As a trans girl, my journey to accepting myself as a woman was not a straightforward one. Being a woman wasn’t something that came all that naturally to me, especially toward the beginning of my transition. It felt weird to go from thinking that I was a man to being a woman all of a sudden. People expect a lot out of women and I was never sure how much I wanted to, or did, fit into those expectations. Internalized transphobia and misogyny also obviously played a trick on me, but none of that is what being a woman is truly about, is it?

Too often, people try to apply absolute definitions to things like “womanhood,” or “lesbianism,” or even “queerness.” In reality, I don’t think there is such a thing. Our identities aren’t mathematical equations, after all, and it’s only natural that the ways in which we define ourselves in regards to them will change as we grow.

I still sometimes struggle with the term, though there was a point where being a woman just started to make the most sense. There are all sorts of different women out there, each defining themselves and identifying with womanhood in a plethora of different ways. That’s part of the beauty of it all if you ask me. Though I know that some people will never accept me, my being a woman is an ode to the many experiences, positive and negative, that have defined my life until now. It’s an ode to those who have loved me, and those who didn’t. It’s as much of a desire to make my kin proud as it is a desire to rebel against everything they stand for. It’s complicated like that. I don’t think my mother will ever truly see me as a woman. She cried the first time she saw me wearing makeup and when she noticed I got my ears pierced. She didn’t like the fact that she was seeing me deviate from the gendered norms she viewed as right for me. But at the same time, she did always fight for me. My womanhood is an ode to that also.

My being a woman is also inextricably linked to my lesbianism. In truth, I’m probably more of a lesbian than I’ll ever be a woman. Lesbian spaces were where I sought refuge after facing rejection from my grandparents. Becoming a regular at the local dyke bar is what taught me what it meant to stand up for, and love myself. These spaces, and the people I met there, gave me an example of what healthy relationships could look like, and I would not be the person I am today if it weren’t for my reception into the lesbian world.

My womanhood is also an ode to all those lessons. It’s an ode to the friends who taught me what love could look like when you commit to it fully. It’s an ode to the lovers I met on nights out in the city who taught me that intimacy could also be nourishing. It is also an ode to every boundary I learned to respect and every friend I have since parted ways with. It’s a promise that I make to myself and to the world to be the best person I can be, a person I can only be as a woman of some sorts. My womanhood, as well as my belonging in women-only and lesbian spaces, is something that’s personal to me like that.

Since the pandemic, there has been an increasing amount of discourse on who belongs in which spaces, whose identities should be deemed as valid, who is deserving of community and who is not. This is as much within queer circles as outside of them. Trans women have been villainized for existing within lesbian spaces, and so have trans men. There has been an increasing amount of transphobic rhetoric in the media surrounding this trope of trans women being predatory invaders in lesbian spaces. Just last month, a new lesbian bar in London has sought to implement a “cis-women only” policy. It almost feels like a repeat of the Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival in 1991.

Although it’s painful to see such rampant transphobia become so commonplace, I find it hard to feel all that implicated by it. Let me be clear, this transphobic rhetoric is having very real effects on the lives of trans people, myself included, but the notion that there is any sort of friction between trans folks and lesbians simply is not my experience. I don’t feel a need to go to a bar that prides itself in being trans-exclusionary and I find it humorous that some may think I should feel offended by this. If my transition has proven anything to me so far, it’s that community does exist for me in lesbian spaces. That’s not something that I feel is at risk of being taken away from me, so why should I care about what a bunch of TERFs think across the pond?

I think that as a community, it’s time that we start admitting to ourselves that our identities as queer people (and simply as human beings) can be complicated, and sometimes contradictory, but frankly that’s our own business. We can disagree with and have our own opinions on people’s specific interpretations of different identities and terminology, but there is no value in denying people acceptance or community. Being a lesbian is a lot more than simply being born with a certain set of genitals or being a woman who dates only other women. Being a woman is a whole lot more than having a certain set of chromosomes. Accepting the multi-faceted, and oftentimes ambiguous nature of identity is important as much for TERFs trying to deny trans women their womanhood, as it is for trans-medicalists trying to restrict transness to an arbitrary set of lived experiences. Unless we learn to accept that as individuals, we do not exist merely as a set of hard-lined characteristics and definitions, but as a complex set of realities, experiences and identities, we will never truly be able to grow as a community.

The post My Womanhood Is a Work in Progress appeared first on The McGill Daily.

With all of this unfolding, international pressure is more needed than ever, and boycotts are a tool accessible to civil society and students. In 2022, for example, the Palestinian-led Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions movement (BDS) forced the baked goods company Pillsbury to divest from a factory located in occupied East Jerusalem. At the same time, Michael Bueckert, vice-president of Canadians for Justice and Peace in the Middle East, highlights the need to be “very clear about our objectives.”

Important efforts to advance a boycott at McGill have run aground on avoidable errors. Both the 2021 Palestine Solidarity Policy and the 2023 Policy Against Genocide in Palestine passed with strong majorities through a student vote only to face legal and administrative opposition. The 2023 Policy is now caught up in litigation. A major roadblock, rarely discussed in student media, was raised a few years ago by SSMU’s Judicial Board. As is emphasized in the Board’s 2021 clarification on the legality of policies against the actions of a particular country, SSMU’s Constitution “favours specificity and precision over broad undefined policies that may or may not contravene equity concerns.” This poses a problem for the policy, which proposes a blanket boycott against “corporations, institutions, or individuals complicit in genocide, settler-colonialism, or ethnic cleansing against Palestinians.” The meaning of “complicit” is not defined.

As mentioned by Bueckert, vague policy risks unintended consequences. In 2019, for example, the University of Toronto Graduate Student Union refused to support a campus kosher food initiative, claiming it was “pro-Israel” and against “the will of the membership.” A student union is of course entitled to criticize a state and pursue policies accordingly. But in this application, BDS policy slipped into restricting and marginalizing basic Jewish community functions, and confusing Jewishness with pro-Israel sentiment. The union soon recanted under legal and public pressure, but this antisemitic incident is not anomalous to the history of student campaigns against Israel. The commonplace that “anti-Zionism is not antisemitism” obscures the rather more complicated facts of Jewish life as it exists. Anti-Zionism is not antisemitism, but the two are not mutually exclusive. Israel is a demographic, cultural, and religious center of modern Jewry. It is not hard to discover evidence of association if you look for it –– and for many, association means complicity in state violence. Boycotts that pay no mind to these complexities too often place the onus on Jews to prove their “innocence”. So, kosher food is too “complicit”, same with multi-faith chicken soup charity initiatives, Yiddish cultural centers, and so on. Such unforced errors are political and legal liabilities, damaging to both Jewish communities and Palestine solidarity activism.

These problems speak to the double-edged legacy of the historical boycotts against Israel. Many activists take inspiration from the well-known divestment campaign against apartheid South Africa — a landmark of collective civic action in which McGill students played a proud role. And Palestinian civil society has long organized its resistance around boycotts. At the same time, Middle Eastern writers have discussed the role of anti-normalization policy, which aims to isolate Israel and those who associate with the state, in the construction of autocracy and the liquidation of Jewish populations in Arab states. Leila Ahmed, noted Egyptian American scholar of Islam, argues in her memoir A Border Passage that the anti-Zionist campaigns of her childhood justified the expansion of the Egyptian secret police and “proclaimed implicitly our opposition to the ‘Zionists’ in our midst, Egyptian Jews.” Tunisian President Kais Saied recently proposed an anti-NGO law that protects his increasingly autocratic presidency under the cover of anti-normalization. The ancient Jewish communities in both Egypt and Tunisia have been reduced to shadows of their former selves.

At heart, the situation challenges McGill students to negotiate differences on a diverse campus. Similar challenges would arise should students decide on a stricter campaign against the Chinese state (for its treatment of Uyghur Muslims), the Moroccan state (for the occupation of the Western Sahara), or indeed any other state that persecutes specific marginalized groups. Ensuring the wellness and safety of Jewish communities is especially important given recent attacks against Jewish schools and synagogues in this city.

Yet there need not be any conflict between preserving Jewish communities and advocating for Palestine at McGill. Pro-Palestinian and divestment advocates have documented some institutions in McGill’s investment portfolio which are most complicit in human rights violations against Palestinians. Notable examples include Re/Max, which sells real estate on illegal Israeli settlements in the occupied West Bank; Mizrahi-Tefahot Bank, which helps finance illegal settlement building; and Motorola Solutions, which provides extensive support to Israeli military operations and surveillance. By proposing a boycott policy against specific targets, advocates for Palestine at McGill can bypass legal barriers and push forward an urgently needed divestment.

The post Boycott, Define, Specify appeared first on The McGill Daily.

While the sexualization of women in the media is nothing new, its true repercussions became evident throughout Britney Spears’s career. Debuting at the age of seventeen, the young girl quickly became a pop sensation, a status which subjected her to the cruel judgment of the public eye. Spears’ image screamed innocence while her songs placed deliberate emphasis on sexual innuendos. Of course, she wasn’t the only one who played off of the “untouchable creature” stereotype, as Christina Aguilera, Jessica Simpson, and Mandy Moore — to name a few — were also presented through this lens of naivety. In the manufactured entertainment industry of the 90s, it was almost a requirement to appeal to audiences as the virginal girl next door, arguably regressing progress made in women’s sexual independence. In fact, Dr. Jenna Drenten, an associate professor at Loyola University, found that the obsession with untainted female pop stars stemmed from a societal desire to take “control of these women again and get them to literally sign pledges for abstinence” — since “purity and virginity has always been something that’s been intermingled with women in the spotlight.”

