City officials framed the budget as both “rigorous and responsible,” arguing that it was prepared in an “uncertain economic situation” and amid concern about a “possible recession.” Martinez Ferrada has said the administration is aiming to keep tax increases in line with inflation while also emphasizing debt management as a central objective. Under the plan, the city administration says it intends to bring its net-debt-to- revenue ratio back to 100 per cent by the end of 2026, an objective it is tying to the cost of servicing debt and the need to finance long-term infrastructure work laid out in the city’s ten- year capital plan.

Municipal documents also stress that council is limiting the tax burden increase “under its control” to 3.4 per cent for both residential and non-residential properties, a distinction the city uses to separate the central administration’s decisions from borough-level components affecting the final bill. The budget’s capital plan is presented as heavily maintenance- oriented. According to the city’s summary, 67.7 per cent of planned investments over 2026 to 2035 are directed toward protecting existing assets, while 32.3 per cent is allocated toward development. The largest investment envelopes by 2035 are projected to be environment and underground infrastructure, at $8.0 billion, and road infrastructure, at $6.7 billion; figures the administration cites to justify the scale of upkeep and renewal required for aging systems.

Homelessness and housing emerge as the most prominent social commitments in the budget’s early reception, with the administration repeatedly signalling their high priority status. The plan sets aside $29.9 million in 2026 to support community organizations working with people experiencing homelessness and initiatives meant to manage “cohabitation” in public spaces. It also includes a longer-term objective of investing $100 million by 2035 to acquire and renovate buildings intended for emergency shelter spaces. Reported comparisons to previous budgets have framed the 2026 homelessness allocation with a marked increase from earlier years, underscoring a shift toward higher recurring spending in this area.

Housing policy is tied closely to that homelessness strategy. Over the ten-year horizon, the city is committing $578.7 million to acquire buildings for social and affordable housing, including $100 million linked directly to homelessness-related housing needs. The administration is also signalling a change in how it intends to push new housing supply. Rather than maintaining the existing ‘20-20-20’ framework for large developments, requiring equal shares of social, affordable, and family housing or a fine, the city has indicated it wants to move toward ‘financial incentives’ and closer partnerships with developers, non-profits, and private builders. Alongside those broader shifts, the budget includes smaller, targeted measures connected to the rental market, including multi-year funding for tenant-rights organizations and an expansion of preventive building inspections that the city says will reach 1,600 buildings in 2026.

Public safety and emergency services are also highlighted as major budget areas, both because of their size in the operating budget and because of the policy debates they tend to provoke. Public safety is presented as the largest share of expenses at 17.9 per cent. The plan includes funding for police body cameras, expanded use of public-space cameras, and increased spending framedasprevention,particularly youth violence prevention and safety measures around school zones. The budget earmarks $15.8 million in 2026 for reducing youth violence and $17.4 million for securing routes around schools. Furthermore, it sets out a longer- term $40-million, ten-year plan connected to body cameras.

Alongside new spending, the administration has emphasized restraint measures and trade- offs. The city has pointed to $79 million in identified savings, largely framed as the result of reviewing municipal programs, and has indicated that hiring will be frozen in parts of the public service. At the same time, the budget is presented against a background of significant debt servicing costs, with 16.6 per cent of the 2026 budget, about $1.27 billion, allocated toward it. Reported examples of the budget’s constraints include some delayed or reduced projects, such as infrastructure work pushed to later years and a reduction in funding for certain mobility-related services.

The budget has drawn conflicting interpretations among political opponents and stakeholders. The official opposition has criticized the proposal as lacking long-term vision and argued that it “smells like austerity,” disputing the administration’s narrative that it represents a fresh start for the city. Other institutional voices have welcomed the emphasis on “rigour,” particularly the effort to document recurring savings and manage limited fiscal room. In statements responding to the tabling, business groups have also pointed to structural pressures, such as a municipal wage bill nearing $3 billion and upcoming collective bargaining, as ongoing drivers of costs that will shape the city’s ability to expand services without further tax increases.

For residents, including students who largely rent and depend on public transit, the immediate effects of the municipal budget will not necessarily be direct. However, the broader pressures it reflects will be closely connected to everyday affordability. The proposed budget underscores a central tension for Montreal’s finances: large portions of the city’s fiscal capacity are absorbed by maintaining and renewing aging infrastructure, even as the operating plan commits new money to urgent social needs such as homelessness and housing.

The post Martinez Ferrada Tables First Montreal Budget appeared first on The McGill Daily.

I first met Evelyn at a Daily outreach event in September 2024. It was my first month at McGill, and I had been eager to find a new writing community. At the office, I entered a welcoming space that would end up becoming my new little sanctuary on campus. There, I also met Evelyn. They were inviting, stylish, and had a buzz of warmth around them that made me feel as if we already knew each other. As one does after meeting someone new, I followed Evelyn on Instagram that evening and was not the least bit surprised to find out that they were an artist. Since then, I’ve been quietly keeping up with their work: liking their posts, reading their blog, going to a few pop-ups, and supporting their endeavours from a distance. But when they completed “A Portal to the Free State,” their newest ceramic artwork, I was touched so profoundly that I knew it was time to finally put on my big girl pants and reach out to them again. 

“A Portal to the Free State” is one of Evelyn’s most ambitious projects yet: an earthen-green ceramic vase with a lighter, tea-green spiral at its centre. The vase sits atop a large piece of cotton with the title of the work embroidered in a fine red floss. Charms, representing the women in Evelyn’s family, surround the fabric. The piece was first displayed on December 13, 2025, at Scatterbrain’s “cocoon/chrysalis” showcase, with an artist’s statement stating that it aimed to “show the love that Black women pass on to their daughters.” Evelyn believes this love between Black women is a “kind [of love that] preserves, teaches, creates new possibilities and new worlds.” I spoke to them about how “A Portal to the Free State” can take us into one of those worlds. 

This interview had been edited for clarity and conciseness. 

Ingara Maidou for The McGill Daily (MD): Before we delve any deeper, could you try to explain how “A Portal to a Free State” came about?

Evelyn Logan (EL): I was taking this class called “Race, Gender, and the Practice of Power (HIST 429)” with Professor Melissa Shaw. In that class, we were examining Black women, Black marginalized people, and the way that they show up in historical records. Something that came out of that class was me realizing that there’s such a huge depth of knowledge that actually isn’t present in the archives, but that comes from my ancestors, and all the people that came before me, and that I have within me. 

Something else that came out of that class was the idea of a free state. I’m not very religious, though I was raised Christian, and I think there is this idea that, with all of this insurmountable oppression that Black people face, there has to be something else out there. There has to be another space, or mindset, or way to access the loved ones that you’ve lost — but also a way to access all of that knowledge, beauty, and power that comes from being Black. So I guess that’s kind of what the project was born out of.

MD: By being a student at university and having been raised in the church, do you feel as if those structures, where knowledge is transmitted in such particular ways, influences the way you go about your art? 

EL: I think for me, there is always going to be that tension there. Especially because, since moving to Montreal and starting university at McGill, I have become more disconnected from the church (but not necessarily from spirituality in that sense). So I think when I look at my art practice and the various things that I’m researching, I always want to get to other voices, not necessarily just the empirical sources. I will use Instagram, Twitter, and oral histories because there are so many barriers to higher education and to being published, or even just getting your voice out there. For me, it’s more about trying to genuinely listen, and not just hearing the loudest voices. 

MD: I read your artist’s statement, where you talk about how your mom, your grandmother, and your great-grandmother all influenced this project. Tell me about these women — what are they like? What qualities of theirs did you admire?

EL:  So on my mother’s side, there’s my mom Pamela, and her mother Cleo, and my mother’s two grandmothers, Meroe and Cora. I never knew my mom’s mother, as she ended up getting Alzheimer’s and then passed when I was a bit younger, but I’ve learned so much about her through this project and by asking my mom everything there was to know about her. Cleo was a schoolteacher, and she was very involved in the community. My mom recounted all these times where Cleo would drag her to the elders in the community to visit them, talk to them, or cook for them, and how my mom would help set up her classroom. Cleo was extremely loved and well-known in her community because she was very involved. Another thing that stuck out to me about her is that she was a seamstress. She sewed so well that she would often sew not just for my mom, but also for other mothers and children in their community in Maryland. That really stuck out to me because I’ve always wanted to learn to sew. 

Cleo’s mother was Meroe, and Meroe was alive during sharecropping. She wasn’t a sharecropper, though. She owned a store, which was kind of crazy because at that time most Black women were doing domestic work, or they were working in fields, or maybe they were teachers. My mother’s other grandmother, Cora, was a domestic worker. She worked throughout Mississippi nurturing people, taking care of kids, et cetera.I guess something that I got from all of them is this teaching spirit, which at first I was very proud of. Then for a while when I thought back, I didn’t know if I should be as proud of it, because teaching was one of the only jobs that Black women could do back then. But now I’m like, “Yeah, should I be proud of that!” because to have gotten that skill and that passion passed down…that’s special. 

MD: Why ceramics and tangible art? 

EL: I started doing ceramics when I was in early middle school because I wasn’t very into sports. I needed an after-school activity, and I had tried painting, but I didn’t like that and I wasn’t very good at it. So I was like, “Let me try this.” Um, or not me, my parents were like, “You’re gonna try something else.” I think it kind of stuck with me, especially because [making] ceramics is such a process. — you start with wedging your clay, and then you’re putting it on the wheel, and then you’re shaping it and centring and doing all these other things. What’s so important for me about tangible art is the touch. To form something like that from your brain… it takes quite a while to be able to make what you envision. But I love the experimental aspect of it, and I love the tactility. I was in a period of my life that was already quite rough. Then we went into COVID, and I felt very isolated as well. So being able to have something that was just mine felt so special and unique to me. I just fell in love with the idea of being able to make something, which I didn’t have in any other part of my life. Even when I was feeling so shit, if I just had my headphones on, and was just touching the clay, I could be chasing that moment where I would be pretty much centred. I would centre with my eyes closed, because it helped me focus on the feel. I guess it’s almost like prayer…I’m not religious, but I’m still very spiritual, and it’s almost like prayer. 

MD: One thing I’ve always enjoyed is how much you bring us along in the process of your work, for example with the unglazed pieces you often post. Those photos always gave me a bit of a whimsical and youthful feeling, a bit like watching clay-motion animation. So when you referenced Nathalie Batraville’s face jugs as one of your inspirations, it all started to click for me, this love for the imperfect. Therefore, I wanted to ask: what called you to document the process of making your art, and not just the final product?

EL: Well, that’s what I love the most about it: the documenting. Also, I love Natalie so much. She’s so talented. I’m a good glazer, but I’m not good in the sense that when I’m making a ceramic piece, what is in my head will just come out, which is very frustrating. So I always joke and say that, when I glaze a piece, it’s ruined. But that’s not actually why I don’t post my finished pieces. It’s just that I like the process so much better. I’d been doing ceramics for a long time before I decided to make it a career, and for a while I just got really caught up in having pieces done immediately. I feel like when you start producing content, you always have to be having something new come out that’s finished and good. And I didn’t want myself to stay in that mental hole, because I was totally in the hole. So now I’m trying to get myself to focus on the process, which also helps me get better. I’ve noticed I get so much better when I can focus on that. I find the process much more enticing now than a finished product, because there’s just so much more that you learn and so much more beauty in the process.

