Food justice can be recognized as disparities and inequities in the current food system, as well as tackling and challenging the process of production and consumption of food. This includes where food is from, how it is grown, as well as the transport, processing, and accessibility of the food. It’s about looking beyond promising labels – such as “local,” “organic,” and “fair trade” – and understanding what these mean in a meaningful way.
The organic food movement can be considered part of the food justice project. Organic food definitely has its place in affecting environmental change; however, it can also produce social barriers to food because of its inaccessibility. Organic food companies have been widely criticized for producing food that is exclusively accessible to upper-class individuals.

Similarly, fair-trade products – another project within food justice – also share an upper-class predisposition. In some cases, fair trade certification is only available to farmers who pay fees upwards of $10,000, privileging wealthier farmers. Food justice often aims to fight for integrity, accessibility, and sustainability. So, for those who are curious about food justice in Montreal, consider the following a guide.

Knowing where the food comes from
Sustainability is a fundamental concern of the food justice movement. Interest in local food is growing across the province, and this is reflected in the many community-supported agriculture initiatives. Farmers markets are increasingly offering baskets of local organic produce on a weekly basis. Such initiatives are a good opportunity to familiarize oneself with local foods and where they come from, as well as to gain access to high quality, fresh goods.

Santropol Roulant is one of the places to start. It offers community-supported agriculture baskets, sourced from its farm on the West Island, and also funds urban gardening programs across Montreal. In the past, it grew vegetables on a garage rooftop in Rosemont, and it currently has urban gardens set up on the rooftop of its main office on Roy and on McGill campus. Interested in their work, I spoke with Kateri, an employee of Santropol Roulant. “[The] urban agriculture program is about linking the public to the source of their food,” said Kateri. “Seeing food in the aisles of a grocery store is completely different than seeing it rooted in the soil, and we want to link the public to the source and production of their food.”

In 2011, the collective grew and harvested nearly 1,500 kilograms of vegetables. The harvesting season lasts from April to October, and the organization is “in the midst of planting garlic and harvesting leftover chard and kale. Santropol Roulant is also in the midst of creating a new program called “Transformation: Programme à Santropol.” “All the crops they’ve grown, that weren’t sold and used in the baskets or mini-markets on the street, are transformed into products by volunteers,” Kateri told me. It has also opened a small store, in which it sells tomato sauces, pickles, jams, and various other conserves and canned goods. In the same vein, Santropol Roulant has recently started an urban agriculture program called “Les Fruits Défendus” which involves urban food picking.

“[We] approach people who are tree owners, but don’t have the time, tools, or mobility to harvest the fruit of their various trees (apples, pears, grapes, cherries, et cetera). The owners of the trees, as well as volunteers, are recruited, and the food is split amongst the owner of the tree, the volunteers, and Santropol Roulant.” This program is meant to raise awareness of urban agriculture. “There is food grown in town, and we want people to notice that,” Kateri added.

The People’s Potato is a campus-oriented, collectively-run soup kitchen that provides by-donation vegan meals and also supports local, mindful community initiatives, such as the Jean Talon market. This student-run organization used to source food from a vendor named Elaine Darcenie who sold cheap bulk vegetables, but now the initiative orders food from Moisson Montréal, a non-profit organization in the Saint-Laurent borough that provides for many food banks across Montreal.

Initiatives such as local farms, community-supported agriculture, and urban gardening are meant to raise awareness of food grown in the heart of the city. The slopes of Mont Royal once housed many farms, and organizations like Santropol, People’s Potato, and others are attempting to revive this image. Supporting local farmers and discouraging the transport of chemically preserved foods from abroad helps our local farmers and food systems. By integrating urban gardens into our landscapes, we can have access to fresh food on a daily basis and lead more mindful, sustainable lifestyles.