Moving forward in time, the widespread popularity of child actors on the Disney channel gave way for another round of mass sexualization in the media, particularly for Selena Gomez. After rising to fame through Wizards of Waverly Place, she turned to a career in music. To thrive in this industry, the innocent young girl narrative was once again used to drive appeal and continued interest in Gomez. Driven by a pressure to succeed, her sexuality was manipulated in album covers, music videos, and public appearances. This multi-layered system of sexualization is dangerously insidious, in that it occurs both on behalf of entertainment companies and the masses who consume their media. Gomez has acknowledged her role in this system as a young girl by saying, “I know they put you through a system and make you feel like this is how you have to do it.” In the late 2000s and early 2010s, however, these structures of sexualization continued to be pushed under the rug. Although feminism was a popular movement during this time, we allowed these young girls to feel helpless at every turn in their career, further perpetuating their sexualization.

Despite growing awareness of the public’s inappropriate perception towards female celebrities, we can’t claim that sexualization is not prevalent in today’s cultural strata. Through the advent of social media, commenting on the bodies of young women has become so easy — drastically unlike how gossip and rumours spread in the 90s. Billie Eilish and Millie Bobby Brown have both spoken out about their struggles and how society has treated them. Brown noticed the shift between the sexualized remarks she received when underaged and those made upon her turning eighteen, which abolished her previous “untouchable” status. One particular moment she noted in an interview with Teen Vogue were the extreme reactions from online users over her wearing a low-cut dress. Such behaviour continues to reflect the stereotypes of pop star virginal identity that was so strongly emphasized nearly 30 years ago: our culture has yet to change.

The roots of our collective ignorance on this issue stem from the proliferation of patriarchal views that are projected onto women and girls in the media and entertainment industries. The “ideal” standards of femininity, such as being docile, naive, and obedient, are pushed onto those in the spotlight, turning these figures into distorted representations of women. It is another effort to control women’s self-expression and individuality by limiting promiscuity and allowing men to believe that these girls hope for their virginity to be taken from them. This toxic coming-of-age narrative is also interwoven into every young-adult plot line — such as Laney Boggs in She’s All That, or Josie Geller in Never Been Kissed — always showcasing the female characters’ desire to engage in sexual or romantic behaviour. Without a critical reassessment of the current social structures where women face perpetual scrutiny for their every opinion and action, misogyny will keep thriving. Dismantling our inherent biases is no easy feat, but it first requires an acknowledgement of the harm being done towards these victims of sexualization.

Although Billie Eilish has been a target of the same sexualization process that most young female celebrities have gone through, her resistance to being seen in such a light has created a slight shift in the overall perception of female musicians. By emphasizing individual choices and freedom — in constantly changing her manner of dress or speaking her mind — she has caused a rift in the image of innocent femininity in the media. Her choice to rebel against roles women have traditionally been forced into opens the door for women to achieve success in ways other than the overt selling of their sexuality. While those gates have not completely widened, this shift can at least provide hope for a future world where women don’t have to face the scathing pain of being sexualized by the male gaze before anything else. For now, the first step entails acknowledging that internalized misogyny within the media has been woven throughout our history like a thread. It exists faintly in our memory: ignored, repressed, and avoided.

The post Not a Figment of Our Memory appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Having now begun my last semester at McGill, I offer the following advice to students who will soon graduate – to students experiencing the same fears and frustrations I’m experiencing as they prepare to conclude one chapter of their lives and embark on the next. Some of this advice will be practical and specific to McGill students (there are a number of administrative hoops to jump through before you can cross the convocation stage!) but I hope that some of it will be helpful to anybody on the cusp of a big change.

1. Ensure you have completed (or will soon complete) all the requirements for your program. It’s not uncommon for McGill undergraduate students to complete all the requirements for their Major, Minor, and/or Honours programs before their last semester or even their last year. Still, it’s a good idea to go over your program requirements during the Add/Drop period of your last semester to ensure you’ve checked all the necessary boxes – and while you still have time to register for any required courses you may have forgotten about. The Add/Drop period for the Winter 2024 semester ends on Tuesday, January 16.
2. Have somebody else ensure you have completed (or will soon complete) all the requirements for your program. If the requirements for your program are particularly complex, as is often the case at McGill, it’s an even better idea to review them with an advisor. I know some McGill students who seek academic advice regularly and others who have never seen an advisor. If you fall into the latter category, as I did until about a week ago, then you may not be able to delay any longer. In fact, you may be required to complete a program audit form, get it signed by a departmental advisor, and then send it to the director of your program.
3. Don’t forget to apply for graduation. You applied to get in, and you’ll apply to get out. McGill requires most undergraduate students and non-thesis graduate students (i.e., Master’s, certificates, diplomas) to apply for graduation. This is done through Minerva, and after you’ve applied, you’ll be able to check the status of your application using Minerva’s Graduation Approval Query. Students expecting to complete their courses in a Winter term should apply by the end of February, in a Summer term by the end of May, and in a Fall term by the end of November. You should note that the review of your graduation record will not be automated: a real person will be assigned to review your graduation record at the departmental and faculty levels once all of your final grades have been submitted. If you are taking one or more courses at another university in your final term – on exchange, on term away, or through Inter-University Transfer – you should also note that you will not be eligible to graduate at the end of that term. You must instead select the next available graduation term.
4. Take classes you’re excited about. We can’t always get into the classes we want – I’m sure I’m not the only one in mourning over ENGL 366: The Teen Film in U.S. Cinema right now. But, to the best of your abilities, you should try to take classes you’re passionate about in your last semester. You don’t want to spend your last four months at McGill sweating over a difficult physics course or falling asleep to the sound of a professor’s drawl.
5. Set aside time during the semester to apply for jobs and internships. You’ve been dodging the question “So, what are you going to do after you graduate?” for the past three or four years – maybe longer – and the time to decide is slipping away. If you don’t plan on pursuing a second degree after your first, you’ll probably have to dig out your old LinkedIn profile and start scrolling through Indeed. I know it can be tough enough getting through a semester without the added stress of job-hunting and internship-hunting, but if you can dedicate even a little bit of time each week to these often-painstaking tasks, you may thank yourself later.
6. Come up with a plan to repay your student loans. Next to finding a job or internship, repaying any student loans you’ve taken out may be the most stressful item on your post-graduation to-do list. Every student loan program is different: some will require you to pay back your loans faster than others, and some will charge higher interest rates than others. If you’ve borrowed money from the Quebec government, you’ll have to repay it to the financial institution to which you gave your guarantee certificate at the start of your studies. This financial institution will notify you six months after you’ve completed your studies to inform you that it’s time to start repaying your loan. Ontario and British Columbia residents also enjoy a six-month grace period before they must start repaying their loans.
7. Make the most of your time in Montreal. If you’re planning on leaving Montreal after you leave McGill, this may be your last opportunity to enjoy this lively city and all that it has to offer. Chances are, you made most of the tourist stops during your first year in Montreal, but if there are any cool restaurants, shops, galleries, museums, or outdoor spots still on your bucket list, now’s the time to check them out. Has it been ages since you last climbed Mont-Royal? Or picnicked in Jeanne-Mance Park? Or, dare I say, hit the floor at Café Campus? Before the semester ends, take some time to enjoy all your favourite Montreal spots in a tour of sentimentality.
8. Make the most of your time with friends. Believe it or not, the hardest part about graduating from McGill won’t be jumping through administrative hoops. Whether you’re the one leaving or they are, you might have to say goodbye to many of the friends you’ve made in the last three or four years. Cherish the time you have left with these friends, and start thinking about how you’d like to stay in touch once you go your separate ways.
9. Remember that you’re doing your best. If you’re like me, you might be inclined to put a lot of pressure on your last semester at McGill. More than acing your exams or landing your dream job or checking off bucket-list items, however, it’s important that you take care of yourself in what may prove to be the most challenging four months of your life. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, talk to a loved one, talk to an advisor or mental health expert, and give yourself time to rest. Try not to fret if things don’t go exactly as planned, and remind yourself that there’s a whole world waiting for you on the other side of that stage.

The post Before You Go appeared first on The McGill Daily.

In Canada, period poverty occurs at the intersection of rising living costs — exacerbated by the COVID-19 pandemic, humanitarian crises, and natural disasters — and the persisting taboos surrounding menstruation. Increasing inflation has also magnified levels of period poverty. According to Statistics Canada’s Consumer Price Index, the cost of personal items, including tampons and pads, increased by 6.2 per cent compared to last year. Additionally, the “pink tax,” a tax put on menstrual hygiene products, further exacerbates the cost of menstruation. A 2023 public opinion research survey conducted by Environics Research on behalf of Women and Gender Equality Canada reveals the current extent and prevalence of menstrual inequity existing in Canada. Reportedly, one in six Canadians who menstruate have been personally impacted by period poverty, and this number rises to one in four among households earning less than $40,000 a year. One in five Canadians who menstruate believe they may not be able to afford period products at some point in the next 12 months.

In response to this problem, the Canadian government has established Budget 2022, providing $25 million for the establishment of a national pilot for the Menstrual Equity Fund (MEF). By allocating $17.9 million of their funds to Food Banks Canada, the MEF aims to address the barriers related to affordability faced by Canadians. The plan is split into 3 phases, the first two comprising the ongoing research and surveying conducted by Women and Gender Equality Canada (WAGE) and the third phase being the funding project which will run until March 31, 2024. The pilot project aims to provide free menstrual products to Indigenous schools on reserves and in federal schools across Canada, as well as to ensure the provision of free menstrual products in federally regulated workplaces.

With Canada’s cost of living crisis, community organizations such as Food Banks Canada are seeing increased demands for menstrual products. At the same time, they are having to handle the escalating costs of supplying other essential items. Many organizations have been unable to meet the needs of those coming in and asking for menstrual supplies. As the cost of living continues on an upward trajectory, many have been forced to choose between feeding their families and buying menstrual products. This burden is disproportionately felt by youth, single mothers, Indigenous peoples, racialized communities, immigrants, people experiencing homelessness, gender-diverse individuals, people living with disabilities, and those in remote areas. These groups face not only economic challenges but also increased stigma surrounding menstruation.