MD: Where do you throw? Could you tell me a bit about your studio? 

EL:  Studio 3 Tables. It’s the best space ever. It’s in this old mattress factory, and it’s an all BIPOC studio, which is super important because pottery is so white. I think most of the art world is white, but pottery is so white. So it was crazy for me to have found this space on Instagram. 

When I joined 3 Tables, I mentioned how I was interested in teaching, and the owner set me and another person up to teach, and they mentored both of us. That was such a good experience. I had my own class this past fall, and I was just beyond happy. Everybody’s so sweet, and it’s just so special because we love this specific craft and we’re all friends. I’m still getting to know everybody because I haven’t even been there for a year yet, but it’s so warm and fuzzy. It’s also been so inspiring, because everybody is so talented. And I feel like every time I step into this space, I’m ready to learn. 

MD: Talk to me about your previous ceramic sculpture series “HeLa”, inspired by Henrietta Lacks’ contributions to cancer research. Did that series influence “A portal”? 

EL:  I always wanted to do a project about Henrietta Lacks. How many lives is she saving all the time? How much money are these pharmaceutical companies making? Her family’s not seeing any of that. At the time that her biography (The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks) was written, her family was living in poverty. That’s so fucked up. That’s why I wanted to make a project about her. And then when I got the opportunity to do “A Portal”, I was thinking I’d continue not only the work that I was doing in that class, but also building upon the “HeLa” series. I want to keep making people think about Black women in a different way.

MD: I feel that Black identity and perceptions of Blackness operate in such a dynamic way. What differences have you noticed between navigating the world as a Black person in the U.S. compared to Canada?

EL: In Georgia, where I went to school, I was considered “lame” because I was just very nerdy. I loved what I was doing, but I was so lame. Then, when I came to McGill, all of a sudden everybody thought I was really fucking cool. They think I’m the coolest person ever, and they all want to be my friend because I’m so cool, which is just because I’m Black. Here in Montreal, if you’re Black? You’re cool. But in the States, especially in the south, there are so many Black people that you can be lame, you can be cool, you can be nerdy, or all these different things.

Going into McGill, I told myself:, “I’m gonna make all of the Black friends.” But I really struggled because I didn’t feel like I connected with Black Canadians. And when I would meet people who were from Africa, or Francophone countries, they would ask,  “Well, where are you from?” I would say, “Georgia,” and they would be like, “No, girl, where are your parents from?” Then I would say, “Ontario and Maryland.” And they’d ask, “Why don’t you know where you’re from in Africa?” And I just said, “Oh, slavery.” It just felt like people here were Black in a different way that I hadn’t really interacted with, because even though I knew a lot of people in the States that were first-generation or second-generation African immigrants, they still saw themselves as Black American and not necessarily, like, Nigerian-American. So it’s different.

MD: In your artist’s statement for “A Portal”, you describe learning how to have faith in the idea of another plane or world. For yourself, what does this “Free State” look like? 

EL:  When I think about it, practically, it’s just a world where you’re not forced to choose against your morals. I broke my laptop, but I don’t want to buy a new one because it’s an Apple laptop and I don’t want to support all of their mining practices in the Congo. But if I need to write an essay, I can’t write it on my ass, you know? In a world where people who look like us — Black people — are suffering and constantly discriminated against, it’s even hard to find a way around that without creating more harm. So, I picture a world where you can just live and not harm anyone, where you don’t have to be anxious or stressed, and nobody is policing you, and you’re not policing yourself. What do I think it looks like in a fantastical way? It’s just lots of green things, and you can just be. There’s universal income, and there’s universal healthcare, and you don’t have to worry about your body or what you need to do to make it work. You can just live. 

I struggled with writing the artist’s statement for “A Portal”. I’m worried that I wrote it in such a way that I wasn’t conveying that I believed things can be changed. The fact that I can even have this idea means that things can change, and it also means that you can change them for yourself and for your friends and family. So I didn’t want it to sound too imaginary. I didn’t want to fuel any kind of nihilism, but I also think it’s very valid specifically for Black people to have. What I wanted to infuse in the project was that while you’re reflecting on the people that came before you, and you’re getting to that place and revelling in the fact that you came from something, you can take that power and create your free state. Not just so that you can access that free state from far away, but so you can bring it here. You can bring it here. So yeah, I guess that’s what it looks like for me. 

More of Evelyn’s work can be found on their website or their Instagram pages: @ev_irl & @studios_irl 

The post How “A Portal to the Free State” Creates a New Black Utopia appeared first on The McGill Daily.

The next twenty minutes would snap me out of my mildly sleep-addled reverie. 

Directed by Canadian auteur Gavin Michael Booth, Island Life is a drama between neighbours. One neighbour plays deafening house music, which drones on in the background throughout the short film’s entire 23-minute runtime; and its organized crime unit neighbours, our protagonists, struggle to lay low in contention with the noise. Shot in one take à la Birdman in a single apartment, the constant tension in Island Life can be attributed not just to the booming background music, but to the volatile frontman of the organized crime unit. Played expertly by local Montreal talent Ben Peters, our protagonist swings wildly between authoritative pack leader and straight-up psychological dictator. Island Life has been admitted into renowned film festivals such as Festival Regard and Fantasia Festival, and has won awards for Best Actor (Ben Peters) and Best Original Screenplay at the Terror in the Bay Film Festival. 

Island Life has been in the works since 2019, when it was first conceptualized by Andres Cabrera Rucks, the film’s co-producer and writer, when he was still a McGill student. “I woke up in the middle of the night because my neighbour was playing music, and the whole story just came to mind over the next couple of days,” recalls Rucks in an interview with the Daily. At the time, the short film had been slated to be produced in conjunction with TVM, McGill’s resident student production house, which Rucks had been a producer at. However, the arrival of the COVID-19 pandemic shut down any possibility of the project’s execution, which would subsequently be delayed. However, Island Life remained in Rucks’s mind, and he would approach Copti, whom he had met at TVM’s training programme, to help produce the film at the end of 2021. The two are now part of PanArt Productions, a production company founded by Copti which helped to produce Island Life.

“It’s hard to meet people who are as crazy about something as you are,” comments Rucks. “If not for that training session, neither this movie nor our friendship would have existed.”

According to Anya Kasuri, President of TVM, the TVM training programme is a mandatory facet of TVM membership, teaching basic technical and camera skills. “Besides taking service requests from other clubs at McGill, part of our mandate is to help students carry out their creative projects,” she explained in an interview with the Daily. “A student can come to us with any script or idea, and from there revise it and put together a production team of our members to help realize their vision. We build a community where we get to make films together, and it’s great.”

The leap from making a student film to an independently-produced one is no smooth path. The film industry is notoriously one of the hardest to break into, especially without prior connections. For one, making a film is expensive. Despite The Brutalist’s critical success last year, director Brady Corbet reportedly made zero profit from it, even with the three-and-a-half-hour-long film’s impressively low budget. Moreover, the film industry is rife with nepotism and labour shortages. These, along with spikes in production costs and growing concerns of artificial intelligence (AI) replacing key jobs in screenwriting and violating intellectual property regulations, has led to many professionals leaving the industry altogether. 

Copti and Rucks’s tenacity thus becomes all the more laudable. “We were basically starting from scratch, without many connections in the industry considering how we are both not professionals,” says Copti. “This was our first time making a movie with a real budget and really playing by all the conventions of the film industry.” Facebook groups became their go-to resource for finding art directors, assistant camera operators, and even their director Booth. In 2022, casting began, and upon reaching out to the Alliance of Canadian Cinema, Television and Radio Artists (ACTRA), the team screened 158 auditioning actors from Montreal and the wider Quebec area for five roles, narrowing them down through a two-step process entailing an online demo and an in-person audition involving chemistry reads. 

Casting and employment was only the first hurdle. More onerously, there was the matter of costs. The team applied for grants from the Quebec Arts Council and, towards the end of 2022, launched a crowd-funding campaign, which raised slightly over $16,000. All in all, the budget came up to a cool $40,000 consisting of crowd funds and investments from the crew’s own pockets.

“It was really about learning at every stage,” muses Copti. “This whole process has taught us a lot about the independent cinema industry in Canada, and now we’re much better equipped to handle future projects.”

“We were the most ambitious that we could be with this project, especially as two non-professionals,” expresses Rucks. “Having that much money to work with, creating a one-take short film and submitting it to festivals with no guarantee of success. We probably should have started smaller, on a smaller scale with a smaller budget and team, but we just didn’t.” 

At McGill, TVM boosts aspiring filmmakers or those simply interested in visual communications by imparting both technical and industry knowledge. “I know many TVM alumni who aren’t currently working in film, but continue to use skills they learned from TVM in their careers,” asserts Nicolas McGuire, former Executive Producer at TVM from 2024-2025. “As a marketing major myself, I feel that TVM has taught me a lot of things about the marketing industry that I wouldn’t have learned otherwise.”

TVM also provides numerous resources for students interested in honing specific applied skills, or just learning about film in general. As the film industry faces a shortage of technically specialized workers, these tools become all the more valuable for aspiring filmmakers. Kasuri, who hopes to work in film, expressed how TVM has familiarized her with the technical and practical side of filmmaking, supplementing the more theoretical approaches of her World Cinemas courses at McGill. 

“The best thing about TVM is that it’s really easy to become a part of it. You just need to want to learn,” states Sascha Siddiqui, TVM’s Graphics Coordinator, who joined TVM specifically to learn how to edit despite not having much prior experience. “We have camera cheat sheets, instruction sheets for editing software, and so much more. Any member who wants to brush up on their technical knowhow can also attend our monthly training sessions or tech director’s office hours.” 

On the note of student filmmaking, Rucks and Copti encourage student filmmakers to be bold in their work and artistic passions, but to be pragmatic about it too. “It all boils down to whether you want to make films as a hobby or as a career,” declares Rucks, whose goal is to live off his work as a full-time screenwriter and producer. “It’s the best time in history to make films as a hobby because you have all the equipment you could ever need and the ability to find like-minded people through the Internet; but arguably the worst time to make films as a career because the market is just so saturated. When it comes to that, you want to make sure that you’re telling a really good story that shows off your abilities in whatever role.” 

“I started out making films with my friends in high school, which gradually expanded into starting PanArt Productions and making advertisements for companies,” recounts Copti. “At the time, I wanted to make a living from production. However, when I started working for a public relations agency, I realized the similarities in both of them — you know, Excel sheets, lots of calls and emails — and I realized I could make meaningful films without necessarily having them be my bread and butter. Now, I mostly make films as an activist; not to make money, but to raise awareness of social issues.”

Film is a visual medium. If a picture speaks a thousand words, then a film, surely, speaks at least a million, and only a small portion of it in dialogue. Despite the pressing concerns that surround film and cinema, there remains a sense of optimism in both Rucks and Copti, as well as the students from TVM. “Art will always have a place in the world,” Kasuri avers, “and I think people are really beginning to appreciate the authenticity that comes with independent filmmaking.” 

And, perhaps they are. Anora, an independent film, swept the Oscars and brought home Best Picture in March 2025. More recently, Materialists, distributed and produced by indie collective A24, surpassed $100 million in global box office revenue. Good films, especially with the appeal of being shown in IMAX, are evidently bringing audiences back to the theatres.

