to just human

The reality that children’s animated movies depict has historically had a tendency to be ‘super-powered’ and illusionary. And yet, research on disability has shown that this has not been the case recently. Not only have characters with physical or mental disorders experienced less stereotyping from their surroundings, they are often shown as regular people who experience issues due to their disabilities. This, in turn, makes it easier for children to relate to children just like them, but with a physical or mental impairment.

“Finding Dory” hardly offers any solutions to a more inclusive society, but it makes an attempt to have a conversation that can potentially change the disability narrative, and not only on the screen. To young audiences, it means a better awareness of diversity around them and a lesson on perseverance, reminding them to “just keep swimming.”

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“It’s nice, but what is it?” aims to make abstract art fun and accessible. After the success of the first edition of the exhibit last year, the gallery is launching its second installment, hoping to dissolve the myth that modern abstract art is incomprehensible. Write down your questions and visit the exhibit, which includes Andrew Agostino’s expressionist art, Myriam Paradis Lalancette’s urban sketches, and Jade Picard’s expressive paintings. You can meet the artists during the vernissage on March 27 from 4:30 p.m. to 9 p.m..

“It’s nice, but what is it?” runs from March 23 to April 24 at Le repaire des 100 talents.

Remember that insightful review we published in February of Imago Theatre’s Pig Girl? Well, Imago is back at it with an event series featuring some crucial perspectives of female artists, writers, and activists. Imago Theatre’s “Her Side of the Story” festival running in May will put you in the right mood for the summer while giving you a chance to meet women creatives from throughout Canada. It’s about time to speak frankly about women’s issues, be reflective, and even outrageous. Imago’s festival offers a space to engage in an insightful conversation and share experiences.

“Her Side of the Story” runs May 13 to 14 in the Imago Theatre.

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Silence crept in and held the viewers still. Suddenly, a foot tapped on the table. The puppet, with its soft fabric body and cardboard head, came to life, welcoming the crowd in a British accent, a voice given by Down, the show’s director and one of the puppeteers. The evening was introduced as “English humour on a good solid French Canadian table.” Thus began Blind Summit Theatre’s modern rendition of the twelve days preceding the prophet Moses’s death. It occasionally diverged from the traditional storyline when the puppet danced and told tangential stories. Staged in English with French subtitles, the performance centred the puppet’s conversation with the audience, making each of the three evenings unique and only vaguely plotted. The fact that the show relied heavily on the viewers’ reactions to jokes and often direct questions to arbitrary audience members added to the list of impressive puppetry skills and smooth workings of the show.

“Puppets are performers. They only exist when they are performing, when they are being watched. A show is always a dialogue with the audience on some level. In this show, we wanted to confront that with direct address,” Down explained in an email to The Daily.

Weaving dialogue with the audience into the storyline, The Table explored the inner struggles of an artistic puppet whose dream was to “serve a better purpose” on stage by playing meaningful roles, and not solely function as a children’s toy at birthday parties. This is how his ambition of bringing the most climactic scenes of Moses’s story to life on stage came about, as the puppet explained to the audience. In the end, it is not an easy job to use a wooden table to enact Moses’s destiny, wisdom, and elaborate conversations with God.

The puppet’s movements hinted at self-awareness, when he was shyly strolling along the edge of the table, thinking of his next action, and shaking as he teetered at the edges of the table. His desire for self-realization veiled by apparent confidence ultimately defines the idea at the core of the show – the tale of an underappreciated artist pursuing his dreams.

The puppeteers’ skill was most apparent in the scene “The Death of Moses,” where the puppet jumped back and forth between the roles of God, whispering the fate of Israel to a weeping Moses, and the prophet, noting everything down. Intelligent coordination in tune with subtle humour and pop culture references made the scene stand out.

Despite the main storyline being set in the distant past, Down filled the show with pop culture references, making the show feel contemporary and accessible. At one point, the puppet mentioned that most of his Moses acting was based on the Book of Deuteronomy, but was also embellished by pop singer Madonna’s lyrics. The director and cast also included a bit about Montreal’s winter weather conditions. When the puppet was “showing the audience around the table,” he emphasized his favourite corner, where he grew a garden containing his “dead Montreal flowers,” withered by the cold.

But “I’m an artist”

Through entertaining and informative acting lessons, the puppet gave the audience an idea of the three tricks the puppeteers used to handle him: “focus” (puppeteers’ constant attention to the puppet’s actions), “fixed point” (maintaining contact with the table), and “breathing” (the puppet’s rhythmic movements). Demonstrating each of those techniques by having the actors let go of one or several of his body parts, the puppet emphasized the importance of a connection between the actors and himself. Garratt temporarily left the stage, at which point the puppet tearfully urged him to come back, since the actor was his “right hand” both literally and figuratively. The scene showcased the team’s brilliant ability to perform on two fronts: speaking for and to the puppet.

The puppet left the stage […] encouraging the audience to stand up for the challenge of self-realization.

The Table was filled with masterful acting, straightforward humour, and hilarious puppet dancing, while also portraying the character of an artist who is self-confident and ambitious, yet very vulnerable and dependent on other people’s praise. The puppet’s movements hinted at self-awareness, when he was shyly strolling along the edge of the table, thinking of his next action, and shaking as he teetered at the edges of the table. His desire for self-realization veiled by apparent confidence ultimately defines the idea at the core of the show – the tale of an underappreciated artist pursuing his dreams.

The puppet left the stage melancholically and self-contemplatively, encouraging the audience to stand up for the challenge of self-realization in the money-driven global media industry and follow their dreams just like he did, performing some “epic biblical puppeting on a table.”

The post Clashing humour with vulnerability appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Sacha Magder

Magder is a U2 Biochemistry student. He started his McGill community involvement at the Biochemistry Undergraduate Society (BUGS) as a BUGS representative and continuing this year as president. His experience with SSMU has consisted of working on community relations under the VP External portfolio in Summer 2015, acting as a main liaison between the Frosh community and the Milton-Parc Community Council, as well as serving as a Science Frosh coordinator.

He sees the VP Operations position as “very special,” since it is not yet fully defined, but he would like it to be an “opportunity for SSMU to connect with [the] student body.” He emphasized Gerts and the Student-Run Cafeteria (SRC) as an important means through which SSMU interacts with students.