Many young people have experienced this stigma: feeling the need to hide their tampon or pad up their sleeve when going to the washroom at school, or the dread that comes when they forget to bring one, only to find their school does not have tampon dispensers or has run out of supply. According to Environics Research’s survey, one in four Canadians still consider periods dirty and unclean, while one in five believe it is a topic that should not be publicly discussed. These beliefs have turned menstruation into a taboo, resulting in the current lack of knowledge and support around period poverty. Due to the stigma surrounding menstruation, many people are reluctant to talk about their periods or to ask for help, instead chosing to stay home from school or work. A report from the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization found that one of every ten menstruating adolescents miss school during their menstrual cycle due to insufficient access to menstrual products and resources. The lack of education around menstruation is one of the primary factors that lead to negative attitudes toward this natural bodily function. Today, 78 per cent of people who menstruate beween the ages of 18 and 24 feel the need to hide their periods at school or work, while 54 per cent have felt embarrassed to talk about their experience with menstruation.

While Budget 2022 is a step in the right direction by the Canadian government, further importance needs to be given to education and awareness initiatives to reduce the stigma surrounding the issue. Comprehensive and open dialogue on period poverty and menstrual equity needs to occur. Addressing period poverty is about more than just the economic challenges; the societal barriers that perpetuate the silence and shame surrounding menstruation need to be recognized and dismantled for true and lasting change to occur. It is only through a collective effort that we can hope to create a future where menstrual products are accessible to all, regardless of economic status or identity, and where no one faces the choice between menstrual hygiene and food on the table.

The post A Step Forward in Tackling Rising “Period Poverty” in Canada appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Dear Provost Manfredi, Principal Saini, Associate Provost Campbell, and Deputy Provost Labeau, 

The undersigned associations represent a coalition of undergraduate and graduate students at McGill deeply concerned with recent communications from your offices on the genocide in Palestine. We are particularly troubled by administrative attempts to intimidate Students for Palestinian Human Rights (SPHR) McGill, the only Palestinian student group on campus, pursued even as we collectively witness the ongoing ethnic cleansing of Palestine by the Israeli military. We join our voice to that of 90 McGill University professors, staff, and librarians in condemning the University’s recent emails on the ongoing genocide in Palestine. 

Echoing the October 12 “Statement of Solidarity with Palestine and Palestinian Resistance” co-authored by McGill SPHR, we write to affirm our solidarity with Palestine and the Palestinian resistance against over 75 years of Israeli settler-colonialism and apartheid. Subject to a long and brutal military occupation, Palestinians’ right to resist is enshrined in international law. Moreover, it is this very law that the Israeli military continues to disregard in its current aerial bombing campaign and siege of the Gaza Strip, described as posing “an imminent genocide” by over 800 lawyers, scholars, and practitioners. We stand by our Jewish friends in this moment of grief and mourn the tragic loss of life that occurred on October 7th, but we reject the collective punishment of Palestinians in retaliation. As Rabbi Aryeh Bernstein has explained, “Right now, our grief and trauma are being directed to war crimes on a colossal scale: mass murder of civilians and children, population transfer, ethnic cleansing. It does not have to be this way.” 

In this moment of unprecedented violence and trauma inflicted against Palestinians, stoked by inflammatory, decontextualized media coverage, we were shocked to see McGill use similarly polarising language in its descriptions of the ongoing genocide and its condemnations of SPHR. Media coverage overwhelmingly dehumanises Palestinians and their supporters as “radicalised,” their voices and struggles are being silenced on social media, and as senior administrators your comments align with these patterns of prejudice and suppression. 

On October 10th, Provost Manfredi sent a university-wide email condemning SPHR for “celebrating recent acts of terror and violence” and called for SSMU to revoke SPHR’s affiliation with McGill University. Not once has McGill condemned, or even mentioned, the genocidal campaign on Palestinians by the state of Israel, despite its explicit condemnation of violence against Israelis by Hamas. Instead, the administration has deliberately painted the ongoing ethnic cleansing and widely-documented system of settler colonialism in Palestine as a depoliticized “religious issue” that can be solved through appeals against Islamophobia and anti-Semitism. In doing so, the McGill administration again ignores decades of colonial occupation, violence, and apartheid. 

Moreover, after over a month of near-silence on the rising Islamophobia, anti-Palestinian, and anti-Arab racism experienced by Palestine advocates at McGill and throughout the wider

Montreal community, on November 9 Principal Saini escalated his attacks against Palestine advocates in the McGill community by directly accusing them of anti-Semitism. In total disregard of the context and source of the image in question (from 2004 documentary Discordia about Concordia students’ rejection of President Benjamin Netanyahu’s visit to their campus), Principal Saini chose once again to traffic in the tired discourse that equates any kind of Palestine advocacy with anti-Semitism. In doing so, Principal Saini’s latest email, sent just a few hours before the planned rally, clearly intended to silence Palestine advocacy on campus by dissuading community participation through threats of disciplinary action. Even more troubling is the chilling effect that these blanket accusations of anti-Semitism have on drawing vital attention away from the very real and alarming incidents of anti-Semitism rising throughout Montreal. We stand firmly by all Jewish members of our community feeling the fear and trauma associated with this resurgence of hate. We pledge to support them in identifying, reporting, and eradicating all forms of anti-Semitic prejudice, which we recognize as one of the many forms of religious, ethnic, and racial discrimination that Palestine advocacy work seeks to dismantle. 

Principal Saini, it is precisely these irresponsible and unsubstantiated accusations that “exacerbate existing tensions” on campus, not a flyer encouraging members of our community to join a peaceful event in support of Palestinian human rights. What we find to be “deplorable,” Principal Saini, is not a poster featuring a photo of Montreal student activism, but the Israeli military’s ongoing ethnic cleansing of Palestine, which has now claimed the lives of over 11,000 innocent people and displaced more than a million Gazans in just five weeks, all of which you have yet to condemn. 

For McGill’s Palestinian students and their allies, the administration’s recent emails have directly contributed to a renewed sense of fear, alienation, and retribution. Historically, students expressing solidarity with Palestine have been targeted, surveilled, harassed, and otherwise discriminated against. Recent communications have furthered polarisation within the student body, where any discussion of Israel’s action against Palestinians is seen as inherently “abhorrent,” to use the Provost’s own terms. This sets a distressing precedent of curtailing dissenting student voices and directly endangers Palestinian activists and supporters who will have to bear the consequence of this reckless vilification. In fact, this most recent episode of Palestinian suppression stands in stark contrast to sentiments the Provost expressed just last year in an op-ed that rightly affirmed academic freedom as “a cornerstone of university life. Over centuries, it has allowed scholars to challenge received wisdom without fear of institutional censure.” 

Provost Manfredi, as students of McGill, we agree. Academic freedom is central to the very functioning of healthy academic life and we all, Palestinians and their allies, have a right to participate in the “vigorous, evidence-based and respectful debate and inquiry, even on controversial or morally divisive topics” that the University proclaims to uphold as part of its mission. Now, more than ever, we need to hear the voices of Palestinians. We reject attempts by the administration to instil fear and silence our calls for justice.

With this in mind, we reiterate and endorse the following list of concrete measures put forth by SPHR as the first step towards correcting the course of the university’s recent communications on Palestine and addressing the urgent need to support and protect its Palestinian students and allies: 

• That McGill’s Provost, Christopher Manfredi, and Principal, Deep Saini issue a public statement denouncing Israel’s genocidal bombing campaign against the people of Gaza, and provide concrete measures to address the personal toll that these atrocities are taking on Palestinian students at McGill. 
• That the McGill administration revoke its threats against SPHR McGill and against the SSMU. 
• That McGill divest from corporations complicit in Israeli settler-colonial apartheid. 
• That McGill cease its exchange programs with Israeli institutions and cut ties with current and future Zionist donors. 

We trust that the University will reaffirm its stated commitment to academic freedom by reversing any punitive measures against SPHR McGill. We hope that you will join us in responding to worldwide calls for solidarity with the Palestinian struggle. 

Free Palestine. 

Undergraduate Student Associations: 

International Development Studies Students Association (IDSSA) 

Society of Linguistics Undergraduates at McGill (SLUM) 

Department of English Student Association (DESA) 

Economics Students’ Association (ESA) 

East Asian Studies Student Association (EASSA) 

Graduate Student Associations: 

McGill Institute of Islamic Studies Student Association (MIISSC) 

History and Classics Graduate Student Association (HCGSA) 

English Graduate Students’ Association (EGSA) 

Art History and Communication Studies Graduate Student Association (AHCS) 

Clubs and other organizations: 

Desautel African Business Initiative (DABI) 

Independent Jewish Voices McGill (IJV)

Moroccan Students’ Society (MSS) 

Syrian Students’ Association (SSA) 

Thaqalayn Muslim Students’ Association (TMA)

Nordic Culture Club 

Egyptian Student Association (ESA) 

Queer McGill 

Socialist Fightback at McGill 

McGill Collective for Gender Equality QPIRG McGill 

Law Students For Palestine

The post Open Letter: McGill for Palestine appeared first on The McGill Daily.

“Unfortunately, history gives few examples of people who learn the lessons of their own history.”

– Time for Outrage by Stéphane Hessel

Stéphane Hessel, resistance fighter, diplomat, and co-author of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights wrote these words discussing the aptitude of humans to forget their history and repeat past errors. Following the Second World War, the concept of “never again” emerged as an international commitment to prevent genocide. However, since then, this expression has needed to be invoked too many times. 