Midnight Kitchen (MK), McGill’s own food justice collective that offers free vegan meals in the SSMU building, also problematizes issues within sustainability. One collective member I spoke to, Vince Tao, told me that “while environmental justice is certainly an important political front for MK, in many ways the call to ‘eat local’ or ‘buy organic’ eschews a broader anti-capitalist perspective that would include migrant justice struggles, anti-globalization movements, and labour organizing in the fight against the destruction of the planet.” MK posits that the political scope of green activism is limited to changing individual consumer choices, whereas food justice goes beyond one’s personal lifestyle toward forms of collective action to confront major political and social problems.

Food Security
According to the People’s Potato’s website “Montreal rates second in terms of Canadian cities where food insecurity is an important concern.” Food security often relates to one’s access to income, and one-third of Montrealers are said to be low-income earners. A study by the Direction de santé publique (DSP) in Montreal on food accessibility revealed that forty per cent of Montrealers live in food deserts, meaning they do not have access to fresh fruits and vegetables within walking distance of their homes. The best-served sectors are central neighbourhoods. However, such studies do not take into account depanneurs, specialty stores, and smaller independent grocery stores which provide other points of access to fresh food. Even from a purely geographic perspective, supermarkets are not the only food retailers where fresh and healthy food can be bought.

I spoke with McGill Sustainability Studies alumni Jane Zhang to learn more about food security. Jane told me that she has a depanneur on the corner of her street that serves fresh, relatively cheap vegetables, and while this is a viable option, she also asks herself, “[Is it] enough to serve an entire neighbourhood?” Jane argues that this would mean “a completely different question.” Vince says that food should not be seen as a commodity. “Put very simply, global capitalism creates a topography of ‘haves and have-nots.’ From a food justice perspective, we see a jagged divide between the perpetually full and the perpetually hungry. All people deserve to have access to food for the simple reason that they are alive.” Many food deserts often affect specific demographics. “The environmental movement – and especially the food justice movement – [is] led on by white environmentalists. What does it mean, and what does it mean for the people who are excluded?” Jane asked.

Jane carried out her honours research project on urban agriculture, and through her research has confronted issues of social equity in the physical and ecological factors of food production. These problems of social equity are tied into colonial history, Jane said, and how landscapes have changed over time. In Montreal, there are more and more community-based gardening initiatives like Santropol popping up, but simultaneously we see a lower level of private gardens. Jane tells me this is mainly because of changing demographics. “In the sixties, there were a lot of Italian and Japanese families installed in Montreal who would run these private gardens because of their socioeconomic status, as well as their respective histories of food heritage, and being used to growing food on their own. Now we see less of that, because their descendants are aging and are less inclined to do that type of work – perhaps because they’re simply not interested, or maybe because it reminds them of that struggle.”

The People’s Potato focuses on food access for students and the surrounding community, creating more control over the food system, and fighting environmental and food-related issues. They work through education and collaboration, and support projects that work toward environmental, and social justice. According to a People’s Potato collective member, this includes working “[against] factory farming, security in access to drinking water, and fighting the pipelines which poison the natural environment, and decimate animal populations,” on the one hand, as well as “Indigenous justice, feminism, migrant justice, and fighting racism and homophobia.” It’s a “ridiculously large project or goal,” but these are the two primary types of interests of the organization, and threats or oppression that overlap with these two sectors are targeted and prioritized (for example, for events on Indigenous justice and pipelines, the People’s Potato volunteers come to support and bring food to those events).

Santropol promotes food security through Meals-on-Wheels, “a food delivery service for fresh and healthy food to seniors or people with less autonomy and who have trouble accessing food,” according to Kateri. Santropol Roulant has about 300 clients a year that use Meals-on-Wheels. “There’s service five days a week, save Thursday and Sunday.” Clients are grateful for this since Saturdays are usually days in which food accessibility becomes particularly cumbersome. However, Kateri finds that there isn’t enough awareness of this program, and that there is a need for “those who are socially isolated and don’t have networks to get involved, and reclaim their right to fresh food.” With Meals-on-Wheels, Santropol Roulant works with food banks to “decrease loss of good food” and make use of readily-available resources in Montreal.