In his platform, Magder outlines his ambitious project of providing sleeping spaces in the Shatner building for commuter students, to be implemented as a proof-of-concept for Frosh 2016. His platform also includes soliciting fresh ideas from students regarding Gerts and the SRC, using raffles, surveys, and forums to solicit feedback. He also seeks to “expand” MiniCourses, though without clearly stated goals for doing so.

While Magder sees SSMU’s role as both advocating for student interests and providing essential services to them, he emphasizes that he is not running for the position for political reasons, but rather to “make a difference in this community” in what he describes as “a very neutral portfolio.”

Endorsement: No

The Daily endorses a “no” vote for Sacha Magder. His platform focuses heavily on consultation, but contains few concrete proposals, and entirely fails to mention operationalizing environmental sustainability, one of SSMU’s policy priorities. His plan to create sleeping spaces within SSMU for commuter students, meanwhile, would require the hiring of full-time staff, as well as renovations to the Shatner building. Given the recent failure of the SSMU base fee and all the budgetary constraints SSMU is facing, it is difficult to see how such an ambitious project could be carried out.

Magder is not closely acquainted with SSMU, and The Daily is not convinced that his previous experience has adequately prepared him for the VP Operations position. Furthermore, Magder’s emphasis on the political “neutrality” of his platform suggests a basic misunderstanding not only of the role of SSMU executives as voting members on the SSMU Legislative Council, but also of the deeply political nature of SSMU itself.

The post VP Operations appeared first on The McGill Daily.

WFIIA has been around the block, with their recent show, “Surrogates,” featuring a version of the classic show, “Whose Line Is It Anyway?” Each time the WFIIA group performs, the audience or one of the actors introduces a new concept, making the art of improv so much harder, and thus more entertaining for the audience. Improv concepts work as predefined conditions under which artists are supposed to perform. Some examples that were used were “forward – reverse,” making the actors do the scene in reverse order; “should have said,” the act of rephrasing the same line an infinite amount of times, thus changing the intended outcome to any variety of unexpected endings; and WFIIA’s specialty, “en français, s’il vous plaît” (“in French, please”), bringing translation wordplays onto the stage.

A big part of the comedic action was directed at exploring the Toy Story characters in a new and uncensored way, thinking of the movie heroes as real-life personalities and not just toys coming to life for only a few seconds. By playing through the lives of each figure, the comedians expanded the possibilities of the movie, portraying the characters with interwoven personal dramas in a real social setting. One of those was an imaginary situation where Woody and Buzz Lightyear never return from their adventure, leaving Hamm, the piggy bank, to take over the gang’s leadership. You don’t need to know much about the movie to appreciate the idea of a bossy piggy bank demanding 25 cents in rent from each toy. What was even funnier was the actors’ spontaneity, seeing as they were thrown on the spot yet deliberately directed the scene to create a pushy piggy bank as a running joke.

The design of the poster for the show is a parallel visual representation of “In-Betweeners” itself. Numerous arrows pointing in different directions hint that the improv actors can go anywhere in their comedy. WFIIA wasn’t the only creator of the sketch comedy; members of the audience were constructing the scene too, coming up with new circumstances and toy names for the actors to try on when certain scenes began to grow stale. It was a collaborative effort with no roadmap.

The show that was “In-Betweeners” was itself a working concept as themes and characters shifted, swaying viewers’ attention to the periphery of the classic narrative. These “quick quirky improv games,” as the group organizer, Kenny Streule, called them in an interview with The Daily, explore the rules of story and comedy, with the result being continually and unpredictably hilarious (though sometimes a little awkward).

Even though the show wasn’t intended to provoke deeper contemplation, it definitely points to something essential – exploitation of a one-sided narrative. “It’s the side [of Toy Story] that we’ve all pretended to think of, except that now we get to perform [it] on stage, with the characters we love,” Streule said. Maybe it’s time to imagine the possibilities of our own unwritten narratives for some greater epiphany. Or maybe, as it was so effectively done by WFIIA, it’s a time to just delight in childlike imagination and laugh at what we find.

The post Behind the scenes of Toy Story appeared first on The McGill Daily.

In an interview with The Daily, festival co-organizer Katie Leggitt said that Ladyfest Montreal was intended to “recognize the people [who] are working hard on their comedy,” providing an alternate space to the Just For Laughs festival, which remains dominated by men. While women in comedy featured in the mainstream are often exclusively white and cis, Ladyfest provided a more accessible and anti-oppressive platform, resulting in a more diverse lineup.

The night was emceed by comedian Lise Vigneault dressed as a narwhal. What seemed like a random choice of costume was in fact quite purposeful. The physiology of the nearly extinct toothed whale served as a perfect analogy for women in comedy. Only 15 per cent of female narwhals grow the characteristic conical tusk, whereas almost all male narwhals do. Women in comedy represent about the same proportion, making Ladyfest Montreal a place for women to “grow their tooth and break through the ice,” Leggitt explained.

While women in comedy featured in the mainstream are often exclusively white and cis, Ladyfest provided a more accessible and anti-oppressive platform, resulting in a more diverse lineup.

The comedians poked fun at everything: sexuality, pop culture, religion, social inequality, romance and especially, the reality of being a comedian. No topic was taboo – women’s unequal representation in comedy was not left untouched during the show. Comedian Emma Wilkie noted how she was planning to start referring to men who do comedy as “men comics” in the same fashion that women are referred to as “lady comedians,” to illustrate the ridiculousness of emphasizing sex/gender.

Comedian Aisha Alfa was quick to criticize the hackneyed stereotypes about women of colour. This allowed her to define her own experiences as a women of colour in North America, putting her in control of her own comedic narrative before the audience could define her experiences for her and “put them in boxes,” as she put it.

Following in the same vein, comedian Eman quipped “Muslim women just have two things in life: marriage and waxing.” Jokes like this simultaneously highlighted the prejudice directed at Muslim women and Eman’s empowerment through how she chose to relate that prejudice to others.

[…]veiled under the comedy ran a serious discussion of human hardship.

Trans comedian Tranna Wintour used a similar approach to draw attention to the cissexism she experiences in society. Pointing out the straight line some draw from sexuality to gender, Wintour told a story of an amorous heterosexual cisgender man “[having] a full out identity crisis” about his sexual orientation after finding out that the comedian had a penis, completely ignoring the fact that Wintour had remained the same woman the whole time.