History has shown that the international community has stood by, again and again, as genocide unfolds. Since 1945, there have been more than 50 instances of such crimes against humanity, according to scholar Barbara Harff. Genocides have caused more civilian deaths in this period than all civil and international wars combined. This represents a massive failure on the part of the international community, which committed itself to the UN Convention for the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of  Genocide, adopted in 1948. 

As genocide happens again and again, “never again” has become an empty slogan, a lost promise, or an unattainable ideal. The international community seems to have little power to fulfill its promise to prevent genocide. From Bangladesh to Darfur, humanity is still struggling to meet its commitment. Many have argued that this is in part because of a misunderstanding about how to define genocide and what genocide prevention looks like. 

Polish-Jewish lawyer Raphael Lemkin first coined the term ‘genocide’ in 1944. It consists of the Greek prefix genos, meaning race or tribe, and the Latin suffix cide, meaning killing. Under the 1948 convention, genocide is an internationally recognized crime where acts are committed with the intent to destroy — in whole or in part — a national, ethnic, racial, or religious group. These acts fall into five categories: killing members of the group; causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group; deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part; imposing measures intended to prevent births within the group; and forcibly transferring children of the group to another group. The International Court of Justice (ICJ) has repeatedly stated that the Convention embodies principles that are part of general customary international law. This means that whether or not states have ratified the Genocide Convention, they are all bound as a matter of law by the principle that genocide is a crime prohibited under international law. The ICJ has also stated that the prohibition of genocide is a peremptory norm of international law (or ius cogens) and consequently, no derogation from it is allowed.

However, trying to build an exhaustive list of genocides is an impossible task. Too many times has either disagreements, disregarded evidence or political agendas come in the way of recognizing a genocide for what it is. 

Rapidly, the use of the term genocide or the lack thereof has thus become a political tool. Sadly, recent events in Gaza have exemplified the debate over the use or not of the term genocide. Marie Lamensch, the Coordinator of  Program and Outreach of the Montreal Institute for Genocide and Human Rights Study, explained in an interview with the Daily why the term genocide is a source of political contention: 

“Genocide doesn’t happen in one day. It’s a process that takes time. It’s not like the murder of one person, it is something usually that is organized at least a few years in advance because it requires such an apparatus. […] For example, during the Rwandan genocide, France and the US, refused to use the term genocide because they knew what kind of an impact it would have on people’s minds and they thought, “oh if I use the term genocide that means I have to do something. I have to act. So that is why it is often politicized.””

In the intricate realm of the politics of genocide, the term itself has transformed into a multifaceted tool shaped by geopolitical interests, influencing its application and reception on the international stage. This selective usage, often witnessed when powerful nations refrain from labeling the actions of allies as genocide while readily condemning adversaries, has the potential to erode the credibility and universality of the term. For instance, the Rohingya Crisis in Myanmar, widely acknowledged as ethnic cleansing and genocide by human rights organizations, exposes the hesitancy of certain governments with economic and political ties to Myanmar in employing the term “genocide”.

Moreover, political leaders strategically wield the term as a rhetorical instrument to rally public support or condemnation, as observed in the conflict in Darfur, Sudan, where the United States’ declaration of genocide in 2004 was perceived as a calculated political move to exert pressure on the Sudanese government. Lamensch commented on the impact of using the term genocide saying that while “in 2003, in Darfour, for example, it did lead to concrete action. But, for example, now there is a genocide going on once again in Sudan. Now nobody’s talking about it when it’s a clear case of genocide.” The UN has reported that since April 2023 more than 9000 people have been killed and 5.6 million have been forcibly displaced. The fact that ten years ago similar disturbingly violent events were unraveling and recognized as genocide and now no one even dares to mention it clearly shows the political motivations of the international community at the time. In addition to being a geopolitical issue public opinion also matters in the denunciation of genocide. “So it’s a double standard because they are African people, it seems far away from us. So it’s also a case of probably racism” Lamensch told the Daily. 

Instances of denial emerge when governments accused of genocide vehemently reject allegations, exemplified by the Turkish government’s persistent denial of the Armenian genocide, framing the events within a broader wartime context and asserting that the term “genocide” was misused. 

Lastly, the term’s impact extends beyond legal ramifications, influencing public perception and historical memory. In the case of the Uyghur genocide allegations, the term “genocide” is not only a legal designation but also a potent tool that resonates in the public consciousness, shapes diplomatic engagements, guides international responses, and contributes to the long-term historical narrative. Lamensch explained how genocide recognition shapes geopolitics:

“It can bring important tensions between geopolitically as well not to recognize a genocide. If you look at China currently committing grave human rights violations against the Uyghur in China […] the Canadian government has not recognized a genocide, but the parliament has. One of the reasons that a lot of governments refuse to use kind of the word genocide for what’s happening in China, even though there’s growing evidence that genocide is taking place, is because they know that if you use that term, there’s going to be consequences for the country.” 

The ongoing debates surrounding the term underscores its significance in framing discussions on human rights, accountability, and the global responsibility to address alleged atrocities. 

The collective acceptance that certain acts of genocide are “genocide” while others are “ethnic cleansing,” “civil war,” and “ethnic conflict” showcases the role played by a collective understanding when defining something as a genocide. That collective understanding exists in collective memory, which refers to the shared memories, experiences, and interpretations of a group or community. It is a form of cultural memory that transcends individual recollections and becomes part of the broader identity and consciousness of a societal group. 

Genocide and collective memory are inextricably linked, given that the process of memory construction is inherently political. Memory is a site of power construction, where power relations, dynamics of oppression, and political discourses are shaped. Collective memory is mobilized at different stages of a genocide. It is first mobilized during a genocide by the perpetrators and the victims. The perpetrators manipulate collective memory to justify their actions, asking the population to justify the massacre according to widespread historical narratives of oppression, marginalization, or exclusion. As genocide is prepared through the diffusion of genocidal intent and messages, perpetrators are able to influence collective perceptions through propaganda and hateful messages.  In the case of the Rwandan genocide, the government had been encouraging the population to participate in the genocide through continuous broadcasting of hateful ideology on state radios. Radios congratulated citizens for killing Tutsis and encouraged those who hadn’t to partake in the action. Lamensch explains that “in order to accept that the government is going to kill this many people, you have to start hating the other.” 

Collective memory is notably mobilized post-genocide as a site of power construction, where perpetrators can find consequences or absolution for their acts, while victims can find recognition or face the risk of their experiences being questioned and discredited. Thus, post-genocide, there is an immediate interest in shaping the narrative. It is easier for perpetrators of genocide to frame their actions as non-genocidal if the international community did not refer to their actions as “genocide” during the genocide. Moreover, it is also easier for them to be absolved if there are few survivors left to advocate for international recognition of genocide. 

Therefore, the recognition of an event as a genocide shapes the experiences of perpetrators and victims. It also influences collective memory. Almost everyone still remembers the Holocaust  as a horrifying genocide perpetrated by Hitler and the Nazis against the Jews during World War II. The Holocaust has done irreparable harm to Jews across the world and has caused severe intergenerational trauma, PTSD, and cultural damage. Recognizing the Holocaust as a genocide creates a collective space of memory where the atrocities committed against the Jewish population are rightfully remembered. 

Lamensch explained that recognition of genocide within collective memory is also essential for victims: “I know it’s just a recognition and it’s very symbolic, but that symbol is important for the victims because at least it doesn’t deny the death of their family members. So I think that’s something very important for the families and for the victims.” She then added that “even though the Armenian genocide took place more than 100 years ago, a lot of Armenians are still fighting for that kind of recognition. The government of Canada has recognized it, but a lot of governments have not.”

However, many populations who have experienced genocide do not benefit from the existence of a collective memory acknowledging their experiences. As genocide aims for the complete elimination of one group, the elimination of said group’s culture, history, language, or customs is often a part of the process. Fostering spaces of collective memory helps to keep these elements alive. When collective memory does not accurately recall a genocide due to the political manipulations of perpetrators or the international community, the desired impact of the genocide continues as affected populations are not supported in their recollection processes.

Lamensch also mentioned our collective duty of remembrance. She mentioned that the presence of a Holocaust museum in Montreal and the fact that from now on, in Quebec the study of genocide was going to become mandatory in curriculums was a crucial aspect for each one of us to uphold this universal responsibility of memory. She explained: “I think that’s one way that you prevent hate and anti semitism and different forms of hate, islamophobia because we always say that genocide begins with words. Because in order to accept, for example, that the government is going to kill this and this many people, you have to start hating the other. So there needs to be a lot of hate speech for someone to start seeing the other as a threat. So that’s also something that kids should learn at school. How does genocide happen and what does it mean?”  

Lastly, collective memory also plays a crucial role in preventing genocide. When genocide is collectively condemned and remembered, it allows for a reflection on the power dynamics that leads to such extremes and for a reflection on what can be done to prevent them from happening in the future. 

The post The politics of genocide and memory  appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Perhaps one of the most overlooked sectors of free press is that of student journalists and their often extremely censored relationship to university officials and their peers. Student journalism is now more crucial than ever as the demands for the sharing of news and opinion at the university level have risen over the past few years. However, this increased interest in student reporting is not met with proper press freedom and protection for student journalists seeking to provide platforms for news exchange at their universities. The hindrances faced by student-run publications are large in quantity and even more complex to eliminate when so many of these organizations are directly funded by the university. Universities often block stories or alter the editing of the content to boost their own image, which results in biased and partially censored information being released to the school community and the restriction of young journalists’ right to transfer information freely and without fear of repression. Data compiled from 2020 by the Student Press Law Center found that one of the most concerning trends for student journalism is the increasing number of cases of censorship by university officials for content due to its  “political nature.”