Jane posits that “if you think about the end goal of food security, what is it really? It’s that we want everyone to have access to healthy, fresh food. Food banks are symptomatic of a larger problem. The people who rely on food banks have to take whatever is given to them, and it is never guaranteed that what they have in stock that day is fresh or healthy. Being in a position of not being able to choose one’s food, especially culturally-appropriative food, is a big problem. I think ultimately, the end goal should be institutional, we should be looking at what is the government not doing that’s being addressed by food banks, that they need to do in the future.”

Food Accessibility
McGill and Concordia are among the few Canadian universities in which students have managed to win space for such projects. Midnight Kitchen and the People’s Potato are very successful models, however, according to Vince, “in Halifax there’s a group called ‘The Loaded Laddle,’ at the University of Victoria there exists a group called ‘the Community Cabbage’, and there are a myriad of other initiatives. Sadly, these projects have not been incorporated in the universities. Perhaps the administration at these campuses are more resilient and opposed to the projects. The creation of these initiatives definitely reflects an activist spirit and political climate similar to that of Montreal.

The People’s Potato asserts that “the key to starting non-profit food justice work in an institution is to learn to speak their language and follow their rules.” The group must have a mandate, a non-profit number, hired employees, and insurance for volunteers and the board of directors. “You try to create this perfect system, so that when the administration tries to knock you down, your foundation is solid and policies seamless.”

The choice of vegan food is a choice tied into the issue of food accessibility, but also a choice rampant with presumptions and implications. Jane states that she became a vegetarian four years ago and eventually a vegan, but is considering re-incorporating meat or fish into her diet. Her reasons for going plant-based are “the ecological side of things – being in these primarily white environmental movements in North America is one of the pathways to change that’s identified as counteracting climate change and other issues.”

However, Jane asserts that there are several elements missing in this ideology, such as the personal cultural basis to our diets. Becoming a vegetarian is taking a stance against “the meat-heavy, North-American diet,” which is not what she grew up on – she grew up on a Chinese diet, primarily based on vegetables and legumes, with a small amount of meat. Jane asserts that striking a balance would involve “considering your personal background in tandem with the political agenda you’re trying to advance.” She acknowledges that she has friends who are people of colour who are also vegetarian or vegan. “This is how it should be seen, a diversity of cuisines, which have a diversity of approaches to the plant-based diet, rather than needing to eat raw cashews and green smoothies to be a vegan.”

The People’s Potato acknowledged when I spoke with them that veganism “can be colonial and racist. There’s a lot of friction between environmentalism, animal rights, and globalization, and this idea of a baseline human dignity.” For the People’s Potato, it’s about removing barriers for access to the space. By not serving any animal products, “[the People’s Potato] can nourish Muslim students, since they won’t have to be concerned with how the meat was killed. Similarly for people with kosher diets and for vegetarians. [They] always post their ingredients on the board, so if anyone is soy – or gluten – sensitive for example, they can know.” They continued, “It’s about speaking out against the racism, colonialist ideals, and cultural imperialism that happens with ‘white ways’ of knowing the world. It’s a challenge, because our user base is mostly white, Western, middle-class, and university-educated, but I feel like we confront that, and because we do this feels okay with me. We’re aware of the socio-cultural implications.”

In this way, one can get a sense of the condition of food justice in Montreal. Montreal is a city endowed with a political climate and activist spirit, which has enabled such initiatives as Midnight Kitchen and the People’s Potato to be successfully integrated into institutions. Alternative sources of food are emphasized, such as local farmers markets and urban gardening. However, inherent in local food movements are questions of social equity and of who’s carrying out the work – whether it involves cultural imperialism, colonialist ideals, and the exploitation of migrant workers, or whether equal participation from community members, volunteers, and organizations. Veganism is tied to the notion of accessibility as well as progressive politics – and the struggle for both environmental and animal rights – but it can also be a colonialist and racist ideology, which ignores cultural particularities and sensitivities.