Her “modern-day Cinderella” bit brought laughs after she described her struggle with one-night stands. After a night out, Wintour is always hesitant to take someone back to hers. “Imagine if Prince Charming woke up to Cindy with a full-fledged beard!”

Ladyfest Montreal’s opening event kept its focus on women in comedy and received a lot of encouragement from the public, filling the night with laughter, a great atmosphere, and unforgettable jokes. It’s worth adding, however, that veiled under the comedy ran a serious discussion of human hardship.
— With files from Subhanya Sivajothy

The post A night of representational comedy appeared first on The McGill Daily.

The market did not just appear over night – this project has been long in the making. In 2013, the NDG Coalition for Food Security applied to Montreal’s Department of Public Health to obtain funding to implement an initiative to provide better access to fresh and healthy produce. The request was followed by rigorous social work with NDG residents to find out exactly where the needs of the neighborhood lie. As part of the need identification process, a public symposium was held in February 2014, and the gathering inspired the community market.

“This is the first time that we [got] a decent amount of funding for a long period of time; and having the support of the Direction de la Santé Publique as well as the rest of the Coalition has been great to get this market up and happening,” Nicole Fornelli, a NDG Community Council member told The Daily.

The NDG borough of Montreal is considered to be inadequate in terms of sustainable options for fresh food.

The NDG Food Depot has been successful in inciting action within the long decision-making process of larger organizations. Functioning as a community-based non-profit organization, the NDG Food Depot provides an emergency food baskets service for anyone living in the NDG region who does not have the means to purchase food, in general, as well as healthy fresh food. In 2013, the Depot was able to distribute as many as 12,685 baskets. An area is classified as a “food desert” if residents have low accessibility to food markets and stores with affordable products. The emergency basket service proves essential to residents facing these difficulties, and the introduction of the GOOD FOOD Market on Fridays has a similar value to NDG inhabitants.

The market is strategically situated in the yard outside of the NDG Food Depot. According to Fornelli, this placement allows NDG residents to spot it upon picking up their emergency baskets from the Depot. In this way, the Depot informs its visitors that the neighborhood is becoming more sensitive about sustainability issues.

We really want to become a community hub, where people come to eat and meet people, and to do cooking workshops,”  ex-President of the Food Depot’s Board of Directors Lynda Porter told The Daily.

The NDG borough of Montreal is considered to be inadequate in terms of sustainable options for fresh food. Historically a highly diverse community, NDG continues to attract immigrants of various ethnic backgrounds. The populations of NDG’s four low-income areas “face major constraints when it comes to adequate housing, food security and academic success.”

The NDG Market was brought to life with the hope that food insecurity in the neighborhood will be better regulated by providing residents with better food choices and sustainable provisions. The enthusiasm expressed by visitors at the market on the opening day foretells the market’s success in bringing people together and making fresh vegetables accessible. The scale of its success in the long run remains to be seen.

“[The Depot] is trying to grow the organization and make it that which is inclusive. […] We really want to become a community hub, where people come to eat and meet people, and to do cooking workshops,”  ex-President of the Food Depot’s Board of Directors Lynda Porter told The Daily.

Undeniably, the NDG Food Depot is only a drop in the bucket of food sustainability solutions and cannot completely resolve issues of poverty and food accessibility. It, nevertheless, marks a good step towards addressing the community’s needs.

A previous version of this article stated that the NDG Food Depot provides emergency food baskets to NDG residents classified as living in a “food dessert”. In fact, the Depot provides this service to all residents who do not have the means to purchase food in general. The Daily regrets the error.

The post GOOD FOOD Market comes to NDG appeared first on The McGill Daily.

One only had to go as far as Milton last weekend to see this spirit in action, as The Word Bookstore celebrated its fortieth anniversary in the heart of the Milton-Parc community. The family-run business was filled to the brim with some 200 friends and customers who came to celebrate. Between the cake-cutting that took place in the middle of the room (baked by a friend of the shop) and the coming and going of the large crowd there to congratulate the family, there was hardly a spot for a book-lover to enjoy the collection.

The Word has been working to develop this community bookstore space for the four decades it’s been around. Opened in 1975 by a young couple, Adrian King-Edwards and Lucille Friesen, the store is now run by their son, Brendan King-Edwards. The bookstore was a labour of love for the couple, who wished to share their infatuation with books with Montrealers.

Before opening The Word in its current location, the couple ran an ‘underground’ bookstore in their living room on Milton, with a picture of George Bernard Shaw taped tellingly to the window.

In a video interview with the Montreal Gazette, the older King-Edwards remembered that The Word’s current location was previously a laundromat. Half-joking, half-concerned, he pointed out that for a good six months after the store opened, people would come in with their laundry and be very disappointed to see books there instead. This didn’t last long, however, and soon The Word was winning community awards for enriching the local literary landscape.

The Word creates a feeling of being ‘frozen in time’ when you shop there. With neither music nor advertising distracting you, it’s a place for musing and discovering.

“[The idea] came out of a very grassroots community type of atmosphere, with my dad and my mom having people over to buy books in their apartment,” Brendan told The Daily. The initial aim of the shop was to provide a literary space for young poets, especially for anglophones in a largely francophone community.

In its first years, the store amassed its customers by hosting poetry readings, book launches, and storytelling evenings, community gatherings that The Word still host today.

Now, forty years later, one would guess that not all that much has changed. The bookstore maintains an antiquated aesthetic, cozy and mysterious. While the main floor overflows with books, an attic upstairs contains some very rare specimens that truly appreciative collectors can select.

The shop also has a strict policy of paying in cash only, in part because electronic payment “does not really go with the whole aesthetic of the store.” It also allows the owners to avoid dealing with the increasing prices associated with bank transactions, even if it means using “ancient accounting methods,” as Adrian puts it. The owners are not fond of corporate competition, and they try to keep the experience exclusively about the books, with no intermediaries like banks involved.

In this way, The Word creates a feeling of being ‘frozen in time’ when you shop there. With neither music nor advertising distracting you, it’s a place for musing and discovering. And those who are unsure of anything can always chat at the checkout desk with Scott Moodie, a book connoisseur who has been working there for 25 years and has read more books than all of The Word’s owners combined.