When asked about their hopes for Island Life by way of awards, the PanArt duo are more concerned with the film’s impact on its viewers and staff. “This is the first official film I’ve made that hasn’t had an element of social activism in it,” Copti remarks. “I hope people are entertained, but I also hope to show them that they too can do awesome stuff.” As he puts it, they took many “daring steps” in making Island Life, which created a great deal of uncertainty. However, these also led to many unprecedented, fulfilling outcomes: going to festivals, meeting new people. “This creativity is part of the movie industry, but even beyond that, I hope to inspire people to take steps out of their comfort zones.”

Meanwhile, Rucks just shrugs. “To be completely honest, I’ve never really even cared about an award,” he says. “I just hope that it helps us, the actors and the crew involved gain some credibility in the industry.” As an afterthought: “Selfishly, I hope people think it’s well-written too.”

Island Life is available on YouTube from 22 December on The Film Shortage channel.

The post From Student Life to “Island Life” appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Despite this, student newspapers remain essential to informing the public on local happenings. At universities across Canada and beyond, students have historically used their voices to interrogate structures of power and delve into the nitty-gritty of local politics. These papers have critically touched on topics that city-wide news neglects.

In the US, student journalism is another pillar of expression that has come under attack from the Trump administration. As the GOP’s assault on free speech has prompted the restructuring and silencing of large media personalities and organizations, students have continued to pursue candid journalism. Nonetheless, federal crackdowns on student journalism have persisted. Journalists at Columbia University’s Spectator have been issued suspensions for covering campus protests. Indiana University notably fired its the Indiana Daily Student’s student media advisor in an effort to censor the paper’s political content. Journalists at the University of Pennsylvania’s Daily Pennsylvanian have camped out overnight to ensure that they would be able to cover university issues after administrative pushback, such as the student protests against the genocide in Gazstudenjt newsa, police activity on campus, and administrative budget conflicts.

Student journalists continue to form a vital component of the reporting ecosystem around universities. Despite the rise of social media, especially in the post-pandemic era, student-run traditional news media has proven its continued importance. For example, at Fanshawe College in London, Ontario, the local campus paper saw a nearly 30 per cent increase in pickup rates over the past four years. As Barbie Zelizer for The Philadelphia Inquirer notes, undergraduate journalists “expend boundless energy to get the facts right.” In a new era of journalism, where censorship runs rampant and political threats are abundant, yet student journalists continue to move forward. We must turn away from monopolized media organizations and uphold and return to our roots: driven by passionate students willing to fight oppressive political forces.

If you engage with student journalism, then you are making a difference by believing in the free exchange of ideas, in the right to inform the public of injustices, and in defending the truth, you are making a difference by engaging with student journalists.

Our publication serves to inform the student population and document campus stories and history. The Daily exists for and by the students of McGill University. This newspaper cannot achieve its goals without the contributions of our community, and the best way to do this is to get involved. Email one of us, pick up a pitch, or contribute your own ideas. The Daily is a platform to amplify your stories and your perspective. To fight the deterioration of engagement with student journalism is to engage in it yourself.

The post This Publication is for You appeared first on The McGill Daily.

But who are this year’s candidates, and what campaign promises are they running on? 

There is a marked distinction between the realms of what the province is responsible for, and those that the municipalities are in charge of. While Quebec deals with issues such as health care, education, or immigration, municipalities provide Montrealers with basic services, including snow removal, road maintenance, or water provision to residents. As a result, these candidates have focused their promised policy agendas on issues such as public transit, unhoused populations, cleanliness, and culture/recreation. 

This Sunday, voters should expect to see five main candidates on the ballot: Luc Rabouin from Projet Montréal, Soraya Martinez Ferrada from Ensemble Montréal, Craig Sauvé from Transition Montréal, Gilbert Thibodeau from Action Montréal, and Jean-François Kacou from Futur Montréal.

Of the city’s main issues, Montrealers are most concerned with the cost of living, homelessness, and transportation around the city. Let’s look at how each candidate fares on these three policy areas.

Luc Rabouin

Coming from incumbent Valérie Plante’s party, Luc Rabouin came out in the lead in Projet Montréal’s leadership race this past March to become the new party leader. He has held political office for five years, which began after his victory as the elected borough mayor of Plateau-Mont-Royal in 2019.

Rabouin’s push to run his campaign on the homelessness crisis and affordable housing in the city is what ultimately led to his victory in becoming party leader for Projet Montréal this year. He claims to be driven by a wide array of issues including environmental policy, urban planning, and participatory democracy.

Cost of Living

When it comes to affordable housing and the cost of living, many Montrealers feel skeptical of the possibility for change under another Projet Montréal term. Since 2018, housing has become increasingly inaccessible, with the average cost of rent almost 120 per cent higher than when Plante took office in 2018. In that same time period, the number of unhoused people has also increased by 10 per cent each year.

Rabouin claims that his office will bring affordability back to Montreal. He intends to launch a $100 million fund that would support nonprofits in building out socialized housing which would replace Plante’s 20-20-20 affordable housing bylaw that mandated all new residential developments to designate at least 20 per cent of units as social housing, 20 per cent as affordable housing, and 20 per cent as family housing. This bylaw, which was adopted in 2021, was unable to fulfill its goal of creating more affordable housing due to its lack of enforcement, and had also eased some of its requirements for new development projects. Rabouin’s focus has been on incentivizing property owners to allocate more of their lands into housing, as well as forcing landlords to keep their properties on the market through a tax on unoccupied housing. For low-income homeowners and elderly residents, his plan will also include a property-tax deferral program.

Unhoused Crisis

The homelessness crisis was presented as one of Projet Montréal key agendas, as revealed in the party’s electoral platform released earlier this month. Rabouin pledges to eliminate homelessness in Montreal by 2030 by doubling the funding granted to organizations that work with unhoused populations. He also proposed to add 1,000 total social and transitional housing units, 500 of which would be modular units, which are smaller scale forms of transitional housing that are quicker and cheaper to construct.

Public Transit

Furthermore, as the Société de transport de Montréal (STM) prepares for another strike to be held next month, public transit has risen as another key area of concern for Montrealers. Rabouin has announced his plans for an “efficient bus network” system called the Réseau express bus that would implement a reserved bus lane and operate 24/7. Additionally, his campaign supports the construction of three new tram lines that are already under development, including the east-end tramway project, increasing the frequency of the Metro during rush hour, and making all Metro stations universally accessible.

Soraya Martinez Ferrada

Soraya Martinez Ferrada is a former Liberal Member of Parliament for Hochelaga and former Minister responsible for the Economic Development Agency of Canada for the Regions of Quebec, ending her tenure in early 2025 to lead Ensemble Montréal. Having begun her political career in 2005 as a Montreal City Councillor for Saint-Michel, she has twenty years of experience within the Quebec political scene.

Martinez Ferrada is currently polling ahead of the other mayoral candidates for Montrealers’ top pick, according to a Segma Research for Radio-Canada poll conducted on Thursday, October 16. She is currently the candidate with the most voter support at 26 per cent, compared to Rabouin who is at 18 per cent. Although her platform is largely centered on housing-related issues, giving herself the title la mairesse du logement, or “the mayor of housing,” her reputation among Montrealers took a hit this May after having violated Quebec law by illegally collecting a security deposit from one of her renting tenants.

Cost of Living

In order to tackle the lack of affordable housing and the rising cost of living, Martinez Ferrada claims she will invest $1 million in community organization and housing initiatives, such as La Maison du Père, a rent assistance bank in Montreal. She has also pushed forward a housing bank initiative that would reserve affordable housing units on the market with the intention of transferring the leases to those without housing on July 1, which is when most leases in Montreal begin. In tension with her history as a landlord, as well as her connections with the landlord lobbyist group CORPIQ, she states that her party is committed to protecting renters’ rights and aims to establish a municipal rental registry. In addition to these larger projects, her campaign is also running on assisting first-time homeowners with buying property by granting them tax breaks as well as loans.

Unhoused Crisis

Under the wing of Martinez Ferrada, Ensemble Montréal seeks to establish a Tactical Homelessness Intervention Group that will approach the unhoused crisis in the city as a long-term goal. The party looks to work with the Montreal municipal police, Service de police de la Ville de Montréal, to create public safety committees alongside citizens, community organizers, and borough representatives.

Within her first 100 days, Martinez Ferrada announced plans for a protocol to manage homeless encampments that would be developed with community organizations, with the promise of ending encampments in the city within the next four years. She also intends to increase the city’s annual budget that addresses homelessness to $30 million, with a $10 million matching fund in the private sector to attract contributions that would fund homelessness initiatives.

Public Transit

One of Ensemble Montréal’s key policy platforms is to promote safe and efficient transportation. They have focused their energy on making the Metro system more efficient, specifically transways on the eastern side of Montreal. The party has stated that it plans to increase the frequency of Metro services as well as “improve the comfort, speed, and safety of users,” which local transportation planning experts have found to be a large undertaking. In addition, Martinez Ferrada claims she wants to reduce the STM’s “unnecessary spending.”

With regards to active transit, Martinez Ferrada had been headstrong on the biking front, committing to launch an audit of Montreal’s bike path network in her first 100 days. She is looking to secure safe bike paths by allocating funds to bring most routes “up to standard,” while eliminating ones that are found to be potentially dangerous.

Craig Sauvé

Transition Montréal’s mission is vastly different from both Ensemble Montréal and Projet Montréal. Led and founded by Craig Sauvé, former city councillor for Projet Montréal and now vice-chair of the STM’s Board of Directors, this party is attempting “to offer [Montrealers] a new voice: a constructive voice, a voice that focuses on collaboration and good ideas.”

The party is strongly rooted in its progressive vision, proposing a divestment plan from the genocide in Palestine and the war in Ukraine. Sauvé’s platform is ambitious in reenvisioning transit for Montrealers, implementing municipal electoral reforms, establishing safer school environments, offering social transit fares for low-income residents, and imposing higher property taxes on Montreal’s ultra-wealthy landowners.

Sauvé has caught the attention of many young progressives in the city with his radical approach to public transportation, even denouncing Quebec’s ban on gender-neutral language in provincial communications, which other candidates have yet to do. Major concerns about Transition Montréal surround the party’s ability to follow through with the strong claims they have campaigned on.

Cost of Living

Sauvé has campaigned on a progressive housing policy that is geared towards improving tenant conditions within the city. Transition Montréal is looking to establish Bâtir Montréal, a paramunicipal body that will oversee the construction of public and community housing alongside local non-profit to develop a $10 million rental assistance bank with a public rent registry. He aims to make the process of receiving assistance more efficient by creating a “one-stop housing portal” to centralize permitting applications, as well as simplify the permits co-operates and non-profits apply for. Additionally, Sauvé intends on taxing the city’s ultra-wealthy by subjecting single-family properties valued at over $3.5 million to 1.25 times the standard tax rate.

Unhoused Crisis

At a debate on October 9, Sauvé announced that he would declare a state of emergency to allow unhoused people to move into vacant buildings and hotels as sources of temporary shelter. With regards to homeless encampments, he noted explicitly his plans to ban police interventions on encampments and replace them with community initiatives led by a team of social workers and outreach staff. Longer-term efforts consist in establishing a detailed plan for how to approach encampments with more than 10 tents, consulting with local and unhoused populations on decisions regarding those encampments. Transition Montréal estimates allocating a total of $20 million annually to combat homelessness.