As the People’s Potato asserts, “Food aid should offer its services in the absence of any social, cultural, or economic judgement.” Fresh, healthy food is a human right, and such a vision is emphasized by Santropol Roulant, in its urban agriculture initiatives, and People’s Potato – as it democratizes access to food for the student body. So while you stroll up the streets of Mile End, or down the cobblestone of Old Montreal, embrace the richness and diversity of choices you are presented with – it’s a luxury of living in such a multicultural city. But likewise, be an engaged consumer, and remain aware of where your food is coming from – and whether, with your choices, you are supporting the exploitation of workers or white supremacism, or whether you are promoting an ideology of cultural diversity, sustainable local foods, and social justice.

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Greenpeace’s second annual Ice Ride took place yesterday at Parc Laurier, rallying 85 people together for a collective bike ride to fight for the protection of the Arctic and against the drilling for oil currently taking place there.

The Ice Ride takes place in 150 cities and 33 countries around the world, and involves thousands of cyclists each year. In Canada, activists from nine cities – Vancouver, Toronto, Montreal, Medicine Hat, Ottawa, Quebec, Sherbrooke, Saint-Lambert, and Trois-Rivières – are demanding that governments put protection of the Arctic at the top of their agendas.

Marco and Manuel, two attendees of the event, came to advocate for environmental rights and take a stand against Arctic drilling. “We’re at the crossroads, it’s do-or-die […] to choose whether we want to support the oil companies or more renewable forms of energy. They want to extract our oil and get it out quickly to the world.”

Greenpeace is demanding the creation of an Arctic sanctuary to protect the international waters around the North Pole, since companies are taking advantage of the ice melting in the Arctic to extract oil and practice industrial fishing. Demonstrators sought the creation of a zone in which these practices are banned.

Speakers noted Canada’s particular role in the exploitation of the Arctic, highlighting the case of Clyde River, an Inuit community in Nunavut; the Ice Ride’s banner read, “In solidarity with Clyde River” in French.

Earlier this year, the National Energy Board (NEB) – which evaluates energy projects for environmental protection and economic efficiency – accepted a five-year proposal for seismic testing in Baffin Bay and Davis Strait off eastern Nunavut. Seismic testing involves air cannons, which create ocean noise pollution and disturb marine life.

Charles Latimer, campaigner for Greenpeace’s Oceans campaign, explained that “the Clyde River community depends on this ecosystem.”

“Air cannons, which are extremely loud, will be shot to simulate explosions and map out gas and oil deposits on the seafloor. The problem is, marine life uses sound to communicate and is very sensitive to sound, so this project results in […] changes in migration [for marine life], and substantially reduces the diversity of this ecosystem,” Latimer said.

This Clyde River community has decided to go to the federal government in an effort to put a stop to seismic testing in Baffin Bay. Consequently, the organizers of this year’s Ice Ride chose to promote this issue and stand in solidarity with the community to send a unified message to the federal government to protect the Arctic and move toward renewable energy.

In a speech sent to the organizers and read out at the event, Clyde River mayor Jerry Natatine thanked the Ice Ride participants for acting in solidarity with his community and the four million inhabitants of the Arctic.

“Our environment is important to us, but the oil industry, the NEB, and the federal government are ignoring our concerns,” said Natatine. “That’s why we decided to launch our legal challenge to the NEB’s decision to permit seismic testing in our waters. This legal challenge is just the first battle in a larger struggle to protect Canada’s North and the entire Arctic Ocean from irresponsible oil and gas exploitation.”

A previous version of this article stated that Jerry Natatine was present at the Ice Ride. In fact, Natatine was not present at the event.

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Delia De Veyra, who was a migrant live-in caregiver from 2004 to 2009, shared her experience with the audience. De Veyra found her sponsor absent when she arrived in Canada. The recruitment agency looked for another employer, but she had to wait six months for her next job. De Veyra said that her next employer deliberately neglected the contract, and did not pay her overtime wage.

“I was like a commodity to them,” De Veyra said. “I would go there […] take care of the kids, cleaning, cooking, and so on and so forth – ten hours, twelve hours a day, no overtime pay.”