It’s not even about coming and getting a book, Brendan noted, but rather, “about the experience of being in the store, shopping [there], and not so much about [buying] the product.”

Unlike the other bookshops around McGill, The Word is not focused on serving university students. Although it does provide a shelf of academic material for students, it prefers to attract customers with its rare, carefully selected collection of secondhand books and treasures.

“More than anything, we […] attract a certain kind of individual – whether they are younger students or older customers – and they are really serious readers. […] Often they do not have a lot of money and they want to build their libraries, and it’s a good place to do it,” Brendan explained. It’s not surprising that a store that focuses so much on quality over quantity is frequently lauded as the best secondhand store in the city.

Indeed, many hours go into fostering the store’s sense of community. The Word’s intimate atmosphere and limited space encourage this kind of friendly setting, where people get to know each other and share the latest reads while they browse. The owners encourage all passers-by to spend some free time browsing, just to see what they like. Stating that the shop prompts visitors to choose print over downloading simply overlooks The Word’s purpose altogether. It’s not even about coming and getting a book, Brendan noted, but rather, “about the experience of being in the store, shopping [there], and not so much about [buying] the product.”

This welcoming attitude was reflected in the openness and warmth that characterized The Word’s birthday. The event more closely resembled a friendly get-together than a party for a profitable business, encouraging all to stay and enjoy the wine. With great enthusiasm and a bit of shyness, Adrian thanked everyone for allowing the bookstore to thrive for so many years, especially the store’s devoted friends.

As the years have gone by and print has lost its popularity, The Word has cultivated its unique image and purpose in the Milton Parc community, remaining a staple for local book-lovers admist all other changes. In a world of internet book reviews, The Word instead focuses on doing what it does best, making it a landmark in Montreal and a safe haven for all sorts of passionate readers.

The post Turning the page on forty years appeared first on The McGill Daily.

The organization of the MainLine Gala lies completely in the hands of students. Having heard that there was no one prepared to take responsibility for this year’s Gala, Laurent Pitre and Kenny Streule, both working in Montreal theatre, decided to take up the mantle. “I [couldn’t] stand around and let that opportunity for young students disappear,” Pitre told The Daily. In order to get their plays produced, students had to submit scripts to a panel of judges – including Pitre – who then made the tough choices. Three diverse plays were chosen for production, each written by a woman; the playwrights jokingly refer to the event as a “girl-power gala.”

After selection, the production process was up to the playwright’s preference. Writing a good play is one thing, but it is another challenge altogether to have that play assessed by a creative team. As Calla Wright, one of this year’s playwrights, explained, one of the main features of the Gala was fostering a “non-threatening approach” to sharing one’s art. Two of the writers, Darragh Kilkenny-Mondoux and Rhiannon Collett, found directors to help them through the process of staging their written works.

Speaking to both the importance and difficulty of the director’s role, Kilkenny-Mondoux said, “More than the cast, finding a director that gets it is the trickiest part. They get full control of your baby.” She worked with director Mitchell Cohen to bring her baby, Form of Flattery, to life. The play, which tells the story of the rise and fall of Athena, touches upon the theme of rethinking societal values through a philosophical lens. Form of Flattery portrays the transfer of power away from the dominance of the mythic old world, Ancient Greece, to a more modern society concerned with material possessions, exploring how a people choose what is important. Kilkenny-Mondoux and Cohen’s collaboration treats this play as a combination of intellectual exercise and contemporary humour, which makes the philosophical concepts easier to wrap your head around.

“Unlike the permanence and eternal nature of film […] theatre is like liquid,” – Darragh Kilkenny-Mondoux, student playwright

Kilkenny-Mondoux acknowledged that this collaboration was helpful given the developmental nature of the production process. In theatre, there is a constant re-shaping of the work before and after opening night, subjecting it to the reactions and comments of the audience and letting it be reborn. “Unlike the permanence and eternal nature of film […] theatre is like liquid,” she explained. In the MainLine Gala, this liquidity is an essential part of the appeal for the playwrights. “I think there’s a difference between your brainchild and your experiment, and I thought the gala would be a perfect opportunity to workshop,” Kilkenny-Mondough said. “I don’t think [the organizers] wanted a clear vision of like, ‘this is the way it’s got to be’; you had to be open to work with the space.”

While Collett also chose to bring in an outside director in order to develop her play, Girlhouse, she did so to develop some personal space from it. Similarly to Form of Flattery, Girlhouse leaves much open to interpretation, but treads the line between dream and reality instead of old world and new. The play is less an experience of theoretical contemplation and more one of catharsis. Written and performed by Collett and directed by Amanda Goldberg, the one-woman show focuses on a young woman, Cassandra, who remembers a traumatic experience in her childhood associated with a male nanny.

“My play exploded out of me as a monologue that made very little sense,” Collett said. “What I realized through the experience of writing this play was that it was a topic that didn’t make sense. […] And so my goal with it was to try and find empowerment and resolution, but also understand that that’s a story that lives on.” To find closure, Collett decided to act in the play. “I wanted the play to be an exorcism,” she said. “It had to be active [because] by the time I got to the rehearsal process I couldn’t think about it anymore. […] Having Amanda come in as a director was amazing because she took it through her brain and then fed it back to me, so I’m able to perform it, but there’s also this distance,” Collett explained.

“I wanted the play to be an exorcism. It had to be active [because] by the time I got to the rehearsal process I couldn’t think about it anymore. […] Having Amanda come in as a director was amazing because she took it through her brain and then fed it back to me, so I’m able to perform it, but there’s also this distance,” – Rhiannon Collett, student playwright

On stage, Girlhouse impresses with its sharpness in conveying emotion. While playing with the division between truth and imagination, what it makes very clear is the undeniable wrongdoings that we, as humans, are prone to, and the lasting effect they have.

Like Collett, Wright also chose to play a part in the production of her play, How I Show Love. Directing the play herself, Wright cast a friend who had been instrumental in the writing process as the main character. Her play follows Kenneth, a barista who is tired of his thankless job and begins to wish evil on his customers. Wright drew the storyline from her personal experience in the food industry, feeling the attitude toward personnel and work conditions at minimum wage jobs needed public discussion. A play is perhaps the best way to address this issue, which is a huge one for young artists trying to create while still earning a living.