In the 21st century, educational institutions are becoming “more obsessed with ‘protecting the brand’ than they’ve ever been before, and journalism as an industry is weaker and less able to defend itself than ever before,” said Frank LoMonte, a lawyer and journalist that served for nearly a decade at the Student Press Law Center. What the collision of these two major indices results in, is increasing threats faced by student journalists and the clogged flow of information to the university community as students consuming this media are receiving altered and biased content. Free press in a student newspaper is an obligation to the truth without alteration or bias from any external sources. This principle in practice means that student journalism must remain an independent body of information, separate from the university whose namesake it may take. 

Similar incidents have happened on McGill campus. On March 5, 2012, the Daily Publications Society (DPS) – publishers of the Daily and Le Délit – received threats of legal action from the McGill lawyers in regard to the report of the Development and Alumni Relations documents that were leaked online. The intimidation tactic prevailed as DPS had to concede. In an article discussing the instance, editors wrote that “By threatening student-run media with legal action, this University has yet again used its financial power in order to control student voices on campus.” Student press freedom of expression has been an ongoing debate, and it is important for student journalists and authorities to have a clear and open conversation, and to work together.

Student journalists’ work also represents the local news in campus community. Local news plays a crucial part in communities and societies. They connect neighbourhoods with one another, promote local events, and share local issues, therefore making the community well informed and united. Their work will have a direct impact in shaping public opinion, while also holding authority accountable. Student journalism uplifts and validates young voices, connecting students with other students, the university, the local community, and the greater global one. 

The passing of Bill C-18 – more commonly known as the Online News Act – sought to support Canadian news organizations through providing increased compensation for the presence of their content on digital and social media platforms. However this bill was not met without discourse and opposition; the impacts of which are altering the landscape of free press in Canada. Media moguls Google and Meta began blocking Canadian news corporations on their social media platforms in response to a tenant of the bill which would enforce payments by those companies to Canadian media corporations. The impacts of this censorship by major technology companies were colossal, and exposed the extent to which technological companies have control over independent media. This censorship was denounced by SSMU and the Daily for the implications it would have on student journalism at McGill. 

Student journalists aiming to cover local news should be encouraged, as they do it out of love for the communities and societies of which themselves are a part. With the present uncertain environment of free press, it is important for institutions and publications to support student journalists in preserving a free press and working towards spreading the truth. It is only when the next generation of reporters are trained and able to produce quality work with those in positions of power respecting their right to a free press, that we can truly call this pillar of institutional strength “secure.”

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Flash forward to middle school. I am 13 years old, standing in front of a foggy mirror in the girls’ changing room of my school gym. My fellow classmates stand on either side of me, scrutinizing their reflections.

“Ugh, I hate my skin right now. It’s so oily,” one says. Another shakes her head vehemently. “No, you look so good,” she whines. “My stomach looks so fat though.”

Suffocated by these negative comments, I nod my head in agreement, offering my own critiques of my physical appearance among the cacophony of self-criticisms.

How did this change happen so fast? At nine, I was running through nature without a conscious thought about my body. At 13, my body was all I could think about.

Yet I was not alone in this shift. In 2023, a report found that 50 per cent of 13-year-old American girls were unhappy with their bodies, and by the time the same girls were 17, this number grew to nearly 80 per cent. Another study discovered that 70 per cent of adult women reported withdrawing from activities due to negative body image, and 60 per cent were self-conscious about their weight.
Men are also affected. A 2022 study found that 75 per cent of young boys and men report using appearance and performance-enhancing substances to modify their body image, and in a survey of over 50,000 adults, 41 per cent of men were self-conscious about their weight. In 2018, 83 per cent of American women and 74 per cent of American men reported being dissatisfied with their physical appearance at one point in time.

At age 13, when the majority of my peers used this negative self-talk, these statistics would not have surprised me. It seemed normal, natural, even, that my classmates and I experienced negative body image; this was simply the way the world worked. Now, however, I understand how dangerous this thinking is. Negative body image should never be thought of as the status quo.

In an effort to combat these sentiments, body positivity and body neutrality emerged as two approaches to improving one’s perception of one’s external appearance, self-worth and overall well-being.

Body positivity, which refers to having a positive, loving view of one’s physical body, originated in the 1960s fat rights movement in the United States. At this time in the US, body positivity helped to raise awareness about the barriers faced by fat people; consequently, the word “fat” was reclaimed as a descriptor instead of an insult.

In 1969, New York engineer Bill Fabrey was frustrated with the negative way society was treating his fat wife, Joyce, and began reaching out to everyone he knew to raise awareness about it. This led to the creation of what is currently known as the National Association to Advance Fat Acceptance (NAAFA), which played a key role in founding the modern-day body positivity movement.

At its inception, mainstream fat activism associated with organizations such as NAAFA often excluded people of colour, due to the worry that tackling more than one issue at a time could “dilute” their message. This thinking is extremely dangerous. The body positivity movement should be one of inclusivity and intersectionality that champions every body. However, when it excludes people of colour, it implies that some bodies matter more than others.

As the Black body positivity activist Sonya Renee Taylor stated, “if the body positive movement is only positive for some bodies, it is not a body positivity movement.” A movement that was intended to aid marginalized people ironically marginalized entire groups at the same time.

In the early 2000s, after a global expansion of the body positivity movement, it morphed into the version of body positivity that we are more familiar with today. As 1990s message boards and chat rooms morphed into contemporary social media platforms, fat people continued to build digital communities. At this time, Black and brown people were also able to more easily create their own communities, causing the movement to be more inclusive of people of colour.

However, in recent years as social media became pervasive, the body positivity movement took a turn for the worse. The term “body positivity” became something of a buzzword that often contradicted the original intentions of the movement. White women with hour-glass figures whose sizes did not surpass 16 started being touted as “radical role models,” pushing those who did not fit into this ideal to the sidelines.

As Stephanie Yeboah, influential writer and fat blogger, states, today’s concept of body positivity “has alienated the very people who created it. Now, in order to be body positive, you have to be acceptably fat – size 16 or under, or white or very pretty. It’s not a movement that I feel represents me any more”. The body positivity movement also began to be critiqued for being unrealistic; radically loving your body every day can be overwhelming and is simply not feasible for many.

Enter: body neutrality. Popularized by Anne Poirier, intuitive eating counselor and eating disorder specialist it invited people to form their concept of worth, value, and identity around their internal self instead of their external appearance. Unlike body positivity, which encourages a constant flow of positive thoughts and speech directed toward one’s physique, body neutrality encourages people to simply accept their body without the pressure of feeling love toward it. Moreover, this philosophy states that beauty and levels of attractiveness do not say anything about a person’s character, lifestyle or the kind of treatment they deserve.

Body neutrality can be a particularly helpful approach to those with disabilities. As writer Rebekah Taussig describes, some people “are frustrated with the demand to love their bodies when they feel betrayed by them. Being neutral could feel like a relief.”

It is clear that body neutrality has many benefits; must we then conclude that body neutrality is superior to body positivity? I don’t think so. In many ways, body positivity’s demanding nature and transformation into something of an insincere buzzword are not conducive to improving one’s body image and feelings of self-worth. On the other hand, aspects of body positivity – such as directing compliments and positive self-talk toward one’s body – can lead to increased self-confidence and overall well-being.

However, radically loving one’s body can often feel like too big of a step. Instead, body neutrality can be an excellent approach to sincerely accepting one’s body for its abilities instead of its external appearance.

When I think back to my nine year old self, happily running through fields and blissfully unaware of my body, I wonder – wouldn’t it be better not to have the terms “body positive” or “body neutral” at all? What if we could just be, without hyper-fixating on strategies to improve the ways in which we view our bodies?

Currently, our world is obsessed with the body’s physical appearance. Be it through photo editing apps, plastic surgery, or simply social media in general, it is clear that a preoccupation with the external pervades society. However, I do not think this fixation is natural – in my mind, humans should be able to exist without a constant stream of commentary on beauty standards, body image and external appearances.

However, in the face of such a world, my wish to be rid of complex terms that comment on the way we view our bodies seems unrealistic. Instead, in order to improve one’s body image and sense of self-worth, adopting body positivity or body neutrality to most effectively suit an individual’s needs seems to be the next best thing.

The post Body Positivity and Body Neutrality Are Not Mutually Exclusive appeared first on The McGill Daily.

One of the concerns around nuclear power is the handling of radioactive waste. This waste needs to be segregated or diluted in order to render it safe and prevent radionuclides from leaking into the atmosphere. Repositories are one of the current arrangements – a subterranean, excavated facility created, built, and run for the long-term, safe and secure disposal of high-level waste. In Canada, the Nuclear Waste Management Organization (NWMO) plans to “contain and isolate all the country’s used nuclear fuel – including that created by new and emerging technologies – in a deep geological repository, using multiple-barrier systems.” This will translate into the building of 500 meters (1,640 feet) deep area, called geological repository, which will rely on a multiple-bar- rier system where each barrier is part of the system but provides a higher level of security since each next barrier will come into play if some where to deteriorate. Regretfully, there are hazards associated with them. There is a chance that these repositories will experience breaches and spills that could contaminate the environment and pose long-term health problems since the decay rate for radio- active material is very slow, remaining extremely dangerous for thousands of years, accumulating very rapidly. As Gerald S. Frankel stated: “It’s a societal problem that has been handed down to us from our parent’s generation, And we are – more or less – handing it to our children.” Some age-old containers have begun leaking their toxic contents and, with more than a quarter million metric tons of radioactive waste, it is now time to truly investigate a long term solution to store these harmful chemicals before it is too late and before this becomes a bigger problem than it already is.

