“You never know if you’re going to be in the news or not that day…if [the IOF (sic., a pejorative term for the Israeli Defense Force)] will try to pull a trigger.”

In October 2025, Giancarlo Cininni packed his bags and headed to Ramallah, in the West Bank of Palestine. Cininni worked as a volunteer for the International Solidarity Movement (ISM), a Palestinian-led movement founded in August 2001. The ISM’s main objective is to provide support for Palestinian resistance against apartheid through direct action including protests, disruption and on-the-ground volunteering. In addition, they documentation of current event in Palestine such as journalism in the form of photos and volunteer testimonies. 

Cininni is a freelance journalist based in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Having studied journalism at King’s College during the Gaza genocide in 2023, he wrote a piece for The Dalhousie Gazette criticizing the events that led up to October 7th. As a millennial in his 30s, Cininni vividly remembers the 9/11 incident, and the global “war on terror” that ensued — something he couldn’t help likening to the ongoing genocide in Gaza more than 20 years later. 

“9/11 didn’t have the same historical context in the same way that October 7th did,” he clarifies. “But the way the media was just gathering the troops essentially, and trying to get everybody in line, and was spreading hate towards a specific group, was similar to 9/11,” Cininni noted in an interview with the Daily.

“I would say October 7th was probably worse [in regard to scapegoating] because the context of the Hamas attacks was very much in line with [resisting the oppressor]. There was the Great March of Return in 2019 and other struggles. Anybody with a brain would be like, ‘[Gaza’s resistance] is a powder keg waiting to explode’. It’s only a matter of time. And there’s strategic significance to the actions on October 7th, what with the normalization happening.”

Cininni’s piece sought to give the public some type of context on what the state of Israel is doing in Gaza, and how their actions amplified the violence that occurred on October 7th. 

“Most Canadians are probably not well-versed in the complicated histories of Israel and Palestine,” he wrote. “Which makes our population an easy target for the management and manipulation of public opinion via unbalanced coverage. This involves several factors — Israeli lobbyists, Western governments, and news media.”

The piece goes on to give clear statistics provided by the United Nations, from 2008 to 2020, comparing the number of Palestinian casualties with Israeli ones. The numbers show a clear disparity. 

“United Nations Ambassador for Palestine, Riyad Mansour, responded to much of the world’s reaction succinctly,” writes Cininni, “saying, ‘History for some media and politicians starts when Israelis are killed. Our people endure one deadly year after another.’”

A year into the genocide, a collective feeling of despair and depression was felt amongst activists, as the possibility of a ceasefire seemed farther than ever, and death tolls rose every day. That’s when most people would either opt out of doing anything at all, letting helplessness take the reins, or try even harder to find a  tangible way to help. Cininni chose the latter. 

“I didn’t hear about ISM before,” he told The Daily. “About a year into the genocide, a lot of people felt this kind of collective depression of hearing about another genocide happening, specifically a Western-backed genocide, which means that we’re all kind of culpable, like our societies are very much more culpable. In this case, there are conditions as to why we might feel more culpable than other things, because it’s your governments that are actually actively arming [Israel’s] government to do these actions. And so I did feel that there was a sense of powerlessness.”

Cininni then stumbled upon an interview on the left-wing podcast TruAnon with Daniel Santiago, a US citizen who was shot by an IDF soldier in Nablus, while volunteering with Faz3a, a Palestinian-led initiative providing on-the-ground civil protection from Israeli violence based in the West Bank.

“When I listened to that episode, I was like, wait, you can actually go down there. You can actually do stuff, you can have an action,” he says. “You can actually do something against this [genocide]. And even though it’s the West Bank, it’s not in Gaza; that’s a different type of activism that you will have to participate in that’s a lot harder to get, but in the West Bank, there’s still a lot going on. Israel has no rhetorical justification for what it’s doing in the West Bank. There is no Hamas there. What are [the IOF] doing? Why are they terrorizing a civilian population that explicitly just wants to live a normal life on the land that they have lived in for generations? What’s the justification there? Why?”

“And so I heard about this [opportunity] and I kind of find it funny, because I think that a lot of people would be like, what you heard this guy got shot doing it and like, that’s what made you go, but for me, it was just like, oh, here’s an opportunity for direct action, and as someone who’s kind of skeptical of a lot of Western activism, I find it’s harder to find stuff that is actually super practical.” 

Cininni applied to join Faz3a. But by the time his application went through, the organization  had ceased its operations and was not taking on any more volunteers. That’s when Faz3a  referred him to the ISM.