Even as the play’s director, Wright expressed her amazement at the enthusiasm for collaboration she’d experienced throughout the project. “Just the amount of people who want to give their all, to bring their own costumes, to create a set around it, is absolutely mind-blowing,” she explained. “It’s not something we do by ourselves at all. We lay the egg and then we need a bunch of fertilization.”

Though each of these plays feature different content and context, they all similarly serve as a critique of and resistance to modern society and the contemporary human condition. Themes of rebellion and empowerment ran through all of the performances, whether set in Ancient Greece or a 21st century coffee shop. Perhaps most striking is the parallel between the strength of the characters in these plays and the strength of the ambitious students writing them. In giving three young playwrights the opportunity to tell these stories of empowerment, the MainLine Student Drama Gala is, in turn, empowering young artists in Montreal.

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The Euromaidan Revolution refers to the Ukrainian people’s movement from 2013 to 2014, a public expression of discontent with the Ukrainian government, which was led by President Viktor Yanukovych at the time. The name “Maidan” – from the word for square in Ukrainian – came to designate the protests lasting from November 2013 to February 2014 in the main square of the capital city, Kiev. Initially this movement was seen as the Ukrainian public’s reply to the government’s failure to cooperate with the European Union, a failure which was widely seen as jeopardizing the country’s prosperity. Over time, however, the uprising has come to be considered as a broader opposition to the government’s disregard for the public’s voice. Although the situation in Ukraine has grown into a more complicated military conflict between Ukraine and neighbouring Russia, the Euromaidan is viewed by Ukrainians and much of the international community as a starting point in the country’s long path toward becoming a democratic nation.

The photos portray a deep devotion and love for the country where, despite the harsh weather, the Ukrainian people continue to sing.

While a well-respected international source may be good for basic information about these recent events, it can hardly convey the heart of the uprising or touch one’s soul to the deepest. Boyko’s photographs fulfill that missing function, depicting the reality of the revolution in a way that words cannot.

Boyoko’s photographs do not simply show the Euromaidan uprising as a series of events and their consequences – they also emphasize symbols of Ukrainian identity. In one photograph, a large group of people are pictured, led by a man wearing a Ukrainian flag like a cloak. They are visibly singing, possibly the Ukrainian national anthem. A monument to a famous poet, Taras Shevchenko, reigns over the crowd. Another picture portrays a young man pouring soup from a large iron cooker for passer-bys, the hot dinner keeping bodies warm and spirits high. The photos portray a deep devotion and love for the country where, despite the harsh weather, the Ukrainian people continue to sing.

The photos also provide a useful reminder that despite the turmoils of revolution, daily human life still goes on. This is what makes Boyko’s showcase so memorable – it spotlights the everyday things that keep people going in hard times, painting a picture of resilience. One photo in particular draws the viewer’s attention in the exhibit. It is a picture of a young couple dressed in traditional Ukrainian festive clothing, the woman in a white dress and an embroidered scarf, the man in a black suit and a yellow cravat. They’re getting married in a crowd of people leading a revolution. Another young man carries a decorated wedding bread, korovai, on an embroidered wedding towel – all traditional symbols of Ukrainian weddings. This emotionally evocative scene shows the people’s ability to experience rare moments of joy in the midst of disaster.

Another particularly powerful photo shows a man wearing black clothes and a balaclava on his face; he is smoking a cigarette and playing the piano in front of the crowd of protesters. The piano is dyed blue and yellow, the colours of the Ukrainian national flag. Posters attached to the instrument show this same man playing in front of the Berkut police, which partook in violently driving out protesters from Independence Square in Kiev from November to February. Another poster on the piano says in Russian: “In every music there is Bach, in every man there is God.” The piano player seems to be reminding the crowd of the importance of music to their shared cultural identity and of religious belief and hope. Zooming in on a moment of hope and resistance, this photograph passes on to the viewer the spirit that united thousands of Ukrainians during the revolution.

In this exhibit, Boyko turns his focus away from the bloody scenes of the revolution, its most dreadful moments, and later consequences. He instead represents the Ukrainian people’s perception of Euromaidan, highlighting their collective actions and their unfading spirit. With the scattered flow of media information, it can be hard to filter out the important and accurate details about the conflict in Ukraine – even its citizens are often unsure how to describe the situation. But Boyko’s photographs provide invaluable insight into the spirit of the revolution and its human peculiarities, coming across loud and clear amidst the newspaper reports.

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The evening featured short films about people experiencing depression, anxiety, and other problems, and how they were able to deal with those issues. The films were intertwined with spoken-word performances, followed by a discussion between attendees and panelists, three of whom were McGill students.

The emotionally moving films set the tone for the evening, indicating that this was not a night for abstract discussion. Designed to make the viewers relate to characters’ life stories, the short screenings impressed with their frankness and accessibility, depicting mental health from a variety of perspectives. The Pamplemousse, an adaptation of the award-winning Canadian play 7 Stories, told the story of a young artist and a lonely man who meet at a Quebec City museum, showing the power of expression in their silent communication. Like Minds followed the life of a homeless man who deals with schizophrenia by establishing friendships with those who have similarly creative minds. In different ways, they all conveyed the same message: human communication matters, and that what everyone needs is understanding.

“The reason why there’s so much stigma is the idea that people with mental illness are somehow not human or not totally normal, there is something wrong and contagious about them, they should be shut away from the rest of society,” – Kai Cheng Thom, panelist

While many films emphasized the connections individuals use to find consolation during difficult times, the two spoken word artists at the event demonstrated what to do if seeking help from others fails, as it sometimes does. For them, poetry is a way of expression, a dark casket that can keep the secrets humans can’t make sense of. “Art functions as a refuge, as we are usually taught to be silent about what’s going on in our heads,” explained Logan Peaker, a panelist and one of the organizers of the festival.

Two paintings created by McGill students were also featured, demonstrating yet another path one can take for self-expression in times of struggle. The attendees were free to leave their comments or thoughts on a sheet of paper, which created a sense of belonging in this diverse community of artists and attendees.