De Veyra quit, but was also subject to abuse upon arrival at her following job, this time experiencing psychological harassment. Her employer’s wife would constantly shout and swear at her, De Veyra explained. With the help of PINAY, a Filipino women’s organization in Quebec, De Veyra filed a complaint, but did not receive indemnity. Instead, the employer demanded an apology for the complaint she filed.

Soon thereafter, De Veyra attempted to become a permanent resident as provided for by Canada’s Live-in Caregiver Program, but was rejected. She was advised to apply to become a permanent resident based on humanitarian grounds instead, and from 2006 to 2009 she worked on the application. This year, she finally received Canadian citizenship.

“Migrant domestic workers are placed in a very precarious situation, as their workplace is in a private household, behind closed doors, out of the public eye, which renders them invisible,” said panelist François Crépeau, a law professor at McGill and the United Nations Special Rapporteur on the Human Rights of Migrants.

In the presentation, Crépeau noted that domestic workers, who are largely migrant workers, work in the private sphere, and are thus often overlooked as part of the labour market. “They’re physically […] isolated, which makes it difficult for them to take collective action or even get information, contact, or support,” said Crépeau.

Crépeau emphasized that migrant domestic workers must be ensured access to education, vocational training, health services, food, and shelter; they should also be made aware of resources available to them in the country of destination, and possess a written contract in a language they understand, he said.

“We must empower domestic workers to fight for their own rights by ensuring that they have access to the information and protection mechanisms they need,” said Crépeau. “Nothing has ever worked better than empowering people to fight for their own rights. Only by empowering migrants to speak for themselves can we hope to have their voices heard and their rights respected.”

Enrique Llanez, a Spanish anthropologist and an advocate of immigrant rights in Canada, also shared his experience as a migrant worker, this time with Canada’s ‘work-holiday’ program known as International Experience Canada. According to Llanez, this program results in Spanish engineers, lawyers, and mathematicians emigrating to Canada, and leads to underemployment in Spain. Consequently, Canada has ready access to skill and cheap labour, as immigrant workers are often paid less than their peers.

The number of temporary migrant workers in Canada has grown by 70 per cent in the last five years, according to the Canadian Council for Refugees. “These people are being abused from the moment they set their feet in the country, and forced to sign papers not even written in their native languages,” said Llanez.

Llanez was not very optimistic about the situation as it presently stands. “What’s being enforced is keeping temporary foreign workers’ heads down […] an agency hasn’t been built to check that the conditions that these people live in are being respected.” He said that the situation for workers is becoming increasingly difficult, despite increased public awareness of the issues migrant workers face.

Audience members participated actively in the question-and-answer session that followed.

Maria Margarita Caicedo, a Concordia student involved with Journalists for Human Rights, found the panel illuminating.

“I thought it was really interesting from a human rights perspective […] it’s a human right, as opposed to citizenship,” said Caicedo. “I really didn’t know anything about the migrants issue in Quebec […] it’s shocking.”

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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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“Mouvements sans/100 manifestes” was but one performance in 12th edition of the Festival Quartiers Danse. The nine-day festival featured venue shows, exhibits, films, and workshops, all seeking to promote the “democratization” of culture and the Montreal dance community. For this festival, the “democratization of dance” means “promoting artistic diversity,” “encouraging artistic development,” and “bringing dance closer to its audience.” This mandate was put into practice in the public contemporary dance performances that occurred throughout eight Montreal neighbourhoods during the festival, including the Milton-Parc community.

“Mouvements sans/100 manifestes” certainly kept with this democratic goal. Dancers expressed themselves – through both movement and spoken word – as they saw fit. They wrote their own manifestos, performed acrobatics, and choreographed their own movements. Helen Simard, the organizer of the show, told The Daily that “each performer proposed what they wanted to share. I did very little editing or censoring, because I really wanted it to express what they had to say, instead of imposing my own view over it.”