Public Transit

Public transpiration is one of Transition Montréal’s key priorities. The party proposes extending the orange and green Metro lines to the Bois-Franc REM station and to LaSalle and Lachine, respectively. This is a part of Sauvé’s vision to restructure the Grand Sud-Ouest. They have also proposed the “social fare system” that would make public transit more affordable for low-income residents, giving those with an adjusted annual income of under $47,500 the reduced monthly fare of $62.75. For transit infrastructure, Transition Montréal is looking to invest in rapid bus corridors and create reserved lanes on routes where light-rail network rails are planned to be built. Furthermore, they hope to establish a kilometre-based tax on vehicles, with tax revenue going towards maintaining roads and developing more extensive public transit systems.

Gilbert Thibodeau

Gilbert Thibodeau, the founder of his party Action Montréal, is running again in this year’s municipal elections after having received less than 1 per cent of the vote during the 2021 election cycle. Thibodeau’s platform leans center-right, with his proposed agenda aiming to reduce the number of elected officials in Montreal, increase surveillance efforts among Montreal police, and eliminate a number of bike paths and Bixi stations to clear up street spaces.

Cost of Living

To address the increased cost of living, Action Montréal aims to support social economy organizations such as the Unité de travail pour l’implantation de logement étudiant, the Fédération des coopératives de Montréal, and the Société de développement Angus in providing affordable housing. The party has claimed they are opposed to rent registries, and intend to respond to the housing crisis through strengthening rent transparency, protecting tenants against renovations, encouraging tenant autonomy, and facilitating cooperating and non-profit initiatives.

Unhoused Crisis

Action Montréal recognizes the severity of the unhoused crisis and aims to utilize civil society organizations, such as churches and mosques, to provide these populations with temporary housing. To address the current crisis, Action Montréal’s platform states that the party will introduce “transitional centres” in the next two years. These are described as secure hubs located in 80 vacant Office municipal d’habitation de Montréal buildings that would provide key health and sanitary services for “three profiles: people facing economic hardship, those with addictions, or those with mental health challenges.” With the help of social workers, the party additionally states that they will offer personalized rehabilitation programs for individuals belonging to these profiles. In terms of mitigation efforts, Action Montréal plans to provide rent assistance and at-risk youth programs.

Public Transit

Thibodeau has been vocal about reducing the number of bike lanes in the city in order to promote and protect drivers. In order to achieve this, he has proposed the removal of Bixi rental stations between December 1 and March 15. Action Montréal also plans to make car parking more accessible through the implementation of price caps on parking meters at $2 per hour, with free marking meters from Fridays at 9:00 AM to Mondays at 9:00 AM.

Jean-François Kacou

Futur Montréal is the newest centrist party in the running, founded just this year, with the goal of “doing politics differently, with bold ideas, pragmatic solutions and leadership rooted in fairness, accountability and inclusion.” Jean-François Kacou has an extensive political background, having served as the executive director of Ensemble Montréal and as an elected member of the Canadian Commission for UNESCO. Futur Montréal unveiled its party platform on October 23, with key policy areas including tackling the unhoused crisis, securing public transportation, and bringing affordable housing to Montrealers.

Cost of Living

Futur Montreal is looking to levy on luxury housing, moving subsequent tax revenue into a transparent fund dedicated for building social housing. The party have been strongly opposed to the current 20-20-20 bylaw and instead wants to focus on converting underused spaces into rent-controlled student housing zones.

Unhoused Crisis

Futur Montréal’s platform outlines plans to create a Social Intervention Service (SIS) which would unite over 60 organizations already active in addressing the unhoused crisis. The SIS’s projects would include a pilot project that would convert vacant industrial buildings that would temporarily provide immediate shelter for the city’s unhoused population. It would additionally provide relocation assistance and transportation for unhoused populations.

Public Transit

Jean-François Kacou has placed a heavy emphasis on the increased accessibility of bus networks. In an interview with CBC, the Futur Montréal leader stated that he “wants Montreal to have the best bus network in the world.” Acknowledging the cost efficient price of public transport in Montreal, the Futur Montréal platform states that the party aims to introduce a four year public transit fare freeze and increase the efficiency of the city’s bus network with a proposed frequency of buses every 15 minutes, seven days a week. In relation to cycling networks, Futur Montréal plans on suspending the construction of new bike lanes along commercial arteries, residential streets, and parks to improve safety. The party has made it their objective to improve the security of existing bike lanes and to implement a safe and monitored overnight bicycle storage.

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But this escalatory pattern is not one that started just two years ago. The “two years” timeline, the narrative that Western discourse has and is continuing to peddle, is profoundly ahistorical. To say that Israel’s crimes began two years ago is a whitewashed starting point, a rescaling of the timeline that ignores how this spiral of escalation began in the first place. It is a retelling of history that allows Western nations to scrub away the inconvenient truths behind the Palestinian struggle: namely, that the ongoing dispossession of Palestinians from their lands since the Nakba seventy-seven years ago is the very continuation of the West’s colonial history.

Israel’s genocide in Gaza is the culmination of a century-long colonial project: one that began with the Balfour Declaration in 1917, with Britain becoming the first Western power to declare support for the Zionist project in Palestine. It started implementation in 1948 with the wave of ethnic cleansing known as the Nakba (“catastrophe” in Arabic). This violent expulsion of Palestinians was conducted not by rogue factions but by mainstream Zionist groups like the Irgun paramilitary: the very Irgun which would later be absorbed into the Israeli Defence Forces and become the ideological predecessors of Israel’s ruling Likud party. The indiscriminate killing of Palestinians in Gaza is not solely the policy of the current ruling party, but the core of Israeli policy from its foundation to the present day.

The settler-colonial logic behind Israel’s actions is a direct echo of the genocide of Indigenous peoples in North America by European settlers. Just one week ago, on September 30, we observed the National Day of Truth and Reconciliation here in Canada. It is a day meant for us to remember the bloody foundations on which Canada was built: to recognize that the land we now stand on was violently wrested from the Indigenous peoples of Turtle Island by European settlers, and that the systems of oppression used to dispossess Indigenous peoples of their rights and dignity still exist to this day.

But can we say that we have learned, here at McGill, when this university has yet to divest from companies involved in Israel’s military-industrial complex? Can we say that that Canada has learned, when this nation is still selling weapons to Israel despite having pledged to cease arms exports because of the genocide?

If these last two years, and the preceding seventy-seven, have been any indication, the answer is a clear “no.”

What have Western media institutions done, when faced with the blatant hypocrisy of their actions? Double down on lies and silence the truth. Basic reporting on Gaza has been suppressed in Western newsrooms, to the point that media organizations have become little more than stenographers for Israeli propaganda. An open letter from BBC journalists to the agency’s Board of Governors notes how “it has felt that the BBC has been performing PR for the Israeli government and military.” Social media is also coming under siege, having been identified by Netanyahu himself as “the most important weapon … to secure [Israel’s] base in the US” and beyond. All this comes with Israel’s relentless targeting of journalists in the Gaza Strip, and escalating repression against Palestinian journalists in Western nations.

If accurate coverage of the very news from Gaza has been dwindling, then objective analysis of Palestine, Israel, and their role in Western imperial policy has been next to nonexistent to begin with. To consider the Palestinian cause in isolation is to ignore its central role in European, and now American, foreign doctrine in West Asia. Israel is not an outlier but a lynchpin of the West’s settler-colonial project in the Arabian peninsula and beyond. In the 1956 Suez Crisis, France and Britain enlisted Israel in a military attack on Egypt to seize the Suez Canal and depose then-Egyptian President Gamal Abdel Nasser. Netanyahu, after his first term as Israel’s PM, testified to Congress in 2002 in support of an American aggression against Iraq — one that would be launched in the following year. Former NATO Commander Wesley Clark revealed in 2003 that after Iraq, the Bush administration was preparing to launch military assaults against Syria, Lebanon, Libya, Iran, Somalia, and Sudan. Twenty-two years later, all these countries have now been directly attacked by the US, Israel, and/or their proxies.

Even peace plans have been weaponized in the name of settler colonialism. One can go back as far as the 1993 Oslo Accords, with promises to former Palestinian President Yasser Arafat of eventual Palestinian statehood having now faded into three decades of escalating oppression. In March of this year, the ceasefire between Israel and Palestinian resistance groups was unilaterally broken by Israel to continue its annihilation of Gaza. The Trump administration’s signature Abraham Accords has seen Arab nations normalize relations with Israel to undermine resistance against Israel. Jordan and Saudi Arabia have notably aided Israel in intercepting missiles from Iran and Yemen, and the UAE has been supporting Israel’s economy through trade. In early September, declarations of ceasefire talks were used by Israel to attempt to assassinate Hamas leaders in an airstrike on Qatar. Trump’s twenty-point peace plan, endorsed by Netanyahu and drawing inspiration from the leaked “Gaza Riviera” plan, would see the establishment of a transitional governing body for Gaza led by such ‘peace-loving’ politicians as former British Prime Minister Tony Blair, the co-architect of the Iraq war.

Western governments are not just complicit in Israel’s atrocities. The genocide in Gaza is a full-throated continuation of the violence enacted by European settlers against Indigenous peoples worldwide. This inconvenient truth — that to this day, Western nations are continuing to pursue the same colonial agenda they have for centuries — is one the mainstream narrative is attempting to sweep under the rug. A narrative where genocide is normalized, war is peace, bombs and bullets and famine are the status quo. Where being born is reason enough to be killed in the name of imperial greed.

It is a narrative that we the students, we the generations of tomorrow, must do our utmost to fight. Keep your eyes on Gaza. Keep yourself informed. Reject this world that would have us support genocide. Remember the actions of those in power, and never forget their crimes.

The post Seventy-Seven Years Later appeared first on The McGill Daily.

On Monday, September 15, the Fédération des médecins spécialistes du Québec (FMSQ) instructed members to suspend teaching and supervision of medical students as part of the ongoing dispute with the government over Bill 106.

Presented during Quebec’s National Assembly in May 2025, Bill 106 is a government initiative aimed at improving access to family doctors. The bill introduces a capitation model, in which physicians’ compensations are partly based on the number of patients they care for and the complexity or vulnerability of those patients, rather than solely on fees for individual visits or procedures. Doctors could still be paid through other methods, such as hourly rates or per-service fees, with the government regulating the mix of payment types. The legislation encourages physicians to see more patients by setting appointment goals and introduces performance targets that can influence physicians’ compensation. Health Minister Christian Dubé has indicated that up to 15 per cent of doctors’ incomes could be linked to meeting these performance benchmarks.

What does this mean for the general public? Many physicians have voiced concerns that Bill 106 could affect access to care. Patients with less urgent and more minor medical needs might face longer waits for appointments, which are already difficult to secure, while doctors prioritize more complex or high-risk cases that are weighted in performance calculations. As doctors are expected to see more patients to meet performance targets, the bill could lead to shorter, more rushed appointments, reducing the time doctors spend addressing complex or chronic conditions. Increased pressure on physicians could also lead to increased stress and burnout, which could further compromise patient care. Overall, these changes may have a direct impact on both the availability and quality of healthcare for the public.