Another danger of nuclear power is the risk of major accidents and mishaps. The specter of accidents and meltdowns haunt the legacy of nuclear energy with two notable disasters serving as stark reminders of the possible catastrophic results of using nuclear energy. The shadows of the nuclear meltdowns, such as the Chernobyl disaster of 1986 and the Fukushima Daiichi accident in 2011, haunt the nuclear power industry. These events not only endangered the lives of the workers at the affected power plants but also released large amounts of radiation into the environment, leading to long-lasting damage to the environment and severe health issues for nearby populations. The prospect of future accidents leading to similar magnitudes of disasters continues to cast a dark shadow over the nuclear industry, demanding unwavering diligence and stringent safety when handling such powers if there continues to be a pursuit of nuclear energy to achieve a “greener” world. The high costs of nuclear power plants that are fully safe are difficult to justify. Nuclear power is more expensive than renewables, around $112-189 per megawatt hour (MWh) compared to $26-56 MWh for onshore wind and $36-44 MWh for solar power, while being exponentially more unsafe. Additionally, the slow development of power plants delays the progress to fight climate change as in the meantime we rely on polluting fossil fuels to generate the needed energy for daily activities. All of these factors, in addition to its dangerous nature, form an unjustifiable case to use this energy form to address the issue of greenhouse gasses.

With nuclear energy being so destructive, it has to be considered that some people or terrorist organizations might want to use it as a catalyst for mass destruction. As Zambia’s speaker stated at the UN thematic debate on nuclear weapons: “Nuclear weapons have no place in the modern world and there is no justification for their proliferation, testing and stock- piling. Their destructive power has fuelled international tensions and created an uncertain, unsafe world. Relying on deterrence for security only perpetuates a cycle of fear, where mutually assured destruction looms over the world community.” Terrorist attacks might target nuclear power facilities and the materials they employ, resulting in potential theft of radioactive materials and seriously jeopardizing national security.

Nuclear power facilities have sturdy engineering facilities built to survive catastrophic natural calamities like hurricanes, tornadoes, and earthquakes. But because they aren’t built to resist strikes from missiles and airstrikes, they are the golden target for war crimes. Only a little over a year ago, Russia attacked Ukraine’s electricity infrastructure with a series of airstrikes. Of the forty-three cruise missiles used in the strike, thirty-six were shot down by Ukrainian air defense troops and the remaining missiles struck western and central Ukrainian energy infrastructures. This shows how the use of hybrid warfare tactics, more specifically on energy infra- structures, is a growing concern in the modern world. While the Russian attack on Ukraine was largely contained, it serves as a stark reminder of the vulnerabilities in our energy systems, particularly highlighting the need for diversified energy sources and a strong focus on its security. Nuclear energy, while capable of providing a significant power output, is also susceptible to similar attacks and poses a far greater set of risks. Such large-scale attacks would have resulted in catastrophic consequences if the attacked infrastructures were nuclear, resulting in flying debris and radiation. In the face of such threats, it is crucial to prioritize the development and implementation of alternative and renewable energy sources that are less vulnerable to geopolitical conflicts and sabotage, ensuring a more stable and resilient energy future as we can- not afford for these accidents to happen.

In the next few years, as we search for more sustainable energy sources, we must carefully weigh the trade-offs related to nuclear power. Developing a comprehensive strategy to tackle climate change without sacrificing environmental responsibility, safety, or security requires finding a balance between the benefits and drawbacks that come with it. Amidst all the information and confusion, it is also important to acknowledge that even if nuclear energy isn’t an ideal solution for a perfectly green future, the current widely used methods like fossil fuels, coal, and oil still represent a threat and silently kill millions of people every year worldwide.

The post Is Nuclear Energy Really the Solution for a Greener Future? appeared first on The McGill Daily.

These problems are a known issue, and an active effort is being put into resolving it. However, the barriers to transness at McGill are far-reaching. Students with a preferred name were originally unable to vote in the by-election for VP Finance, a flaw only discovered by the voters themselves. Transitioning patients at the Wellness Hub frequently have to repeat blood tests because a measurement of hormone levels that don’t match assigned sex was left out. My main gripe is that instead of proposing solutions, most of the time when I mention an issue, attention is redirected to diluting my (trans) anger.  Improving the gender-identity equity practices at McGill becomes the responsibility of trans people, and are not adopted as projects unless there are complaints; and yet, the complaints that drive progress are frequently rebuked.   

I’ve heard vague complaints about the stereotypical entitled, new-generation transgender that expects absurd accommodations and is unappreciative of how good they have it. As the administrative coordinator of Queer McGill, most of my interactions with trans people are the opposite. I’ve seen many people disclose malicious deadnaming and misgendering before adding the caveat, “but it’s harder for old people to get right.” Especially when coming from high schools that were rampant with homophobic jokes and non-existent infrastructure for trans students, the expectations of most trans McGillians are on the floor. They don’t need to be. The Charter of Student Rights at McGill prohibits discrimination on the grounds of sex or gender. There is no reason to accept misgendering from people in positions of power, limited access to bathrooms, and logistical nightmares when using a preferred name. 

The expectations of trans students can seem especially privileged considering the violent history of transness in prior decades. I’ve met few trans people of the older generation. One of the oldest trans people I know, I met at the Ottawa Trans Library. She told us that she had been attacked and beaten on that street a few decades earlier. It makes me feel conflicted, agonizing over discrimination much less violent than assault. But the idea that life for queer people is easy now is a myth. Statistics Canada recorded 155 police-reported hate crimes motivated by sexual orientation in 2014, and 491 in 2022. These numbers come with caveats, the most obvious being that the crimes reported by police are not necessarily reflective of the crimes that happen. Regardless, the threat of physical violence is not over. Although hate-crimes and microaggressions are worlds apart in terms of severity, they belong to the same system of discrimination. I find it infuriating that I am constantly reminded of the undoubted “good intentions” of perpetrators of discrimination when 49 percent of those surveyed by spark*insights say that teachers should be forced to tell parents if a student under 16 wants to change their name or pronouns in school. Good intentions cannot be presumed. 

On September 19, SSMU released a pretty typical statement in support of the September 20 counter-protest. They briefly summarized the protest and counter-protest, said “[t]he SSMU strongly supports the work of queer and trans activists,” and encouraged people to show up at Roddick Gates. At the next Legislative Council session, two of the Science Undergraduate Society (SUS) representatives complained about the wording of the statement and said that not enough consultation had gone into it. They further elaborated at a SUS Council meeting that the statement might be “biased” and that “no external bodies were consulted.” Organizations like SSMU regularly adopt statements, this one being a natural application of its Trans Advocacy Plan. And considering that several queer groups on campus were consulted in the creation of the statement, it’s unclear who else they expected SSMU to hear from, save the 1 Million March organizers. 

The two SUS representatives said that they fully agreed with the content of the SSMU statement. I imagine they don’t see themselves as transphobic, and I would be surprised if they harboured conscious intolerance. On the other hand, I am not better off forgiving. Their actions still give permission to the more blatanly transphobic to further hatred. It still normalizes  doubt that a pro-trans statement is appropriate. It still makes my life, and the life of other trans students, more difficult.  Transphobia is pervasive, feeding off a fear of “wokeness,” and channelling discomfort with gender non-conformity into conservative rhetoric. I live in anticipation of backlash that I am not allowed to complain about since the perpetrators self-identify as allies. Even my best-faith interpretation is that the SUS representatives thought the counterprotest was a convenient issue to practice politics on – that trans students are an easy target. It is imperative to brand ourselves as a difficult and strong target – as a demographic that will not easily be oppressed. 

Queer McGill is often invited to table at McGill events that cater to incoming students, and while this image that McGill projects of an accepting culture is not backed by financial support or any real influence, I wonder if soon McGill won’t want queer groups represented at all in its public relations because of the increasing polarization of our existence. When I point out a barrier to transition at McGill and am redirected to reflect on the intentions of those behind it, the focus is shifted from solving the issue to solving the problem of my anger. It’s a strategy designed to neutralize my motivation to push for change. I’m expected to spend much more time thinking about how these people feel than they would ever think of me. 

We need to be angry as transphobic talking points enter the mainstream, because our reactions will determine whether individuals with veiled transphobia feel entitled to discriminate. For the Legislative Council to treat the support of transness as something controversial undoes years of attempted acceptance by trans student activists. It must be unequivocally denounced, regardless of the internal thoughts of the perpetrators. My proposal to the trans community is that we refuse to water down our anger. Anger is a powerful tool; it helps me continue to bother McGill staff until solving the issue causes less trouble for them than my hounding. Anger validates my right to exist as a trans student at McGill. Anger motivates me to advocate for a university where the barriers to transition don’t exist, rather than a world where people have good intentions. 

The post Anger as a Tool for Trans Resistance  appeared first on The McGill Daily.

The hypersexualised lesbian is a familiar trope to anyone who grew up watching early 2000s Western media: whether it was straight pop stars kissing for the bit or straight actresses playing straight characters also kissing for the bit, all of these interactions were pointedly fabricated for an audience. This use of lesbianism as a gimmick to get more viewers is entrenched in a long history of how women’s bodies are objectified to benefit male audiences. Female actresses have historically been degraded to just the sex appeal they offer in front of the camera, all the way from Marilyn Monroe to Megan Fox. Male directors are often to blame for many gratuitous sex scenes that posit women as objects of desire, simply to service the male viewer without driving the plot further in any way. So if straight women already lack agency in mainstream media, it is even harder for lesbians. Lesbian relationships are one of the few places where men have no role to play, which threatens the patriarchal ideology that governs most popular media. As a consequence, the lack of men onscreen manifests itself through the male gaze behind the scenes, reducing lesbians to no more than passive sexual objects and trying to curb their threat.

Take the example of Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan (2010): the movie is almost universally praised for its uncensored depiction of the twisted relationship between Nina (Natalie Portman) and Lily (Mila Kunis), centring on Nina’s eventual descent into madness. Though it is rarely described as a defining “lesbian movie,” it is a movie that hinges on the homoeroticism between the main characters as a driving narrative point. Nina and Lily’s relationship embodies the trope of doppelganger lesbians: when lesbian lovers are visually represented as doubles of each other, often in the interest of responding to male fantasies. Not only is the “lesbian double” a common genre in porn, it is also a common plot device used to vilify lesbians or paint them as predatory. Think back to the murderous lesbians in Basic Instinct (1992), or lesbian obsession as portrayed in the more recent The Roommate (2011). These representations tend to harm real-life perceptions of lesbians by portraying them as inherently aggressive or psychotic. 