Likewise, the dance was performed at Chalet du Mont-Royal – rather than a formal theatre – to take back a public space and show that art has its place there as well. Dance was not depicted as an exotic, transcendental art form, but rather as a natural, straightforward form of expression available to each member of the crowd. The crowd, rather than the performers, stood at an elevated level – which raised questions of power-dynamics, and showed the importance of the crowd in this performance. Proclaiming “you see me, I see you. This moment is nothing, and this moment is everything. We are both,” the performers stepped up close to look each member of the crowd in the eyes, directly including them in the event.

While the performance achieved its political aims, it did so in a rather isolating way. The spoken word – which accompanied the dance throughout the show – was imbued with pretension. The performers referred to art as an essential part of our everyday lives which makes “our souls spin and stomachs rumble,” claiming that “art doesn’t matter and that’s what’s powerful.” The speeches lacked substance, featuring phrases which only served to convey sophistication, while the dance itself was extremely simple, forgoing elegance and synchronicity. There was no discernible connection between the minimalist dance and the overindulgent language – instead, the pretentious spoken word rendered the show ironically inaccessible.

Simard, however, welcomes this perspective, saying that “art is democratized by making a space that says it’s okay if you don’t get it and it’s okay if you have something to say that I don’t agree with.” The point of the show was to give a voice to the people. Each member of the dance crew – ranging from undergraduates, to parents, to professional performers – was given a chance to voice their thoughts on the purpose of art. Likewise, the audience was welcomed to interpret the piece as they saw fit. Simard contends that when art is atypical it invites discussion and forces us to engage with new and complex ideas: “there’s too much pressure on having to understand what things mean,” she says. “When you don’t understand things, life is much more interesting because you have to work to understand it. I think whether somebody likes it or not it is a moot point – the question is whether you engaged with it.”

The physical aspects of “Movements sans/100 manifestes” used simplicity and proximity to make dance performance an inclusive experience – unlike the odd hierarchy of sitting still while watching complex movements onstage that is present in most formal shows. While the discourse may have been grandiose, and the dance lacking in cohesiveness, the passion of each performer was palpable as they danced, chanted, and spoke in the pouring rain, attempting to reach out to and stir the crowd. As Simard puts it, “Art is meant to allow the possibility of other ways of thinking, being, or doing. Art isn’t meant to just be about beauty.”

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September’s edition of Confabulation, titled “On the Road: Stories of transition, travel, and crossing lines,” saw the theatre filled with spectators eager to feel that direct connection. The audience consisted of a younger crowd, generally in their twenties and thirties, who shared in the sense of humour of the performers and contributed to an attentive and engaged atmosphere. Not a soul was bored; each spectator was fully engrossed in the drama, suspense, and emotion of the stories.

The evening’s seven storytellers touched upon the themes of travel, transition, and growth, using comedy to tell what may have otherwise been upsetting stories. Clara Bee Lavery talked about getting through a particularly difficult period in her life this past year – touching on divorce, heartbreak, miscarriage, and death in the family – but focused on the heartwarming detail that friends and family used cacti as gifts to cheer her up. She engaged the crowd with jokes about her personal peculiarities, such as her search for symbolism in her life, her love of Beyoncé, and her belief that she would die on the rollercoaster of an amusement park. Even through the rough parts, Lavery kept the crowd laughing.

David Sklar’s stories of teaching in Tel Aviv and nearly getting arrested, while a world away from Lavery’s content, kept with a similar tone. He spoke of teaching Shakespeare in Jerusalem, lamented his ability to deliberately cry from only one eye, and consoled himself with the fact that his mother (who had never heard this tale) hadn’t come to the show that night. The star of the evening, Natalie Zina Walschots, told an extraordinary story about a creative fifth grade experiment. At a Catholic school, Walschots would write letters in red ink, pretending to be a demon, and stuff them in a tree in the courtyard. Walschots’ letters almost led to an exorcism being carried out on that tree, and on herself when it was discovered that she had written the letters.