The primary concern for the FMSQ was that the government had established conditions without
engaging in negotiations. The association disagreed with several aspects of the legislation and sought to have these points reconsidered. As a result, 91 per cent of FMSQ members voted to suspend medical school teaching as a means of pressuring the government to open discussions. The Fédération des médecins omnipraticiens du Québec (FMOQ) has stated that its members will participate in the FMSQ’s teaching strike beginning on October 4.

While medical students support the FMSQ and FMOQ’s demands, the teaching suspension has had adverse effects on their education and training. First and second-year students have to rely on recorded lectures to learn, and some can only virtually access anatomy labs via Zoom. This limits hands-on experience due to the absence of in- person supervision.

Ryan Kara, the president of the McGill Medical Society, mentioned in an interview with CBC that third and fourth-year medical students are the most affected by the strike. They are currently in their clinical rotations, seeing patients in hospitals under the supervision of specialists. With the strike, they do not have, “any clinical exposure at the moment. This means a risk of delayed graduation. As of July 2026, a new cohort of doctors are going to start in the hospital […] These doctors may not start in July 2026 if the negotiations continue and graduation is delayed.”

Such delays could increase staffing shortages and place additional pressure on current physicians.

Medical students spend time in hospitals across different specialties to explore which field they want to pursue and eventually apply for in residency programs after medical school. With teaching and clinical training disrupted by the strike, students risk losing valuable hands-on experience that helps them make these decisions. This not only leaves them less certain about which specialty to choose, but could also weaken their applications for the Canadian Residency Matching Service (CaRMS), the system that assigns students to residency positions.

Disruptions in clinical training may leave future residents less prepared for hands-on patient care. In addition, this reduced exposure to practical experience can affect the skills and confidence of upcoming doctors, potentially impacting the overall quality of care they provide and placing additional strain on the current healthcare system. Kara also clarified that although the FMEQ supports the FMSQ and FMOQ, they cannot support an unlimited teaching strike. The potential consequences on graduation timelines, CaRMS eligibility, and clinical training are significant. While students express strong support for the FMSQ’s position and urge the government to resume negotiations, they oppose any indefinite strike that would compromise their education.

To further highlight their concerns, medical students from across Quebec held another protest outside the National Assembly on October 1. According to Robin White, a first-year medical student at McGill, around a hundred students participated in the protest in Quebec City. Shuttle buses were arranged by the FMEQ to allow Montreal students to take part in the demonstration.

“We were chanting and some cars supported us by honking,” White said. “I think we definitely had a bigger impact at the parliament than in Montreal. One of the school’s presidents also mentioned that he was meeting with some people from the parliament in the afternoon to negotiate.”

“What worries me the most with Bill 106 is how it will affect the treatment of patients,” explained White. “From what I’ve seen, twenty minutes is already not enough time for most patients, so I can’t even imagine what would happen if physicians have less time than that. I also can’t imagine how the protest is affecting upper years who are doing their clerkship. I want to support them and help as much as I can.”

“I agree with the demands of the physicians, because you can’t offer treatments based on quotas,” said a medical student who chose to remain anonymous. “As first-year medical students, we are not as affected by the teaching strike because our lectures are recorded, yet I understand the stress that upper-level students feel with the ongoing strike.”

As of recently, the FMSQ and FMOQ are in mediation with the government, but it remains unclear how the situation will develop. University officials are preparing for various possible outcomes. One scenario sees the current pressure measures lifted, allowing medical teaching to continue as usual. Another scenario anticipates that the FMSQ’s pressure tactics will persist, with the possibility
that the FMOQ could direct its members to suspend teaching and supervision of medical students for an indefinite amount of time. As the suspension of teaching activities persists, upper-year medical students face growing anxieties regarding their futures. The clock is ticking.

“The healthcare system is already challenging to navigate. Putting additional pressure on doctors won’t help patients, it will only make things harder to access,” said an anonymous protester. “I hope the government and physicians can reach a fair compromise on Bill 106. It’s important that doctors have the opportunity to make their concerns heard, but I also hope that medical students won’t be forced to suffer the consequences of this dispute any longer than they have to. We need a solution that addresses the issues without compromising our education.”

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In 1961, the Freedom Riders were formed in the United States. This group consisted of black and white American men protesting segregated transit systems by travelling across the country together and fighting racism side by side. Simultaneously, on the other end of the globe, the Mahar writers and poets of India established the Dalit Panthers in 1972. This radical organization, inspired by the Black Panthers, protested the institutionalized caste discrimination faced by Dalits or “untouchables”: the lowest ranked group in the Indian caste system. The Dalit Panthers wrote speeches and produced art, such as pocket-sized political zines, denouncing inequality while also organizing self-defense initiatives. Overall, the thread that weaved these acts of resistance together was not a focus on individual identity, but instead, an affirmation of solidarity despite differences, and the active fight for justice.

Today, we have resorted to land acknowledgements and digital guides navigating the guilt associated with injustice rather than the issue of injustice itself. 

Contemporary social justice movements in North America have made considerable achievements in integrating critical theory into mainstream political consciousness. The works of notable thinkers such as bell hooks or Kimberlé Crenshaw have shaped our understanding of subjugation, emphasizing that the intersection of our various identities – whether that be class and race or religion and gender – influences the way we experience the world around us. 

Nonetheless, the forms of resistance that have arisen from these theories lack key elements needed to unify different parties into a joint struggle: a true sense of solidarity and partnership.  

Instead, the notion of allyship has dominated activist spaces and literature. Defined by Oxford English Dictionary as the “ the state or condition of being a person who supports the rights of a minority or marginalized group without being a member of it,” this concept provides clear guidelines on how those sympathetic to social justice movements should represent, speak to, and show up for people within marginalized communities. When examining the term “ally” from a political context, however, allyship often implies impermanence. Allies are made in times of war and often under strict conditions. Allies aim to further the interests of both groups involved in the partnership for the time being and can quickly be disentangled. Allies are not your fellow friends and partners, nor are they your brothers or sisters. 

When we apply these ideas of conditionality to social activism, we pigeonhole ourselves into a strict set of rules concerning how we engage with others. Not only does this approach frame people as a single monolith, reducing the identities of those within minority groups to their oppression, but it also ensures we centre ourselves and our own feelings of guilt over the actual complex issues facing marginalized communities.

A tenet of allyship has been the overemphasis on the experience of privilege rather than totalizing social hierarchies. However, when our activism solely examines our own complicity in systems of power, we maintain dominant cultural narratives, guaranteeing that the stories with the most visibility in mainstream media are our own and not those of the communities we claim to uplift. Taking this idle position in the creation of art and scholarship ensures that people of colour, queer folk, people with disabilities, and all groups that are already pushed to the margins of social structures are additionally pushed to those of creative endeavours. Rather than taking charge of our activism through direct action and close collaboration with these communities, we isolate ourselves to our own experiences. 

In short, when we uplift voices by creating a comfortable distance between ourselves and the communities we wish to support, we prevent true bonds of solidarity and camaraderie from taking shape. 

Still, the fear of fully absorbing ourselves in the lived experiences of others does come with valid concerns. Overgeneralizations and the misrepresentation of groups can perpetuate false narratives, further obscuring the lived realities of marginalized people. Scholars attempting to capture the Middle East and Asia have sensationalized these regions and its people. Queer love in film and television is often hypersexualized. However, similarly to the notion of allyship, these depictions often centre privileged voices and gazes within discussions on marginalization. They do not aim to understand communities facing marginalization, and as a result, they fail to meaningfully collaborate with members of these groups to challenge oppressive systems. 

We must stop pretending that there is not more nuance to the simple binaries of privileged and oppressed, powerful and powerless. While social structures predetermine the manner in which we perceive others and the way we are perceived, the only way to break free from this condition is to actually engross ourselves in the struggles and stories of others. An allyship that reinforces the divisions between communities does not achieve this. 

We need to create a new conceptualization of active solidarity that does not create false representations of marginalized groups, does not centre our own guilt, and tangibly engages with systems of oppression. We must question the passive, unmoving, and unchanging idea of an ally and submerge ourselves in the struggles of others.

The post Rethinking Allyship appeared first on The McGill Daily.

The death toll keeps rising, and Gaza’s population is declining. Mass killings by Israeli airstrikes and Israel’s blockade of food supplies have resulted in widespread suffering and starvation among Palestinians. Just a few weeks ago, the United Nations (UN) declared famine in the Gaza Strip. 

As of September 1, the recorded number of famine-induced deaths stands at 361, including 130 children, according to Al-Jazeera. 

Throughout these past seven hundred days, Israel’s blatant violations of humanitarian law have been thoroughly documented by Palestinian journalists. In response, Israel has escalated its systematic targeting of the press in Gaza.

On August 10, Israel attacked a press tent located outside of al-Shifa hospital, murdering six Al-Jazeera correspondents, among them renowned and beloved-by-all journalist, Anas al-Sharif. The attack also killed correspondent Mohammed Qreiqeh, camera operators Ibrahim Zaher and Mohammed Noufal, freelance cameraman Momen Aliwa, and freelance journalist Mohammed al-Khalidi. 

Anas al-Sharif is one of the many media professionals who have been targeted by the Israeli government during this genocide. He was a 28-year-old journalist who had reported extensively from the north of Gaza since the start of the genocide. He gained an extensive following in the past two years, one of his most famous televised sections being his jubilant announcement confirming the ceasefire this past January. In the televised segment, Al-Sharif stood tall, surrounded by his peers, speaking into the microphone, and removed his press vest in a symbolic gesture marking the end of the genocide, and his coverage of the scene. 

Seven months later, Israel killed him.

Just two weeks after al-Sharif’s assassination, Israel murdered five journalists and several healthcare workers in a double-tap strike on Nasser Hospital.

As of September 1, Al-Jazeera reports the total number of martyred journalists has risen to at least 278 since October 7, 2023. These attacks are part of Israel’s widespread efforts to erase first-hand documentation of its crimes against Palestinians. 

Ayham Al-Sahli, Palestinian journalist from Haifa, wrote in an opinion piece for Al-Akhbar newspaper, “One of the major challenges in Gaza is the lack of strong independent Palestinian media institutions capable of preserving and managing such an archive. Aside from the official Palestinian news agency WAFA, and a few others that have attempted to work in Gaza, no Palestinian body is maintaining a comprehensive record of the way. After two years, much of their capacities to continue operations have diminished, leaving the substantial archives in the hands of foreign media organizations.”

This comment sheds light on major issues regarding Palestinian press safety. The absence of archival preservation from Palestinian journalists on the genocide is directly linked to the ongoing killings of journalists. Thus, this leads to a strong deficit in authentic, native, on-the-ground storytelling, leaving the reporting up to “foreigners.”

The targeting of Palestinian journalists dates back to before the start of the Gaza genocide. In May 2022, Al-Jazeera reporter Shireen Abu-Akleh was shot in the head and killed by Israeli soldiers while covering a raid in Jenin, a city in the occupied West Bank. 

Abu-Akleh was a prominent name, having reported for Al-Jazeera for more than 25 years. Several Israeli Defense Force (IDF) statements claimed she got caught in a crossfire between soldiers and Palestinian resistance fighters, but those were quickly disproven. Abu-Akleh was wearing a press vest and standing with other journalists when she was killed. 

