The three-part workshop kicked off with “An Interactive History of Israel/Palestine,” which turned out to be a sort of interactive map game. Participants were invited to crowd into an outline of 19th century Palestine, three as Zionist settlers, the rest as Palestinians. As the facilitators read through the timeline of Israeli migration, larger areas were taped off for the three settlers (courtesy of the UN and the Jewish National Fund), forcing everyone else to crowd together in increasingly smaller sections of the map.  It’s a great visualization, and did an effective job of putting us in the shoes of Israeli settlers and displaced Palestinians. “Does this seem like a fair deal to you?” one participant (playing a settler) was asked. She didn’t miss a beat: “Do you mean a fair deal, or a sweet one?”

The next section centered on the concept of “apartheid” as defined by the UN in 1973 (“Inhuman acts committed for the purpose of establishing and maintaining domination by one racial group of persons over any other racial group of persons and systematically oppressing them”), and how it applies to the situation at hand. Long story short: it does. In almost every facet of life, from immigration to education to marriage, brutal circular logic and nonsensical roadblocks (literal and figurative) prevail. For certain engineering programs at major universities, military clearance is needed. This isn’t a problem for most Israeli citizens, all of whom serve in the military before attending university, but how is a Palestinian supposed to deal with that? It’s been made nearly impossible for someone from the West Bank to gain Israeli citizenship, even if they marry an Israeli. Contrast this to the right of return laws that allow all Jews, and most of their relations, down to the spouse of a grandchild of a Jew, the right to Israeli citizenship, and the whole thing smacks of racism, pure and simple.

Last up was the call to action. There’s some discussion of the BDS (Boycott, Divest and Sanction) movement’s successes: the Tadamon letter, a statement of support by 500 local artists, and the Ahava campaign, a boycott of a cosmetics company that uses Dead Sea minerals from Palestinian land. There’s a major focus on McGill’s ties to The Israeli University of Technology in Haifa (Technion), and why that’s such a problem. Technion has close relations with both Elbit Systems Ltd. and Rafael Advanced Defense Systems Ltd., two major Israeli weapons manufacturers.  Technion students (and, by extension, McGill students participating in exchange programs) essentially do development for these companies. Credit goes to Tadamon! for bringing the message home and subjecting McGill to its anti-colonial criticism.

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According to its website, Life after Life is an “intergenerational collective run mutually by girls, women, queer, transgender, and feminists” that is “committed to de-criminalization and to de-carceration and to troubling any common sense notion that prisons are normal, necessary, or that those who are living ‘inside’ prison walls are somehow different from those living ‘outside’.”

Held in the Lev Bukhman Room in the Shatner building, the workshop aimed to provoke thought about the concept of transformative justice as opposed to the more traditional idea of restorative justice, with a specific focus on violence against children, women, trans, and queer folk.

The workshop started with a brief introduction to Life after Life and proceeded into a forum for discussion. As participants discussed the situation of an anonymous gay man named Juan, the concept of transformative justice became clearer.

According to Life after Life project coordinator Lena Palacios – a survivor of restorative justice herself – people rely on cops and prisons. In the current system, when someone commits a crime and is sentenced to serve jail time, they have the chance to be “restored” back into the community. But in this way, Palacios explained, the person is forced to be held accountable for said crime.

Transformative justice, on the other hand, aims to change the community itself, and does not force individuals to be solely held accountable for a crime.

Transformative justice allows survivors to interact and perhaps “get even” with those who have hurt them – not in a vigilante justice sense, speakers clarified – without involving any institutions or the state. This gives the right of self-determination to the survivor.

Also, since transformative justice is achieved through community circles, it is much easier for survivors to find resources and support.

The workshop received positive feedback, and most participants agreed that the concept of transformative justice was “confusing, but in a good way.”

One McGill Law student found the concept to be “flexible” and “adaptive,” as opposed to the current judicial system in which not all communities are equally represented.

According to Palacios, Life after Life is one of many collectives that advocate transformative justice. She cited the Seattle-based Communities Against Rape and Abuse as one of the most effective examples.

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Emmanuel, born in Eritrea, began by stating that it is important for the diaspora to find its role in how it works to influence its country of origin. He cited that there are over fifty million Africans living outside the continent. “When people think about the role of the diaspora,” Emmanuel said, “the first thing that comes to their mind is remittances.” Remittances are money that is sent back to the continent from emigrants living abroad. These remittances are extremely economically significant, and surpass the annual amount of foreign aid to Africa: in 2010, remittances to Africa totalled $40 billion. In recognition of their importance, the African Union has recognized the diaspora as the sixth region of Africa.