Other storytellers recounted journeys to self-assertion, the pursuit of unrequited love, first kisses, and leaving university for a man met in a chatroom. In each story, no matter how light the tone, performers exposed their vulnerability, sharing the risks they took for love and careers. However, while self-deprecation can be an effective device, it was used too much and occasionally led to pity rather than laughter.

While the subject matter of each story was different, the stories altogether painted a diverse and touching perspective on transitions, as the performers recounted pivotal transitory moments in their lives. The speakers had strong stage presence and delivered their tales in a way that absorbed each and every attendee. In fact, the performers fed off the energy and enthusiasm of the audience, who in turn benefited from the intimacy, creativity, and wit of the performers. The audience was not immersed in a fictional universe ­– the performances were personal and real, allowing for an evening that felt less like a night at the theatre, and more like catching up with long-lost friends.

The next productions of Confabulation will touch upon “Bad Medicine”, “Good Date/Bad Date”, and “The Shortest Story.”

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It can be difficult to organize benefit shows for a cause that is a whole continent away – how is it possible to treat a situation that is physically distant with respect and understanding, without sensationalizing? Antoine Bustros, organizer of the event, gave few answers when interviewed, preferring to let the show to speak for itself.

The night opened with a powerful speech, citing statistics about the thousands injured and killed in the current assault, and specifying Aide Médicale pour la Palestine as the primary charity to which the event is contributing.

Following the statement of purpose was a slew of diverse performances, both in terms of music and background. Isabelle Metwalli and Enzo De Rosa began the show with a duet of emotive opera singing and piano playing. Metwalli sung “Ave Maria” in a soft voice, allowing the song to resonate but not overwhelm; toward the end of the piece, the pianist improvised with complementary chords. Niko Beki, a Brazilian and Québecois jazz singer, contrasted with an upbeat bossa nova, encouraging the audience to dance along. Later, santur and kamancheh players harmonized in a beautifully melancholic piece. Contessa Gitana closed the night with both a strong vocal and violin performance of Latin music, supported by guitar, bass, and drums.

The musical artists themselves had little to say about the event, other than that they were there to perform. What gave the evening its depth was Bustros’ efforts to include messages from those in Gaza. While Western media gives a rather superficial and redundant view of this war, Bustros attempted to provide an account of the conflict that focused on lived experiences by getting in touch with Gaza residents through Facebook. Their stories were incorporated into the event, with letters from residents read to the crowd throughout the night. Mohammed Akila, a musician in Gaza, also sent his music to be played at the event. His compositions were paired with the lyrics of Mahmoud Darwich, a Palestinian resistance poet who wrote about the anguish of dispossession and exile.

Other artists, interspersed with the musical performances, also presented poetry and prose related to the conflict. Projected onto a large screen was a poem by Khaled Juma, in which the speaker of the poem pleads for the children of Gaza, who used to steal from him and vandalize his property, to come back. Gisèle Ndong then read her own poetry with passion, asserting that nothing justifies the taking of a life. She put herself in the shoes of Palestinian women, writing about the blood-tainted dust, mutilated Palestinian women, overfilled hospitals, and an enduring hope despite it all. Rana Bose read the letter of a Palestinian woman who shares her name and who is mourning the loss of her eight-year-old daughter. In the letter, the woman finds herself constantly anxious and insecure, seeking the end of the “nightmare of [her] life” (translated from French).

While the suggested donation for the night was $20 per person, the event raised over $4,300. Although perhaps not the most organized event Sala Rossa has ever seen (the evening began an hour late), Music for Gaza was a poignant evening that bridged the physical distance of the conflict with lived experiences. This was no white-saviour get-together; instead, the event relied heavily on contact between the organizers and residents of Gaza, as well as on the use of music and poetry to facilitate an almost transcendent connection between here and there. Music for Gaza proved that art provides a mode of understanding that cannot be reproduced in mainstream media. A man of few words, Bustros said it best when asked about the role of art in the benefit: “Art and music don’t necessarily raise awareness,” he said, “but they bring people together.”

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