Taking the evening in a different direction, Kai Cheng Thom, a writer and Master’s Student in Social Work, and former columnist at The Daily, initiated a discussion on mental health in today’s society. In their spoken word presentation, the artist read out formal diagnoses of mental health patients with stupefying bluntness, exposing how the medical treatment of mental illness often carelessly puts people into boxes. Desai later addressed the positives and negatives of these diagnoses in the panel discussion, explaining that they allow those with mental health issues to search for resources they need, while at the same time labeling them and referring to them as categories, not individuals.

Thom’s performance pointed to the arbitrary definition of normality, revealing the flaws in a system where people have to be dehumanized to receive help. “The reason why there’s so much stigma is the idea that people with mental illness are somehow not human or not totally normal, there is something wrong and contagious about them, they should be shut away from the rest of society,” they explained to The Daily. “Hopefully, it is starting to change.” In highlighting the intersection of art and mental health and by opening up this discourse on mental health in a university setting, events like the Kaleidoscope Mental Health Film Festival are part of making that change a reality.

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The installation plays mind games with the viewer. In the literal repetition of the same word over and over again on a piece of paper, the piece mimics the constant reiteration of obscure concepts in the news. Letarte is a central part of his own game – he comes to the gallery three times a week and stamps the word “Économie” (economics) as many times as possible on an A4 paper and hangs it on the wall against the black background of the room. Standing on a ladder, Letarte can reach the ceiling so that the whole space is filled with stamped pieces of paper, the walls gradually covered with “the political message.”

The numbing effect of watching the same word appear over and over echoes how we often fail to realize and acknowledge our mindless consumption of the information that media sources throw at us.

The Black Box, the room in which the exhibit is housed, draws all attention to the sheets of paper as they gradually emerge on black walls. Unless one stays at the gallery all day, it’s hard to notice the development of the paper-posting process. The numbing effect of watching the same word appear over and over echoes how we often fail to realize and acknowledge our mindless consumption of the information that media sources throw at us. Quite possibly, the overuse of abstractions like “economics” serves as a cloak to leave actual facts uncovered, and to avoid the discussions that matter. Talking to The Daily, Letarte revealed that the phenomenon of the word “economics” caught his attention in its use in news coverage as an empty explanatory device. In a world where excessive information constantly grabs at our throats, Letarte’s stamping actions are a bleak analogy for the senseless nature of this empty news stream.

The repetitive nature of the exhibit, while metaphoric, is also hypnotic. Letarte explained that words devoid of meaning can function as comforting answers to shocking events. But this empty comfort can be dangerous. Indeed, staring at the exhibit, one cannot see or think of anything but the pervasive and empty word on display. According to Letarte, once “economic problems” becomes the staple reply to all political questions, people start to use this phrase as carelessly as the media. Whether or not “economics” has truly become as all-encompassing as he paints it to be, Letarte’s work points to the danger in the subconscious imitation of “the political message.”

As bleak as it may be, Letarte’s creative representation of this experience does, however, offer a potential solution to this false consciousness: thoughtful reflection. The stark simplicity of the exhibit provokes a critical response to our unquestioning acceptance of the media’s obscure explanations. Repeatedly stamping the same word on the viewer’s mind in “I Watch the News,” Letarte snaps us out of thoughtless consumption and reminds us to keeps our eyes open.

 
“Political Poem / I Watch the News” is on display at the FOFA Gallery until February 20.

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Reihana’s depiction of Maori people blends historical communities, traditional rituals, and mythology throughout the exhibit. Upon entering the exhibit, a photograph catches the eye: a Maori mythical figure sits in a black throne, holding a cane. The man has disheveled white hair and a black cloth covering his body, the sparsity contrasted by a look of intense concentration on his face. His image and posture exude a self-assertiveness that challenges our perception of mythological figures – his presence is tangibly real and in no way imaginary.

In the dark room that follows, a multimedia video clip grabs and plunges the viewer into a New Zealand landscape – mountains, water, and blue sky. The clip presents a panoramic view, slowly rotating 360 degrees.

Here, Reihana’s work is an attempt at encompassing every degree of daily life in a historic Maori community.

Young women dance with flowers in their hair. A small group of people dressed in colourful long coats and feathered hats sit on the grass, occupied with talk, while in another scene large muscular men fight nearby, pressing their heads against each other. A woman with her back turned to the viewer addresses her song to the ocean, as if waiting for a reply. Finally, the slices of life turn sinister, as a sound from the water prompts a group of Maori men to start attacking intruders, invisible to the viewer. They shout and soon gather to protect their land.
In this video, Reihana subtly exposes a plethora of the quotidian details of Maori life, paying close attention to body language and expressions. Every individual has a distinct ta moko (body tattoo), and distinct clothing, headgear, and demeanour. The men fighting each other tend to wear little clothing, whereas the people who engage in meditating activities, like singing and sitting in a circle, are dressed in cloaks made of animal skin. The lack of narration in the video prevents a reductive understanding of the people’s identities and their world of traditions – what you see is what you get.

In another wordless clip, a woman sings in a long black dress against a black backdrop. The movement of her lips indicates the act of singing, but her song cannot be heard. Only her sentiment can be read in the way she moves to her song – she smiles, but there is sadness in her face. Her performance then intertwines with a clip of a golden-blue bird slowly flapping its wings, and the woman begins to echo the bird’s movements, as if hoping that her song can fly across horizons to be heard by all. Her movements mimic mythical figures, but her expressions ground her in reality. In this representation, Reihana shows what Maori traditions mean to Maori people. The sadness in this woman’s presentation indicates a desire that these traditions not be lost or misrepresented. Reihana demonstrates the need for colonized voices to be heard.

In her representations of Maori life and traditions, Reihana reclaims self-determination throughout the exhibit, turning to the historical roots of Maori self-expression. The oppression of Indigenous cultures and voices that has occurred for hundreds of years has resulted in widespread, reductive standardizations of these cultural identities today. Lisa Reihana’s multifaceted, multi-layered representation successfully challenges flat portrayals and complicates the often simple, one-dimensional depictions of Indigenous voices.

Mareikura runs until November 16 at articule (262 Fairmount Ouest).

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From September 15 to 19, the Social Equity and Diversity Education (SEDE) office hosted McGill’s annual Indigenous Awareness Week. The week-long series of events is meant to honour and celebrate Indigenous cultures at McGill and beyond, and help increase awareness within the McGill community about Indigenous peoples. Events included everything from lectures, to panel discussions, to workshops; here is a small selection.