The second speaker of the night was McGill professor Khalid Mustafa Medani. Being of Sudanese origin, he started jokingly, he said he was reluctant that an Eritrean was speaking alongside him at the discussion. He clarified that it is rare to have two people from these respective areas discuss the problems that are facing the Horn of Africa today. In fact, Sudan and Eritrea share close-knit diaspora communities, but the Sudanese are envious of the Ethiopian and Eritrean diaspora, because they have been more effective at cooperating to improve conditions at home. Professor Medani attributed this to the relative homogeneity of Eritrean and Ethiopian populations, in comparison to the Sudanese population.

Later, Medani discussed an article he read as a Masters student, which addressed the following: “Why was it, after so many years of conflict, that the nutritional levels of Somalis was good, given the lack of resources in the country, the plummeting GDP, and lack of economic growth in the country?”

The answer was simple to him: their Somali relatives abroad were more than willing to help them out. “But,” he said, “how can we channel the remittances that are reaching the region to help in terms of public health and development?”

He noted the lack of public institutions due to the long-running civil conflicts in the area. He also said that in northern Somalia, funds from diasporic communities have been very successful in peace building, whereas remittances to southern Somalia has financed militant organizations and caused instability. “What lessons can we learn from the case of Somalia?” he asked.

One lesson, he concluded, is that excessive state or foreign intervention may not always be the right answer. Medani proposed that the work should start here in North America. Medani stressed the importance of working with public institutions like the Canadian government, which is already involved in the Horn of Africa – especially in Sudan, where Canada has invested around $400 to $500 million. The end result, Medani said, is public-private partnership between the government and the diasporic communities.

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Prior to the screening of the documentary, guest speakers from the Immigrant Worker Centre (IWC) spoke about the important role the centre plays in the migrant worker community, many of whom suffer abuse of their essential rights. Valentine, one of the guest speakers, is a migrant worker from Bangladesh. He outlined his experience with a private Canadian recruitment company that engaged him to work as an Indian cook in a Quebec restaurant.

Upon his arrival, Valentine’s employer withheld his passport and papers, forcing him to sleep in his basement. He paid him less than minimum wage, in cash, to work as a cook. Valentine was subsequently fired after demanding better work conditions. Concerning his struggle to obtain a ministerial work permit, Valentine questions, “If a criminal like Conrad Black [a notorious Canadian newspaper tycoon and white-collar criminal] can get a ministerial permit to stay in Canada, why can’t migrant workers like me?”

With the help of the IWC, Valentine has been able to obtain a legal permit, but has been denied medical insurance, due to the fact that he was only living in Quebec under an open work permit.

The film opened with a segment about Latin American workers digging the railway tunnel for the Canada Line in Vancouver, where a union official claims they were only paid $3.50 an hour. The documentary goes on to discuss how the migrant workers do not work under the umbrella of the government, but rather under an employer operating for a private employment company. Malcolm Guy, one of the filmmakers, called this modern phenomenon the “privatization of migration.”

Since these workers are considered temporary migrant workers under an employer, they are not allowed the opportunity to apply for Canadian citizenship or permanent residency. Therefore, only their proprietor can decide their fate within the country. The filmmakers stress that this is the result of an elitist system, which makes it impossible for migrant workers to obtain permanent residency.

While the myth about migrant workers is that they only work in heavy-duty low-level jobs, they can be found in all industries – but their numbers vary from sector to sector. A study shows that in December of 2009, for the first time in history, the number of temporary foreign workers in Canada exceeded the number of immigrants. The film featured a Filipino migrant worker, Jonathan, who testified that he was threatened by his employer with the loss of his job, and consequent deportation. Where he was working, the migrant workers are paid $11.50 per hour, whereas the Canadian workers are paid $18 per hour for doing the same job. Jonathan and his four roommates pay almost $1600 per month in rent to their employer, while a similar apartment next-door runs for $750 per month. This employer, like many other employers in Canada, demands a myriad of illegal additional fees from their migrant workers.

The only people fighting for migrant rights are the workers themselves and nonprofit allies such as the Immigrant Worker Centre, through different rallies and marches held in cities across Canada. A labour lawyer, interviewed for the documentary, emphasized that migrant workers are practically treated like slaves. The bottom line, she says, is this: “Are we going to use and abuse and toss out these workers, or are we going to treat them with respect, and acknowledge our need for them?”

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