While Black Swan is less explicit in its villainization of lesbians, Nina fits almost perfectly into this trope of the “psychotic lesbian”: her sex scene with Lily represents a turning point in her transformation into the titular Black Swan, succumbing to her dark side and ignoring all inhibitions. It conflates lesbian desire with a death drive, seemingly concluding that Nina’s desire to have sex with Lily is a manifestation of her self-destructive tendencies. Not to mention the sensationalism of the scene itself: two straight actresses having sex onscreen, as choreographed by a male director, lends itself to the age-old tradition of exploiting lesbian sexuality for viewer entertainment.

We know that sex sells – and lesbian sex even more so. Female homoeroticism has been used to sell countless products, from Miller Light beer, to Nikon cameras, to even Canada Oil Sands. Promotional material for TV shows isn’t immune, either: take a look at Leighton Meester and Blake Lively in this Rolling Stone photoshoot for Gossip Girl. These portrayals turn lesbianism into a commodity in the same way that movies and TV shows often rely on lesbianism as an eye-catching novelty to attract their audience’s attention. All of these examples point to a long history of lesbians onscreen being reduced to nothing but objects of desire, completely stripped of their sexual agency and unable to exist as well-rounded characters. 

The only “solution” that seemed to be a possible response to these early hypersexualised lesbians was completely desexualised representation in the years to follow. The past few years have seen a rise in the popularity of “cottagecore” lesbian culture: by celebrating simple rural living, women and lesbians are able to construct their perfect utopia without the structural sexism or homophobia of modern city life. At its core, there is nothing wrong with idealizing countryside living – but the concept of cottagecore is problematized by its deeply Eurocentric understanding of rural life. It is a fantasy that largely only Western white women can dream of by romanticizing the American agricultural dream and inadvertently celebrating “aesthetics” drawn from settler colonialism. Even in the context of lesbian sexuality, the cottagecore aesthetic comes with its downsides when searching for realistic lesbian representation: instead of being reduced to sexual objects, lesbians are now reduced to symbols of hegemonic femininity whose only option is to live in a world of imagined fantasy without any active reclamation of sexuality. 

This phenomenon can be observed through the rise of lesbian period pieces that take a large leap away from early 2000s depictions to instead focus on the tension between women that arises from a lack of proximity or sexual contact. Recent movies like Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019) and Vita and Virginia (2018) were well-received by lesbian audiences since they filled a historical gap in queer representation after decades of erasure. While this form of censored lesbian sexuality is definitely an improvement from explicit lesbian sex scenes made for the male gaze, it is still aimed at making lesbian representations more palatable for straight audiences. At the same time, these period pieces alienate a large majority of lesbian viewers by being set against pastoral backdrops that were historically occupied by a specific kind of woman: white, upper-class, and femme-presenting. Not to mention that the actresses behind the scenes remain as straight as ever. It seems to suggest that lesbian representation is only acceptable in the mainstream when it is not stepping on anyone else’s toes. 

This idea of lesbians as “digestible” queer representation has also led to them becoming more popular in recent kids’ cartoons. Since The Legend of Korra ended with its main female protagonists starting a romantic relationship, shows like The Owl House and She-Ra have followed in its footsteps with their female main characters being in explicitly queer relationships. Once again, there is nothing inherently wrong with this – in fact, lesbians being normalized in children’s media is definitely a landmark moment in the history of queer representation. As an inadvertent consequence, though, the association of lesbians with children’s media has led to the infantilization of said lesbians in pop culture. There is a lack of adult lesbian representation that doesn’t fall under the aforementioned period piece genre, which soon becomes frustrating since one ends up having to resort to cartoons for lesbian representation even as an adult. Even in popular teen shows like Never Have I Ever, where all of the other teen characters are sexually active or at least expressing interest in sex, the token lesbian character Fabiola (Lee Rodriguez) is never shown in any remotely sexual context. Her romantic relationships also receive the least amount of screentime and attention – which just goes to show how deep this new desexualised misrepresentation of lesbians goes. 

As with all tropes and traditions, the tide will eventually turn against the status quo, whether for better or for worse. The recent success of Bottoms (2023) suggests a wider success for lesbian representation universally – it goes to show that people are interested in seeing lesbians onscreen just as they are, without catering to non-lesbian audiences. We might still have a long way to go to escape all the stereotypes still associated with lesbians in modern media, but more queer women are stepping up to write the stories they want to share with the world than ever before. After all of the bad porn and cottagecore aesthetics of the past few decades, lesbian voices are finally being heard as they should be — uncensored. 

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Alan’s story is one of so many young Syrians and their families attempting to find any means to flee from the horrors of the Syrian war. More than twenty-five thousand people have lost their lives crossing the Mediterranean Sea since 2015, hoping to seek refuge in Europe, or in Alan’s case, temporary refuge before relocating to Canada. These migrants hail from politically unstable nations such as Syria, Iraq, and Iran, among others. Oftentimes, refugees pay premium prices to sail on boats heading to the coasts of European countries closest to them, such as Greece, Italy, and Spain. These boats often have little to no safety measures, and to make as high of a profit as possible, smugglers tend to overcrowd their boats.  This overcrowding causes boats to capsize in the sea, drowning most migrants on them. 

The photo of Alan on the beach sparked a conversation online about the inhumane nature of refugee passage into Europe. The image of him shocked many people with the magnitude of the cruelty of the refugee crisis and the low value that the world has placed on the lives of migrants, particularly those from the Middle East. Many commented and shared that such a situation should have never been able to occur and rallied around the migrants and raised funding to help support those trying to find passage to Europe. However, this support only lasted as long as people’s attention was caught. The high number of tragedies of the migrant crisis and subsequent outrage over them on social media has unfortunately formed an almost social commodification of refugees and their stories on social media, a phenomenon where crises turn into trends for which users will post and share infographics and flyers for until they are inevitably forgotten in the face of the next event in the news cycle. The migrant crisis remains an issue that ebbs and surges within the public consciousness, often emerging in response to tragic events. However,  the online activism people push via social media does not translate thoroughly into changes in political policies. 

In fact, in the years succeeding 2015, there has been a meteoric rise in anti-immigration and far-right political sentiment in Europe in response to the migrant crisis. Across Europe, far-right political parties are gaining power, and a central electoral talking point in previous and future elections is immigration. In France, anti-immigration sentiment has been one of the central binders of the right-wing National Rally Party, led by Marine Le Pen, who centered her 2022 bid for the presidency on a platform that France should close its borders, or at least substantially limit immigration, to preserve the country’s values and culture. While Le Pen’s 2022 campaign was unsuccessful, she gained much support across France. She posed an intimidating threat to Emmanuel Macron’s re-election, qualifying for the second turn of elections, with many voters agreeing with her conflation of immigration with a rise in Islamic radicalism. The counter to Le Pen’s platform in the 2022 election, trailing slightly behind her in the first round of elections, was Jean-Luc Mélenchon, a far-left candidate who also targeted issues of globalization and cost of living but offered socialist solutions in contrast to Le Pen’s ultra-conservative approach. Mélenchon supporters, who comprised 22 per  cent of the vote as compared to Le Pen’s 23 per cent and Macron’s 27.8 per cent, ultimately were the deciding factor in Macron’s victory as some voted for Macron in a bid against Le Pen’s potential victory. However, over half of Mélenchon’s supporters expressed no preference between Le Pen’s right-wing platform and Macron’s centrism, and 44 per cent planned to abstain from the second round of voting. Though Mélenchon’s leftist voters may have helped place Macron in the Élysée Palace given their differences with Le Pen’s platform, they certainly do not consider him a victor representative of their political views. 

Le Pen’s rhetoric is anti-Islamic, but even the liberal Macron has created many laws targeting the Muslim community. His administration implemented the controversial abaya ban, a subsect of France’s 2004 law preventing religious wear in secular institutions, which subsequently affected refugees from the Middle East. Abayas are long flowing dresses that are a commonly worn casual wear item for many women from Arab cultures and follows the tenet of modesty in Islamic culture. These robes come in many colors and patterns and have become fashion statements, giving Muslim women a wide-range of self-expression. In regions where Muslims are a minority, as in much of France, wearing such an item can hold important cultural connection and significance. The Actions for the Rights of Muslims (ADM) filed an unsuccessful appeal in France’s top administrative court, the state council, contending that the ban was discriminatory because it targeted children of Muslim heritage and girls. The ADM also said that abayas are not religious wear and that Muslim girls could be targeted for following the tenets of modesty and wearing long dresses or skirts in place of abayas.

In Italy, Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni leads the Fratelli d’Italia, presenting a similar platform for curbing immigration, claiming that she would not let “Italy become Europe’s refugee camp.” During her tenure, she has promised to build more detainment centers, increase time in detention centers, and deport a higher rate of migrants seeking asylum. As of September 2023, refugees in Italy are now required to pay a 5,000 euros (CAD 7,247.40) deposit while their asylum requests are processed, or face detainment. The deposit is an impossible sum of money for the majority of migrants, who have already paid a high cost for a risky journey into Europe, are fleeing from dangerous situations, and likely do not have the ability to bring much on the rickety boats taking them across the Mediterranean. 

The rise of anti-migrant attitudes and waves of nationalism in Italy and France have rippled into several other countries in the union, with the far-right starting to gain traction and come into power in Finland, Sweden, and Spain. 