The press vest should have been enough to protect Shireen Abu-Akleh.

The press vest should have been enough to protect Anas al-Sharif. 

The press vest should be enough to protect journalists from being targeted. 

Since 1977, the Geneva Convention has implemented amendments to clauses asserting the protection of journalists. Moreover, the United Nations website sets journalism as being “fundamental for sustainable development, human rights protection, and democratic consolidation.” In 2012, the UN implemented the “Plan of Action on the Safety of Journalists and the Issue of Impunity” addressing the prevention of violence against journalists and the protection of the press. Yet these suggestions are not legally binding, leaving journalists vulnerable to attacks by repressive regimes.

Under international humanitarian law, journalists in armed conflict hold civilian status and must be protected. Yet, when it comes to Palestinian journalists, we see nothing but frivolous words of sorrow, prayers, and eulogies. 

In fact, at the time of al-Sharif’s martyrdom, CNN and BBC made it a point to link him to the Islamist resistance group, Hamas. La Presse goes so far as to highlight Israeli claims of al-Sharif being a “terrorist posing as a journalist,” despite al-Sharif’s numerous statements that he was a journalist with no political affiliations. Such accusations and harmful narratives have only one aim: to dehumanize Palestinian journalists, and shut down any and all solidarity with them.

This begs the question: what qualifies as being a journalist? And why is it that some journalists’ lives matter more than others? 

Al-Sharif and his peers have to work twice as hard as others to prove their journalistic integrity and commitment to the truth, while they stand strong in the face of dangers some of us will never be brave enough to even face. In addition to being systematically hunted down by Israel, Palestinian journalists also face the delegitimization of their profession. 

As journalists who are committed to reporting on the truth, we cannot remain silent while our peers in Palestine are being martyred. We must push for their security, fight to keep their voices heard, and preserve their dignity. An attack on one of us is an attack on all of us. 

The post Journalism Under Siege appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Lower field: bell-like peals of laughter, the faint aroma of grilled burger patties, and a snaking queue of students stretching around the perimeter of what looks like an outdoor party with an endless waitlist. Friends separated over the summer reunite with shrieks and hugs to the exhilarating soundtrack of musicians playing just steps away. It’s no surprise some McGill students, and the event itself, call Open Air Pub (OAP) the “Best Place on Earth”.

Since 1987, OAP’s legacy has resonated across generations of McGill students as the stage for golden memories. Ivan Zhang, one half of the Head Management duo for the most recent edition of OAP, tells us he found the first documented mention of OAP in the 1980 McGill Yearbook, which at the time was a gathering of engineers at Three Bares Park for Welcome Week 1980. Now organised by the Engineering Undergraduate Society (EUS), OAP has grown exponentially in scale, taking up half of McGill’s Lower Field and attracting thousands of McGill students, alumni, and their external plus- ones alike.

The COVID-19 pandemic halted OAP for a few years, which was enough to weaken the event’s influence and place in the collective McGill consciousness. “We saw a few years of not-great profitability and lower capacities post-COVID,” says Zhang. “Right after COVID, there was a bit of a lull where McGill students didn’t even know what OAP was, especially the new ones coming in.” Now, after some time and vested publicity efforts, it’s back and bigger than ever, renowned for its cheap (though warm) alcohol, good food, and overall vibrant ambience.

As one of the few large inter-cohort McGill social events, organizing OAP is, naturally, a massive endeavour. From supplying various food and beverage options to recruiting managers, bands, and artists to spray the iconic OAP stage graffiti, the 13-member team works tirelessly both on and off the ground to ensure the event runs smoothly. Most recently, the OAP team has implemented new environmental initiatives which have, according to Nicole Shen, OAP’s food manager, earned them a Gold certification from the McGill Sustainability Office. These developments include the introduction of new mats to protect the grass on Lower Field, the recycling of cans (rather than giving out plastic cups), and the use of propane rather than charcoal grills for food, among others.

Providing the soundtrack to this one-of-a-kind student festival are a variety of bands, singers and DJs. This year, OAP hosted 26 amazing acts. From soulful harmonies and acoustic covers to head-banging rock tunes and DJ sets, there was truly something for everyone. A few of the acts actually found their
start at McGill, despite the predominantly academic environment. DJ Clément Gabriel, who describes his music as “dark and euphoric,” learned how to mix in an hour before a party at his former fraternity. In addition, rock band Dollhouse recruited their bassist Sacha when drummer Emilio spotted him walking around with his bass at Activities Night last year.

In fact, the significance of OAP within the McGill community means that many performers had already attended the event from below the stage. Of course, this means that they are or were McGill students themselves, lovingly carving out time between tutorials and lectures to hone their craft. Still, the process of becoming an OAP act is complex and multilayered, with the OAP team having to sift through a substantial number of applications and music samples.

OAP has provided a platform for students to test the boundaries of expression and find their own unique voices. Experimental DJ trio Dance Engine describes OAP as “a really nice musician[‘s] playground” where they can showcase “what they really want to do” because of the “easy to win” receptiveness of McGill students to novel ideas and new music. Similarly, DJ Nina Baby closed this year’s OAP Boiler with “music that [she’s] rarely had the chance to play”, sharing her infectious electronic sound with the McGill masses.

OAP has even pushed new voices to the forefront. The common pursuit of a good time across all involved parties fuels OAP’s lively and accepting atmosphere. Compared to other festivals, the beauty of OAP is that the person on stage could also be your friend, which makes it all the more exciting. Acoustic folk duo Dave and Sarah (whose names are neither Dave nor Sarah) describe the sensation of performing at OAP as “not even comparable” to their previous gigs, not just because of OAP’s sheer scale but also because “everyone knew [them], which made it scarier but also so much fun.”

The added layer of thrill as a result of being surrounded by familiar company rings true not just for OAP’s performing artists, but for their patrons, who get to commemorate the end of summer (or winter, depending on when you go) by letting loose amidst a crowd of friendly faces. “As a student, I love that I get to hang out [at OAP] with my friends, and also play there as an artist,” house-inspired DJ Dante says. By playing for the community he is part of, he feels like he can stay true to the sound he loves. “You can kind of tell when you’re in the that the positive feeling people experience kind of rubs off on each other.”

Moreover, OAP’s relatively relaxed format extends music and performance not only to those who practice it professionally, but to anyone with love and respect for the craft. “We are engineers, but we have hobbies,” jokes Nella Craft, one of OAP’s music managers. As mentioned, many of the acts are McGill students or alumni from various faculties and disciplines.

GarageMDs, for instance, is a band made up of McGill medical students – not your usual candidates for a school band, given the rigour of their program. Moreover, Gianni, founding member of dream rock band Flying Dream, is a post-doctoral fellow in the McGill Faculty of Engineering. “Academia and research are fascinating, but they’re very rigid […] Music is more free, and you [have room to] explore.”

That being said, OAP’s free-flow is also calculated. As one of the main goals is to keep the audience entertained, the event’s management must curate cohesive sets throughout the event. Niney, a Montreal-based DJ, says he enjoys this aspect of the festival. “The goal is to bring it from zero to on the way to the tech house,” he shares, “so I had to get [the crowd] dancing, to sing songs they may or may not know.” Niney describes himself as an avid dancer, and changing up his style to get a crowd warmed up and grooving is one of his favourite things to do. OAP allows for this part of him to shine. “As a DJ, you can never have too many styles.”

However, music serves many more functions than just inducing hype in a crowd. It provides the soundtrack for our morning commutes and gym sessions, sets the mood at our local cafes and bars — it surrounds us, giving it immense and intrinsic power. Mica, a disco music DJ says, “Music exists in many forms in every aspect of my life. Study nights, kickin’ it with friends, football games, preparing food — no matter what I’m doing, there’s always a perfect soundtrack.” With the growth of streaming services and subsequent increased accessibility of music, it has become so integrated into our daily lives that we might not fully appreciate its special quality. Music has the capacity to influence our thoughts and emotions, not only stimulating our senses but acting as a mode of idiosyncratic expression.

This is no different amongst the performers of OAP, to whom music is a multi-functional tool that holds a special place in their hearts. When asked how music has enriched his life, Owen, founding member and lead guitarist of Montreal indie rock band Willy Nilly, joked, “My depression now has a musical twist to it,” referencing songwriting’s critical role in conveying his personal realities. Dollhouse’s genre-bending songs, composed and arranged by the entire group, also tackle a plethora of issues like mental health and activism, among others. “It’s just like, we hear you,” says Nikita, the band’s singer, “‘cause we all have our own kind of struggle. It translates into our music.”

And isn’t that what all this music and all this partying is about? It’s all to be heard, to be seen. While it might sound a little corny, the tunes and the booze and the (very good) corn on the cobs at OAP are all designed and calibrated for a specific purpose: connection. This is the crux of OAP, the secret sauce that makes it as celebrated and anticipated as it is by the McGill student body.

This sentiment was echoed by almost everyone we talked to about OAP’s impact and legacy. “In the back of my mind, OAP was a sort of dream,” contemplates Gabriel Jon, a folk and R&B singer and McGill Engineering student. “It was a big step towards my goal of not overthinking things too much and just going for things that I want to do.” Similarly, GarageMDs comments, “There’s something special about seeing your friends and classmates cheering you on, creating moments that remind you we’re all in this journey together […] that make this experience so meaningful.”

“Seeing the impact that [our performance] can have on people who come to the shows means the world to us,” relates The Howlin’ Gales, a country rock band from Toronto. In an increasingly divided world plagued by individualistic ideals, to be seen by your community and to have your voice not just heard but uplifted is perhaps what we all yearn for. The bond between a performer and their audience, therefore, is made all the more sacred, as the effort and love invested by a performer into their craft is rewarded by the energy they receive from their audience. “What I hope to gain is a deeper connection with that crowd, because they’re the true supporters, the ones who come alive no matter the circumstances,” puts Clément Gabriel.

Beyond this, there are also the little points of connection between patrons, which all OAP attendees can attest to. “It’s the one place where I’ll actually see all of my friends, who you can never really combine in one room all together at McGill,” explains Claire Levasseur, VP Services for the EUS. From chatting with strangers in the (more often than not) hours-long line to bumping into dear friends scattered across the field, the spatial configuration of OAP is one built for interaction. “I hope OAP is remembered like that, where you can meet new people from so many different types of programs, so many different places.”

And not just students! Karl, a security guard from OAP, recalls feeling heartened by the warmth students showed him in their brief interactions entering and exiting the venue. When checking McGill IDs, he recounts seeing a string of 6 people with the same birthday as him — Valentines’ Day, which he says is rare. “At events, people usually try to avoid talking to security,” he says, “but here, I get to interact with cool people, young people.”

Love it or hate it, OAP is a McGill cultural staple that is here to stay. While seemingly just a superficial student festival on the surface, OAP’s purpose is much deeper than that. As a critical facet of McGill culture, it weaves a golden tie between decades of McGill alumni all the way to the present, strengthening an already formidable bond that exists between us students. It promotes local and student artists, ensuring a steady stream of art in a world where creative expression is unfortunately deemed less productive and therefore less valuable. OAP also fosters inter-faculty and inter-cohort interaction and connection, ensuring that people get the opportunity to form new bonds and strengthen old ones. “We take a lot of pride in being able to put OAP on and create a space that so many people can enjoy, that connects everybody,” expresses Josh Negenman, the other half of OAP’s head management duo.