Two-spirits: history and survival | The KAIROS blanket exercise | Healing and decolonizing: impacts of the institutionalization of Indigenous children | Holding the academy accountable: Indigenous studies and community inclusion | Indigenous students at McGill: before and beyond graduation

Two-spirits: history and survival

On Thursday, Ben Geboe, a PhD student at the School of Social Work, gave a lecture about the history and survival of two-spirit people at the Native Friendship Centre of Montreal. The lecture lasted about an hour, and focused on Geboe’s experiences as an Indigenous person in the LGBT community and on the meaning of the concept of two-spirit.

According to Geboe, two-spirit people are those who identify as both female and male. “While everyone has a combination of male and female spirits, two-spirit people have male and female spirits that are the same size,” explained Geboe.
Geboe grew up on the Rosebud Sioux Reservation in South Dakota, U.S.. While he said that his tribe was very open to people who identified as gay, not all tribes were as welcoming. “Every community is different and some [did not] have the acceptance mine did,” he said.

Throughout the lecture, Geboe stressed that his tribe didn’t have the same gender binary as the Western world. “The main difference between the Western world and Native world is that [in the Native world] no one can tell you who you are, people have to ask you who you are,” he explained.

Alan Vicaire, the Indigenous Education Advisor for the Social Equity and Diversity Education (SEDE) office spoke to the goal of Geboe’s talk. “[We want] to create a safe space and open [a] dialogue for Indigenous students at McGill. Our primary goal is to educate students,” he said.

The KAIROS blanket exercise

The KAIROS blanket exercise, an interactive event meant to illustrate the history of Indigenous populations and their land, took place on Tuesday. During the event, participants played the roles of Indigenous peoples so that they could relate more directly with the history they were enacting, which also allowed for more emotional engagement with the subject of the exercise.

Organizers covered the floor with blankets to represent Canadian lands as they used to be inhabited by Indigenous people. The participants of the event were invited to freely walk on the blankets, to try get used to them, and to try to feel the connection with the land.

Yao Xi Zhang, a McGill Kinesiology student who participated in the exercise, considered the visual format of the event very helpful.

“They tell you [that people] took the Indigenous populations’ land. You hear it every day in social [science] class. Some country conquered another country. But when you are [standing] on the blanket, and they are folding the corners [to illustrate the land’s usurpation], you realize, ‘Oh. It’s my territory, and it just got smaller.’”

People who attended the event had a desire to learn more about colonization – precisely because the exercise had an emotional effect on the attendees, they found the exercise more illustrative of the colonization of Indigenous lands than class textbooks that aim to convey the same knowledge.

“[The exercise] is actually more important than the textbook, because we read [textbooks so much], we are not so sensitive to it,” Yao noted.

This was the second year in a row that the KAIROS blanket exercise was used during Indigenous Awareness Week. Although event organizers noted that this year’s exercise was a bit different from that of last year, participants still found it impactful and educational.

Healing and decolonizing: impacts of the institutionalization of Indigenous children

On Thursday, Lindsey Decontie, executive director of the National Aboriginal Circle Against Family Violence (NACAFV), spoke at McGill about the legacy of residential schools in Canada. Decontie touched on a variety of issues that have a concentrated effect on Canada’s Indigenous women, from familial abuse and homelessness to the reserve system.

Ending in the 1990s, residential schools were a systematic plan to assimilate Indigenous children into white Canadian society funded by the Canadian government. The schools were, as Decontie pointed out, places where “Aboriginal children were told they could not speak their own languages, and where there were many definite cases of physical and sexual abuse.”

Decontie called the residential schools’ legacy today a “historical trauma” that influences, for instance, how an Indigenous woman might seek help after being abused.

As she stated, “what happens is, since they were victims, they might be afraid to ask for help, or reluctant to solve these problems because their self-esteem and self-worth have taken a big hit.”

In her presentation, she elaborated on the “stereotypes and assumptions that do exist, not only about Aboriginals who are in this position but also about the shelters that they seek help from.” As an example, she pointed out the demeaning stereotype that Aboriginal women “will only be victims for as long as it’s profitable to be victims.”

To those who believe the situation is improving as a result increased awareness, Carole Brazeau, National Project Coordinator of NACAFV, pointedly warned, “the problem has not improved, it has gotten worse; it was a crisis ten years ago, and it is still a crisis now.”

When asked what McGill students could do to help, Decontie responded that “oftentimes people might feel that, there’s nothing we can do, this is such a big problem, and I don’t know where to start, but it doesn’t have to be anything big. It can be as simple as volunteering at a women’s shelter, or writing a letter to their local MP [member of parliament].”

Holding the academy accountable: Indigenous studies and community inclusion

On Tuesday, the Social Equity and Diversity Education (SEDE) office and the Students’ Society of McGill University (SSMU) co-hosted a panel to discuss Indigenous relationships with academia, exploring both the accountability of Indigenous studies programs to the voices of Indigenous peoples, as well as ways to create decolonized spaces in universities.

Moderator Molly Swain read out the questions, written by SEDE over the summer, to a panel consisting of three speakers: Marsha Vicaire, a doctoral student at McGill who is Mi’gmaq (from the Listuguj First Nation); William Straw, a professor at McGill and director of the McGill Institute for the Study of Canada; and Karl Hele, an associate professor at Concordia and director of its First Peoples Studies program.

Throughout the discussion, Vicaire focused on the perspective of the learner, saying that, as an Indigenous student, she would like to see recognition of the differences between Indigenous and Western culture, as well as recognition that the methods of Indigenous peoples, while different, are also valuable.

“We really need to be valued, respected, and we also need to have that sense of inclusion,” said Vicaire, “so I think those would be things to consider within those spaces, within those learning environments.”

Hele emphasized the importance of teaching the Indigenous community, as it is a complex society composed of different peoples.

“If you’re saying Indigenous studies, it’s got to be […] broad enough to include the other communities within at least McGill’s [reach],” he said.

Hele also encouraged the inclusion of more Indigenous voices and perspectives in the curricula of Indigenous studies programs at universities, stressing the importance of creating a welcoming place for Indigenous employees as well as hiring Indigenous professors to teach topics unrelated to Indigenous issues.