Nearly seven years after the death of Alan Kurdi, a migrant boat capsized off the coast of Greece this August, killing 78 refugees from Pakistan. Like Alan’s, their stories caught the public’s attention for a week before sinking into the cycle of migrant discourse. One has to wonder what hope is left if, after facing the dangers in their homeland and undertaking the perilous journey to find a better life, families must still sail off into an intolerant future. 

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However, this culture seems to present a number of problems in relation to how we, as students, are to navigate and balance life at a university such as McGill. On one hand, we are expected to be diligent, serious, and committed students, tasked with succeeding in a rigorous academic environment and upholding the scholastic reputation that McGill has sought to cultivate throughout its existence. On the other hand, we are expected to be able to let loose; to party just as hard as we work throughout the week. Indeed, many of us have encountered the “work-hard, play-hard,” attitude taken toward student culture at McGill. Yet when student life becomes inextricable from drinking, unhealthy habits are sure to arise  among the student body.

The problem with a “work-hard, play-hard” attitude arises out of its encouragement of an unbalanced lifestyle and coping mechanism. Whether realized or not, such an attitude denotes drinking as a type of “counterbalance” to the normalcy of work. This prescribes a certain ratio in which one should “play” in accordance to how much they “worked.” Thus, the harder one works, the harder one should play. This frames the cure to work, as well as the stress that comes with it, as alcohol. The window in which one is to drink, however, is highly condensed which leads many to over-consumption in the form of binge-drinking, heavy-drinking, and dependency, many of which have adverse side effects. Ottawa Public Health defines binge-drinking as consuming four or more drinks in two hours for people assigned female at birth and five or more in two hours for those assigned male at birth. That being said, if one goes to BDA with $5 and drinks five cans of PBR within a two-hour period, they are binge-drinking, which may go unnoticed in the ambience of the crowd. 

Research into the long-term effects of alcohol use for adolescents aged 10-19 shows that heavy drinking – where one engages in binge-drinking at a minimum of twice a month for at least a year – may hinder the process of synaptic refinement. Synaptic refinement is the process in which the neural connections in the brain are polished until only the most efficient connections remain. As such, halting this process thereby stunts memory, attention, executive decision-making, as well as other operations integral to regular functionality. Of course, drinking also has negative short-term effects. Alcohol makes one less aware, can elicit feelings of hopelessness or depression, and impedes rational choice-making. Those under the influence can be at greater risks of sexual assault, depressive or suicidal thoughts, as well as death by unintentional injury. At the university level, these problems are ever-present. A report by the Boston University School of Public Health found that more than 70,000 students aged 18-24 are victims of alcohol-related date-rape or sexual assault. In 2010, two students at Queen’s University died in alcohol-related injuries during Queen’s infamous St. Patrick’s Day bash, and in 2011, a student at Acadia University died from alcohol poisoning during orientation week. 

Furthermore, university-backed drinking events pose problems in principle – that is problems in the messages they impose. Nowhere is this more clear than faculty frosh week. Faculty froshes are introductory experiences to McGill; they work to form our basic impressions about social life and as an apparatus to form meaningful connections and relationships with your peers. In being paired with upper year leaders, froshies engage in a process of corrective learning–a process of observation (whether conscious or not) from a modeled behavior followed by emulation. In consisting of various pre-games followed by an alcohol-centered event, froshies learn that connection with their peers manifests through the apparatus of drinking. This is truer for students who come from other provinces or countries with less relaxed laws around the minimum age to buy and consume alcohol legally; they are, for the first time, learning how to drink. Thus, all froshies who participate in the alcohol-centered frosh events learn – to some extent – that alcohol can serve as the key to social functionality. Should we, however, want this to be the case? Many would not.

The university is an authority. Insofar that it has power over the students, its facets – namely the sub-institutions it backs – do as well. This includes SSMU, Frosh, and the Faculty Bars, whose operations are tied to McGill as an institution. The power of student-run institutions within the university consists, partly, in organizing student culture on campus. Thus grounding student-life on campus in drinking-centered events encourages unhealthy behavior in a way that punishes deviation in the form of exclusion. Those who do not drink for health, religious, or other reasons, are excluded from these aspects of student-life. And while drinking-centered events do not comprise the whole of student-life on campus, one cannot deny that they make up a significant portion. Thus, when one cannot participate in this event, it can alienate them from their peers. As a community of students, we should not want to alienate our peers, but foster relations independent from substance-use. 

McGill need not become a dry-campus to remedy this. Of course not all drinking is problematic. Nights out with friends can foster some of the most sentimental bonds. More importantly, frosh week, faculty bars, OAP, and Gert’s are fun. The problem arises when it is the main source of connection between students, and when information about thresholds wherein these activities become unhealthy habits is not wide-spread. 

In short, one can circumvent the problems drinking-culture imposes – both practically and in principle – by awareness. Pay attention to how much you are drinking, and to whether it is the only way you are connecting with your peers.

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In March 2023, France began moving the unhoused population out of the capital ahead of its hosting the current Rugby World Cup and the upcoming summer Olympic Games. Prior to the displacement, Paris had been putting up a portion of its unhoused population in low-end hotels as part of its emergency housing plan. However, massive sporting events draw millions of spectators, and hotels are eager to hike up accommodation costs and book at capacity for the duration of the games. The French government – motivated by the economic tourism of hosting the Olympics – has asked other cities and regions around the country to take over the housing responsibilities for Paris’s unhoused population in preparation for these two major sporting events. 

The government is asking French officials to create “temporary regional accommodation facilities” for Paris’s unhoused population, yet it remains extremely unclear what these housing facilities will actually look like. Concerns regarding cleanliness, location, and capacity are being largely ignored by the government, which is instead choosing to focus on the financial advantages of the displacement. The regions to which the unhoused population are being relocated have also voiced concerns over not having sufficient empty housing for those facing forcible eviction from their temporary housing.

Those who support the removal argue that it is a step in the direction of finding permanent housing for Paris’s unhoused population. However, bouncing people from one temporary shelter to another does not constitute permanent housing. With the French government remaining vague in regard to the specific details of these new shelters, the unhoused population has been put in a precarious position. The grey area that comes with forcible evictions by such powerful institutions as the French government is enormous when promises are made to deliver housing alternatives but there is no higher governing body to determine whether those alternatives are safe and adequate replacements. 

Paris is not the first city willing to displace a portion of its population for the Olympics. Historically, displacement has always followed major sporting events, including the Olympics. Beijing in 2008 and Rio in 2016 employed the same methods to secure extra accommodation space that could be rented out for elevated prices during the games. 

The 2020 Tokyo Games are the most recent example of the direct harm that is caused by relocation and the loss that is currently threatening the livelihood of many Parisians. In the leadup to the games, the Tokyo Metropolitan Government conducted a “sudden and violent” raid on Meiji Park, forcing out dozens of unhoused people without providing an alternative housing plan. The events that took place in Meiji are strikingly similar to the struggles unhoused people are currently facing in Paris, with forcible evictions from their buildings and even removal from the city itself. This pattern of displacement that haunts Olympics host cities has become so common that it has even been given a name: the “Olympic Legacy”. 

Despite the need for additional accommodations during the Olympics, it remains the government of the host country’s duty to protect and serve its residents first and foremost, including the unhoused population. When governments begin backing marginalized communities into a corner, they violate the fundamental human right to housing that countries like France made a commitment to. It is easy for government officials, the media, and the public to sweep these rights infringements under the rug when doing so benefits major sporting events that are so widely publicized and celebrated. 

In addition to the negative impacts of government policies, a recent Airbnb deal with the International Olympics Committee has exacerbated the problems facing unhoused people during these major sporting events. In 2019, Airbnb signed a $500 million-dollar contract with the Olympics to promote housing and urban development for the games. This contract strengthened the international sporting community through its economic investment in the games, but it also increased the need for housing and fan accommodation. Looking forward to the 2028 Olympic Games, many Los Angeles residents find themselves in a similar position as Airbnb’s contract with the Olympics has resulted in rent spikes and eviction threats of residents living near the Olympic venues. 

In addition to the displacement of some of society’s most vulnerable members, the Olympic Games are also complicit in gentrification. Sporting events that are broadcast worldwide and that require host cities allow governments to use these competitions as  rationale for urbanization and the development of poorer areas. This gentrification occurs when host cities tear down poorer neighbourhoods to build infrastructure for the games, resulting in the removal of entire communities from the cities they were once  part of. Back in 2005, the UK Foreign Secretary Jack Straw famously called the 2012 London Olympics a “force for regeneration” as the city incorporated the development of many of East London’s poorer neighbourhoods into the Olympic planning phase. 

Paris is now using the same disguise of development to hide the gentrification that the neighbourhood of Saint-Denis is undergoing. Saint-Denis is set to house the Olympic Village and the primary Olympic infrastructure, which has resulted in the area becoming more expensive than residents can afford. It has also become increasingly frustrating for those who live in the area to see an Olympic pool and gymnasium being built when Paris has yet to implement more community pools and gymnasiums for the actual residents of the neighbourhood. An opposition group questioning Paris’s decision to host the 2024 Olympics has called the city “undemocratic” and “oppressive” for not calling a referendum and giving the citizens of Saint-Denis the chance to vote on such a threatening event. 

The debate over how to handle the housing needs of the Olympic games is a critical juncture in how governments treat their most vulnerable citizens and reveals the extent to which they value all parts of a city, including its less “desirable” neighbourhoods. Ignoring the costs to some of society’s most vulnerable members creates a slippery slope for further encroachment – whether intentional or passive – onto the standard of living that many have fought to prioritize on government agendas. Moreover, the gentrification that occurs with large-scale sporting events opens the door for a wider discussion of privilege and the costs of nationalism. There is, at present, no clear-cut solution that will satisfy all parties involved. Housing is a sensitive and extremely polarizing issue, but it is clear that Olympic host cities need to first fulfill their duties to residents before turning to sports and international affairs.  

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