So, OAP. You may or may not have attended, but you sure as hell have heard of it. In any case, it’s energetic and lively, with an atmosphere best described as electric – a buzz on your skin, a welcome high.

Is it really “The Best Place On Earth”? Nothing’s perfect, of course, but we’d say it comes pretty damn close.

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At McGill, the end of August signals the beginning of classes. It’s a routine we all have or doubtless will become familiar with. As the leaves turn from green to orange, as the autumn chill settles in, our campus comes alive with the hubbub of students. In a little over a month, midterm season will hit. By the time winter snows arrive, we will be stressed over finals. For new students, it’s the first time many are leaving their homes. For returning students, it might be their second year, their third year, or their last year before they say farewell on the graduation stage.

According to UNESCO, Canada boasts one of the highest post-secondary education rates in the world at nearly 70 per cent, a number only surpassed by Russia and Belarus. A 1999 Ministers’ Report cites post-secondary education as taking a “central role in addressing the challenges of a changing society.” In particular, modern issues — such as the rise of information technology — were foreseen to “affect and [be] influenced by” post-secondary institutions, a prediction which holds ever stronger to this day.

On a similar note, universities have been key to informing the collective conscience of each generation of youth and driving social reform. On its own, Montreal’s university scene has fostered countless such movements through the decades: women’s rights in the first half of the 20th century, the civil rights movement in the 1960s, and more recently, the anti-tuition hike strikes in 2012. In the present, students at McGill have continued to push against injustice in Canada and abroad. Two prominent examples are protests against the university’s New Vic project on potential unmarked Indigenous graves, and Israel’s ongoing genocide in Palestine.

But in spite of their importance to youth internationally — and, in some cases, directly because of it — universities are coming under threat.

Recent years have seen Canadian institutions face budgetary deficits across the board. In 2024, the federal government introduced caps on the number of students from outside of Canada, which led to a reduction in  international student enrollment. This, combined with shortfalls in provincial funding, have forced universities across Canada to make drastic operational cuts. The University of Regina has increased tuition for all students by 4 per cent. Waterloo University has been looking to cut spending by $42 million against a $75 million deficit in the 2025 fiscal year, while Dalhousie University and Université de Sherbrooke each face fiscal gaps in excess of $20 million. Last year, Queens University cut student scholarships and smaller music courses in their Faculty of Arts and Sciences in response to a budgetary shortfall of $35.7 million.

Here at McGill, administrators are tackling a $15 million shortfall this fiscal year and an expected $45 million for 2026 — numbers which, in a February town hall, President Deep Saini warned could accumulate to $194 million by 2028 if no action is taken. These measures came in the wake of Quebec Premier François Legault’s tuition hikes for out-of-province and international students. Sixty staff layoffs were announced in May, fewer than the 99 initially estimated, though it remains to be seen what further measures McGill administration will be taking in the new academic year. The Daily warned against many of McGill’s proposed cuts, which would have disproportionately affected our university’s Arts programs. 

These problems are not unique to Canadian institutions. In the United Kingdom, over 40 per cent of universities have reported deficits this year, in spite of austerity measures: a number which has been steadily increasing over the last five years. Like in Canada, this shortfall has been attributed to a decrease in international student enrollment. This figure balloons to over 80 per cent in France, where it led to over one billion euros of cuts to higher education and research this year.

These issues have been most pressing in the United States, under the Trump administration’s blatant crusade against academia. Wielding claims of antisemitism and “woke” indoctrination, President Donald Trump has either threatened or proceeded to cut federal funding from multiple major institutions. Simultaneously, international students have been systematically targeted by immigration officials, often for political reasons. Federal grant organizations have also dramatically rolled back funding for graduate students and post-doctoral researchers. 

The plight of Western higher education is growing in tandem with a looming labour crisis among post-secondary graduates. According to Statistics Canada, Canadian youth between 15 and 24 are facing the worst employment prospects in nearly 30 years, with inflation and population growth tagged as the two primary culprits. An even more worrying trend is emerging south of the border, where unemployment among young   graduates is significantly exceeding the overall American rate of joblessness. In particular, the payoff of getting an undergraduate degree seems to be quickly dwindling: young male college graduates are now facing unemployment at the same rate as non-graduates, while just over a decade ago they were only half as likely to be without jobs.

Higher education is in crisis. Political agendas and the current economic storm are diminishing the value of post-secondary education. To abandon our universities is to abandon possibilities for the coming generations. It is egregious and unpardonable that policymakers, whether by neglect or deliberate intent, are driving the erosion of our academic institutions.

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Humour has long been studied through three main theories. Hobbes and Plato’s understanding of humour, now coined as The Superiority Theory, sees laughter as arising from one feeling above others’ mistakes or misfortunes. The Relief Theory, first explored by Lord Shaftesbury then refined by renowned father of psychoanalysis Sigmund Freud, views humour as a safe outlet for tension and repressed emotions, while Immanuel Kant and Arthur Schopenhauer’s Incongruity Theory suggests we laugh at surprising mismatches between expectation and reality. Together, these theories show how humour can entertain while also masking deeper issues; it can deflect discomfort, obscure empathy, or distract from serious realities. 

These philosophical frameworks set the stage for modern psychological studies, which investigate how specific types of humour actually affect our mental health. Building on decades of work linking humour and well-being, a 2023 study of nearly 700 Italian participants demonstrates that different comic styles have distinct psychological effects on individuals: benign humour — aimed at amusing others for pure entertainment — was associated with lower depression, anxiety, and stress, while irony and sarcasm predicted higher distress as they tend to carry much more emotional weight. 

These findings highlight that humour is far from one-dimensional, blending cognitive, emotional, and social functions. A witty remark might help someone reframe a stressful event, while a sarcastic jab may only deepen a sense of alienation in the relationship between the joker and the receiver, and in both their relationships to self. Seen this way, humour is not just relief, it’s a mirror of how we process challenges. Do we choose to connect and reframe, or to deflect and attack?

Humor as a physiological regulator does provide measurable benefits: laughing lowers cortisol levels and elevates dopamine, fostering a sense of relief. But just as painkillers dull symptoms without treating causes, humour can numb us to emotional wounds without helping them heal.

The psychology of humour becomes especially interesting when mapped onto culture. Consider the rise of self-deprecating humour online — tweets about being “permanently exhausted,” TikToks about depression disguised as punchlines. These jokes resonate because they capture shared experiences of struggle, offering a sense of connection and making individuals feel less alone. Yet, while this recognition can be comforting, it also risks normalizing avoidance. If we constantly joke about mental health, burnout, or loneliness, we acknowledge the problem without ever addressing it. Over time, this avoidance can deepen feelings of despair, strain relationships, and reinforce a sense of nihilism, leaving us laughing at our struggles instead of working through them. 

Comedians have long understood this tension. Richard Pryor, Hannah Gadsby, and Bo Burnham, among others, have mined their personal pain for material. Their work illustrates both sides of humour’s power: it can spark catharsis by bringing hidden struggles into the open, or it can shield performers and audiences alike from sitting with discomfort. Burnham’s 2021 special Inside encapsulates this comedic exploration of isolation that blurs the line between coping and confession; leaving viewers to wonder whether they should laugh, cry, or both. Personally, I lean towards seeing humour as useful in helping people get through tough situations, but I’m less convinced that self-deprecating comedy on its own is especially productive. At times, it risks turning pain into a kind of competition — an “oppression olympics” played out in joke form — rather than prompting us to think about how these struggles might actually be addressed. 

This is not just an individual problem but a social one. In conversation, humour can deflect vulnerability: a friend makes a joke when asked how they’re really doing, or colleagues laugh off chronic overwork instead of discussing burnout. On a larger scale, political satire often relieves tension while inadvertently discouraging action – if the joke is sharp enough, the outrage feels already expressed. The risk is clear: if we turn everything into a joke, nothing feels serious enough to merit change. Humour keeps us comfortable, but comfort is not the same as resolution.

Satire adds another layer — and not always a harmless one. In a remarkable role reversal that would have bewildered previous generations, comedians now often deliver political commentary that reaches wider audiences than traditional news outlets. Think of John Oliver or Hasan Minhaj: jesters who double as journalists. While their humour can make complex issues more digestible, it also risks trivializing serious matters. For instance, during a segment on robocalls, Oliver compared Senator Susan Collins to spoofing technology — claiming she masks her true political leanings leading to misrepresented opinions of her — but the audience responded not with reflection, but with boos. Reducing nuanced policy debates to punchlines may leave audiences laughing (or, in this case, jeering) without fully grappling with the stakes. Thus, fostering cynicism rather than informed engagement. When laughter replaces critical reflection, political jokes can numb concern, normalizing inaction and discouraging meaningful discourse.

None of this means we should stop making jokes. Humour is a vital human resource, one that connects us and helps us endure. Perhaps the challenge is balance; laughter can make heavy truths lighter, but it should not replace truth altogether. As cultural critic Susan Sontag once noted, “silence remains, inescapably, a form of speech.” The same might be said for laughter: every joke says something, but sometimes what it says is, “I don’t want to talk about it.” In an era where humour saturates our media and conversations, maybe the bravest move is knowing when to take off the mask. To laugh, yes, but also to pause, to sit and see beyond the laughter, and meet the realities we tend to avoid.

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Over the years, my expectations for comprehensive mainstream war coverage in Sub-Saharan Africa dwindled bit by bit. I lost patience hearing reporters reduce complex conflicts to tribal disputes. I grew tired of reading the gross abstractions about “never ending war” that often accompanies reporting on the Global South. Still, as the current M23 conflict in the East of the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) has recently begun to receive more coverage from global media outlets, a small part of me expected to see proficient writing on the complexities of the armed conflict.

My hopes were unfounded. The passive reporting of sexual violence in the DRC has instead, left a new sour taste in my mouth; a taste that can specifically be attributed to the lack of structural analysis on root of sexual violence in war, as well as a lack of coverage on the local resistance against this deliberate act of violence. 

A documentary that partly avoided falling into the trap of obscuring wartime sexual violence was the first episode in Gloria Steinem’s “Woman” series, which investigated the instrumental use of rape in Eastern Congo. The episode focused on the Kivu region, a nucleus for conflict, where sexual violence has been weaponised to humiliate its communities and assert dominance. The episode was by no means comprehensive, as it admittedly failed to examine how the legitimation of sexual violence in Congolese society was the basis for its exponential increase during the war. It additionally does not report on UN peacekeepers’ sexual abuse of Congolese women. Despite this, interviews conducted by journalist Isobel Yeoung were still able to give viewers a first-hand account of the distressing toll that sexual violence has taken on Kivu. Yeoung also interviewed activists who worked to address the sexual crimes neglected by the government, covering the community response to the violence. For instance, Yeoung met with the Congolese activist Masika Katsuva, who founded the Association des Personnes Déshéritées Unies pour le Développement (APDUD) in 2002, which has rehabilitated over 10,000 women. The documentary further includes a notable interview with the Nobel peace prize winning Congolese gynecologist Dr Dennis Mukwege, as viewers learn about his role in founding the Panzi Hospital in 1999 aimed to treat victims of rape. 