Straw said that those in charge of funding should make Indigenous studies more of a priority. He also criticized the tendency of other departments to make the Indigenous studies department the sole source of accountability for Indigenous issues, and noted a need to integrate more space for Indigenous students within the curriculum.

During the question-and-answer session, an Indigenous audience member and University of Victoria student spoke to the importance of accepting and utilizing alternative methods of research, such as more conversation-based qualitative data, in order to better represent Indigenous communities.

“We have to be looking through an Indigenous lens,” said the student, “and not looking through a separate lens […] and the understandings will come from there.”

In five years, said Vicaire, she would hope to see more second- and third-generation Indigenous students at university, as most Indigenous students are currently first-generation, as well as a more welcoming environment for Indigenous students.

“It’s going to be coming onto this campus knowing ‘yes, I am an Indigenous person and I belong here.’”

Indigenous students at McGill: before and beyond graduation

On Wednesday evening, Indigenous peoples, scholars, and activists gathered to celebrate Indigenous culture, hear from an alumnus about her experience at McGill, and to rethink McGill’s founding and its relationship with the Six Nations of the Grand River.

Audra Simpson, McGill alumnus and associate professor of anthropology at Columbia University, stepped up to give a different speech than the one that was expected. Simpson did not solely discuss the significance of McGill and of the forms of training she received for her scholarship, as had been planned, but focused instead on the history and legacy of McGill for Indigenous students.

According to Simpson, the founding of McGill is often narrated as stemming from the 1811 endowment from Scottish merchant James McGill. While the financial problems of the institution’s first forty years are often acknowledged, Simpson noted that little attention is paid to the money that was transferred from the Six Nations to McGill in the mid-1800s to rid the university of its financial crisis.

“No mention is made of the crucial transferring of funds from the Six Nations of the Grand River in the 1850s that helped to save McGill from bankruptcy, [and] helped to repair [and] construct buildings. I suspect that was also money that in fact kept the university open,” stated Simpson.

Funds from the Six Nations were used without the permission of the communities during the financial crisis, and McGill has never reimbursed the Six Nations for this outstanding debt, which now adds up to $1.7 billion.

“[This unpaid debt should be paid] through a public acknowledgement, and not a superficial one at that, that McGill was kept afloat because of this unpaid debt […] that needs to be acknowledged rigorously,” she said. “[Indigenous students] should [… also] have scholarships in the name of each person that signed off on this loan, who in different ways contribute to this complicated history and the flourishing of this fine institution.”

Simpson added that compensation for this debt should also be made through hiring more tenured Indigenous scholars and professors. “But what is needed along with this big commitment to revitalizing hidden pasts, forgotten pasts, non-commitments to pasts, is diversifying this university. And here I want to ask, ‘Where are the Indigenous scholars at McGill, scholars in tenured positions?’”

She also noted that McGill’s new Indigenous studies minor is a good start, but that the university should aim for an Indigenous studies major.

“I am very happy to hear that there is an [Indigenous] studies minor. That makes me happy. Let’s go now for a major.”

A previous version of this article stated that Holding the academy accountable: Indigenous studies and community inclusion was hosted by SEDE. In fact, it was co-hosted by SSMU and SEDE. The Daily regrets the error. 

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Coming from Ukraine myself, I’ve heard Ukrainian citizens express their uncertainty and dissatisfaction with the whole concept of celebrating, whether in the country or outside of it, at this turbulent time. There is, to put it gently, a certain tension floating in the air of our communities due to the conflict between Ukraine and Russia. Many Ukrainians are not quite sure if it is appropriate to call anything a festival right now, amidst the military action in the Eastern part of the country. There is no official prohibition of festivals or celebratory events in the Ukraine, but a lot of Ukrainians, especially those whose families are directly involved in the conflict, prefer not to participate in big parades and not to ‘celebrate life’ while many are at risk of losing it.

Organized by the Montreal Ukrainian Festival Executive, the festival incorporated many traditional Ukrainian activities. During the three-day-long event, attendees enjoyed folk dances, music, and delicious food. Although the festival itself was not very spacious, the organizers did a great job of installing plenty of food stalls, little arts and crafts shops, and most importantly, a large stage with ample seating area so that no one missed out on the non-stop lineup of folk dancers and singers. In Ukraine, everything begins with a song, and at Ukrainian events or parties, it often feels like the singing never ends – at least not in people’s hearts. The festival organizers did a perfect job of representing the importance of music in Ukrainian life, as there was never any silence throughout the festival. The intense dances, colourful embroidered clothing so enthusiastically worn by the guests, and folk songs performed by both Ukrainians and artists from the Ukrainian diaspora in Canada, all combined to evoke the spirit of home.

The purpose of this beautifully organized gathering wasn’t solely to make people like myself feel at home. The festival also acts as a means of introducing Montrealers to Ukrainian culture in an accessible and fun manner. Many of the attendees were not Ukrainian, but could still be seen enjoying their servings of borsch (a traditional Ukrainian soup made with beets), eagerly listening to the folk songs from the stage, and inquiring about the Ukrainian symbols sold in souvenir shops. The festival had a welcoming atmosphere, a comfortable home for a community of many backgrounds, where each performance was announced in three different languages – Ukrainian, French, and English. Those with a connection to Ukraine were happy to share stories about their home with anyone who was willing to listen – myself included.

Despite the success of this cultural coming-together, at the festival’s long-awaited concert from popular Ukrainian rock band Okean Elzy, the issue of ‘should’ and ‘shouldn’t’ was brought up again. On the day of the performance, a reporter from the Ukrainian news service TNS inquired whether the band thought it was appropriate to have that kind of a celebration at the moment. With confidence and respect, band member Svyatoslav Varachuk replied that he didn’t consider the concert a celebration – it was a gathering of people who had one goal, one hope, and lots of love for their country. He thought the concert was a way of being together and holding hands in support of Ukraine.

Personally, I’m inclined to agree. While there were visitors who disagreed, their mere presence at the festival was encouraging. The festival isn’t performed year after year out of some necessity to organize an event related to Ukraine. It is a sign of cultural acknowledgment, the sunlight amidst the dark clouds reigning over Ukraine.

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