Almost ten years after the episode was filmed, there is still a clear relationship between a rise in armed conflict and increased sexual violence. In early February 2025, male inmates raped and burned over a hundred female inmates in a prison in the city of Goma following a jailbreak. This attack took place in the midst of the current upsurge of violence between the M23 rebel group on one side, and the Congolese military, vigilante groups, and UN peacekeepers on the other. As of February 2025, the insurgency has resulted in over 7000 deaths and while no reports have linked the mass rape to a political organisation, the attack demonstrates the scale of sexual crimes during warfare.

Mainstream media tends to over-rely on legal frameworks to legitimise any real issue. This results in a lack of meaningful reporting into “unfounded” topics, such as the manifestation of sexual violence in communities. While the legally binding Article of the Fourth Geneva convention (1949) states that, “Women shall be especially protected against any attack on their honour, in particular against rape, enforced prostitution, or any form of indecent assault.”: there was still not enough reportage on wartime rape until the late 20th century. The Rwandan genocide of 1994, among other horrifying wars that took place during the decade, revealed how women are systemically abused in armed conflict.  During the genocide, an estimated 2500,000-500,000 women were raped within approximately 100 days, which gained international attention. Still, sexual violence in war was only considered a threat to peace and security in 2008 when UN resolution 1820 was passed. Since this topic has clearly not been a primary concern of international law, reporting on the roots of the instrumental use of wartime rape has naturally not received enough coverage in mainstream media. 

When these outlets actually address sexual violence during war, they present distorted representations of the women impacted by these atrocities. Rape victims are seen as collateral damage. They are given no name and no agency– as the reigning assumption is that they would surely never dare to resist their situation since it is “all they know.” Leela Gandhi’s essay Postcolonialism and Feminism, discussed this very topic through an analysis of the West’s conceptualisation of the “third world-woman” as she wrote that “such theory postulates the third-world woman’ as victim par excellence—the forgotten casualty of both imperial ideology, and native and foreign patriarchies.” 

Gandhi’s description precisely captures the passivity attributed to women in the Global South. It encompasses how the manifestation of gender based violence is often at best, treated as an afterthought and at worst, completely neglected. Take a look at the BBC article covering the Goma rape. Although no groups have taken credit for the assault, the article still contextualizes the ongoing insurgency and counterinsurgency in Eastern DRC. However, the article never addresses the culture of sexual violence in the DRC, nor does it acknowledge any acts of resistance. It does not mention findings about how “50% of women have experienced sexual violence in a domestic context” nor does it touch on the women’s marches calling for an end to the war. Instead, the use of passive voice treats the topic of rape as an incidental event in the conflict; and once again, rape is characterized as an arbitrary consequence of war. Women are presented as the unfortunate victims of this inevitable issue, with the article refusing to recognize the organized attack on women during war.

Wartime rape is often written about as if it were an individual rogue attack and not a system of violence worthy of political analysis. Yet whether one wants to admit it or not, wartime rape thrives off of government neglect. For example, UN experts on the crisis in the DRC affirmed the Rwandan government’s backing of the M23 group, one that has committed various human rights abuses including rape. The Human Rights Watch reported similar instances of sexual violence committed by Congolese soldiers since 2022. The UN itself confirmed that over 90% of sexual assault allegations against peacekeepers in 2023 originated from The DRC and The Central African Republic. Nonetheless, the consequences of mass sexual violence committed by government and IGO (Intergovernmnetal Organizations) agents lacks thorough investigation. Although there has been an increased recognition of sexual crimes, such as the ongoing trial of soldiers in the DRC accused of rape, governments still fail to take a closer look at the how the culture of sexual violence in armed conflict manifests.

Mass sexual violence during war is not incidental. It is a military strategy that humiliates and demoralizes women with the aim to humiliate and demoralize their societies. From the system of comfort women in imperial Japan to the increased rape in the DRC, women’s sexual subjugation has historically been magnified in military conflict. Therefore, it is entirely necessary for more in-depth analysis into the use of rape as a war tactic to be taken.

Media coverage must take a clearer stance when reporting the violence committed by soldiers and the failures to address the root of these crimes. We must reject the idea that Congolese women are unnamed victims. We must affirm the agency of women in the DRC conflict, as well as women globally. 

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One in ten Canadians reported always or often feeling lonely. Among youth aged 15 to 24, almost one quarter experienced frequent loneliness, while 14 per cent of adults aged 75 and older reported feeling lonely. The lasting impact of COVID-19 on mental health has made loneliness an even more pressing issue. According to Vivek Murthy — former U.S. Surgeon General and co-chair of the Commission on Social Connection for the World Health Organization (WHO) — social isolation and loneliness has an impact on health conditions ranging from cardiovascular disease, to cancer, to Alzheimer’s.

Loneliness also impacts education and the economy. Lonely youth are more likely to drop out of university. Isolated employees tend to report lower job satisfaction and higher absenteeism. Older adults incur greater medical costs. These widespread consequences make loneliness a public health issue.

Luckily, this is preventable. A review of 28 psychological interventions suggested one-on-one support, group programs, and phone applications with psychosocial and behavioral techniques are effective in reducing chronic loneliness. However, most of the current evidence is for individual-level interventions, which are difficult to scale up. Systemic strategies are crucial for managing loneliness on a national level.

The UK has recognized loneliness as a population health concern. In 2018, the Department for Digital, Culture, Media & Sport (DCMS) added loneliness to its portfolio. The department launched a green social prescribing program where healthcare professionals refer patients to nature-based activities. These include local walks, community gardening projects, and outdoor arts and cultural activities. From April 2021 to March 2023, over 8,500 referrals were made, with interim evaluations showing improvements in participants’ mental health. In collaboration with the Department for Transport, the DCSM also made transport more accessible for disabled and older people. Policies now allow non-profits to apply for a community bus permit instead of a full operator’s license, helping to expand transport services that support social connection.

The UK Office for National Statistics has developed two measures of loneliness. These metrics are now part of the UK Public Health Outcomes Framework and are included in 11 government surveys to better understand loneliness prevalence.

Japan followed the UK’s lead by creating its own Minister for Loneliness and Isolation, working alongside with their British counterpart to share data on the impact of loneliness, exchange policy ideas, and raise global awareness.

In Canada, there’s no unified framework to define and measure loneliness. Various initiatives attempt to tackle loneliness, including the Keeping Connected Program, the GenWell Project, and Canadian Red Cross’s Friendly Calls Program. But their impact remains fragmented. We need a national strategy to unify efforts.

“Loneliness and isolation doesn’t only affect people who may be considered a senior,” said Bill VanGorder, interim chief policy officer of the Canadian Association of Retired Persons, when asked about the possibility of a Canadian Minister of Loneliness. “If that’s what it takes to address the impact of isolation and loneliness on Canadians … A minister would make sure that programs are in place to ease these issues [and] other parts of the government would be accountable to them.”

It’s time for Canada to take this public health problem seriously by adopting a national strategy to unify fragmented efforts, aligning with global leaders like the WHO, the UK, and Japan. Without bold action, we risk falling further behind. We must add loneliness to the government portfolio to ensure it is taken seriously.

Madeleine Wong and Christina Zha are MSc public health students at McGill University. Ben Yeoh is a MSc epidemiology student at McGill University who researches urban green space and youth loneliness.

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The Red River Métis people are a community with historic ties to the Red River settlement. We are a people with unique language, art, hunting practices and a distinct culture. At the genesis of the Red River Métis people, European settler men came to what would one day become Canada and intermarried with the First Nations women there. These voyageur men had come to the land in search of beaver pelts for the ever-growing fur trade throughout the 17th century. They had children and formed a community with their combined cultures, these children becoming the first generation of the Red River Métis. The fur trade was an important part for the growth of our Nation for the coming centuries. In the 19th century, battles where the Métis flag was first flown appear in the historic records, like in the Bataille de la Grenouillère. In 1870, Louis Riel had established the first provisional government and brought Manitoba into the constitution of Canada, under the promise of a land allotment to future generations of Métis. Soon after, Canada placed a bounty on Louis Riel for his resistance against colonization and ultimately hung him for treason. The land promise was never fulfilled and Louis Riel was wrongly convicted, which explains Canada’s current attempts at reconciliation with the Red River Métis.

The genesis of the Red River Métis has led to a common misconception: that we are simply a combination of white and First Nations blood, when in fact being Métis has nothing to do with blood quantum. That is to say, citizenship in our Nation is not about how much First Nations genes one inherited. It is about what came after those first children, the community that emerged. Essentially, it is based on who your ancestors were and if your family was a part of the distinct Red River Métis culture.

Our floral beadwork, the Michif language, the buffalo hunt. Our fiddle songs and Red River Jig. These are just a few distinct aspects of the Red River Métis Nation that make us who we are. Our floral beadwork uses techniques from our First Nations mothers and takes inspiration from the flowers in the plains. Our language, Michif, which is a unique combination of French and Plains Cree. The buffalo hunt is no longer widely practiced, but historically, the Red River Métis were skilled hunters and followed strict rules of the hunt. Beyond that, our shared values are what makes the uniqueness of our people obvious. Our generous spirit and tendency to help anyone in need, that I have felt many times in my community. Our sense of humour, our love of the outdoors, the warmness I feel from my people is what makes us who we are.

Our community has no blood percentage. It’s for this very reason that during the peak of residential schools, the Métis were sometimes, but not always, white-passing enough to claim their heritage as French-Canadian rather than Indigenous. This was a popular and necessary method of survival at the time that has yet to be undone. It had a generational impact which had led many Red River Métis people today to not really understand what it means to be Métis. Many Métis think their Indigeneity is not valid enough to be “really” Indigenous.

However, the most powerful form of reconciliation those individuals can do is to reclaim their Indigeneity, despite attempts of colonization and erasure. That is what my mother and I have done. My great-grandmother used to insist to my mother that she was French-Canadian, and the topic of Indigeneity was only spoken of in hushed tones. The idea of my mother being Métis was taboo to say the least. We realised much later that it was very likely that my great-grandmother spoke Michif but was forced to forget the language and her culture to protect our family from residential schools and judgement. The reason she so vehemently denied Indigeneity was out of fear it could hurt her family, a fear that was passed on to her from her family, who faced harassment during the reign of terror against the Métis.

So, my mother grew up with the notion that she may be Red River Métis, but didn’t understand what it meant, and therefore raised me the same. It was not until my mother and I became involved with the community again that we started to truly understand and reclaim our Indigeneity. Since then, I have been eternally grateful for every moment I’ve been able to spend with my community.
Every interaction I have with another Red River Métis person solidifies my identity and understanding of my community. It is in no way just a fact about myself — it is an explanation of all my life thus far. It’s much more than realising there is different blood in my family tree than I once thought.

Understanding one’s Indigeneity is like looking at an assortment of puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit your whole life, and when you finally collect all the pieces, it clicks. Suddenly, instead of a unique collection of family quirks, traditions, and norms, you’re looking at a Red River Métis family. You realize that the people closest to you in your life are also Métis and you’ve been a part of the community this whole time — you just never truly understood it.

That is why reclaiming my Red River Métis heritage is so important. It’s important to do right by my family who had to hide. It’s important to understand myself and the people close to me. It’s important because I love being Red River Métis. Despite what colonizers have tried to enforce for centuries, I will not be quiet about it.

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