“I emailed [ISM] in early winter of 2025,” he mentions , “and did my onboarding in a hotel room in April, while I was in Newfoundland with my girlfriend. It was like two hours, and during those two hours, you learn about what [the organization] does, and some of the risks [of being a volunteer]. There’s a lot of talk about the cultural sensitivities that you have to be aware of. [The Palestinian people] are not looking for Western cultural kinds of colonialism. They’re not looking for Western feminism either, which could be something that happens in [other] Muslim countries. Essentially, they’re saying that you have to know what you’re here for. Palestinians are actively asking Westerners and people from all over the world to come here to show solidarity. Presence. They’re asking for our assistance and for our participation.” 

Cininni told the Daily that the onboarding process was heavy with information as a way to triage the volunteers and assess who was willing to stay on. Once the ISM presented a clearer idea of the mission, they dove into the training sessions. One was virtual, and the other on the ground in Ramallah. 

“By October, I flew to the Levant,” he added. “I flew to London, then to Jordan, crossed the border, made it into Palestine, and I did my training in Ramallah, which was pretty heavy and detailed. They were like two eight-hour days, and one happened to last 12 hours. We were all in a group house, sleeping on mattresses on the floor.”  

Along with the onboarding and training sessions, Cininni’s experience with the ISM also included lessons on what to expect once he was  on the ground and how to be prepared for any scenario. As activists volunteering for a Palestinian-led organization, they were not the most well-liked in the West Bank by the Israeli Occupation Forces. 

“I had to learn a lot about phone hygiene,” Cininni says. “How to use Signal, how to use encrypted software to message each other, how to use aliases. We had to learn how to make ourselves as untrackable as possible. I learned a lot about weapons, tear gas, and what weapons might be used, what to look for. You want to look at a soldier’s hand, if the safety [on their gun] is on, if they’ve got their finger on the trigger. That is the extent of the violence there.” 

Cininni went  on to commend ISM’s consensus-based process, thinking of it almost like a direct democracy. Dynamic, intra-group discussions, and encouragement to share ideas were key to making their mission a success. It helped with the learning process, Cininni found, and bonded the volunteers in the face of serious risk of injury. 

“The thing is, you don’t know what it’s like out there. It’s like a lottery,” he says. “One person from Canada had her ribs broken by the IOF…I was not subject to any violence because I was lucky, but I did see some people get grabbed at a protest in Nur Shams Camp in Tulkaram. At one point at this protest, the IOF came from behind and took some international [volunteers] and basically brought them to their side, checked their passports, went through their stuff, and interrogated them.” 

While the ISM does assess and take into account one’s risk tolerance to protect its members, volunteers have no absolute guarantee of safety. 

“It’s not every man for himself, because as an organization, we have each other’s backs,” Cinninni says. “But I would say, you can’t really [proclaim] you’re in an organization because Israel doesn’t really want us there. It puts a target on your back eventually. Israel does not want human rights activists there.”

In spite of the dangers he faced, including almost being held at gunpoint, Cininni looks back quite fondly on his experience in the West Bank.

“I’m a pretty seasoned traveller,” he says. “I’ve been to four continents, and I found that the Palestinian population was the most accommodating. It does not even compare. They go above and beyond, they are so generous, so nice to talk to, and so friendly. I had nothing but good experiences with Palestinians.”

He praises Palestine’s beauty, from its land to its people, while also appreciating the community he built there with his fellow volunteers, and the sense of accomplishment he felt. 

“It’s very nice to feel like some activism is actually making real strides and real difference, and people are working together and not splitting up and policing each other too much,” he says. “Which I think is what we hear regularly through the media. It seemed like people were really active and tried to work together and have a good time, and I think it’s one of those paradoxes, where everything’s so stressful, everything’s so bleak.”

A volunteer’s attempt to make the best out of a stressful, dangerous situation bears a striking resemblance to the Palestinian reality. The country is beautiful, full of kind, generous people, but the looming occupation deprives them of all the joys their surroundings bring — and so Palestinians make the best with what is offered.

“It’s pretty inspiring to see that there’s a lot of people who do care, in the face of everything,” Cininni adds, “and are willing to go to this extent, to fly to a pretty dangerous place and to do this kind of work. It gave me a lot more confidence in a lot of ways, and it made me personally want to do more of this type of work.” 

The International Solidarity Movement is always looking for volunteers from across the globe. A registration form can be found on their website. 

The post On the Ground in the West Bank: A Testimony with Giancarlo Cininni appeared first on The McGill Daily.

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

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

This interview had been edited for clarity and conciseness. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MD: Why ceramics and tangible art? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Founded in 2017 and achieving its final lineup in 2019, Old Soul is a mischief-loving foursome comprising vocalist Loreta Triconi, bassist Joseph Bottaro, drummer Ryan Palfavi, and guitarist Peter Rallis. Inspired by the psychedelic soundscape of the 1960s and 1970s, Old Soul’s artistic mission is to “set out with a unified vision to ignite nothing short of a rock’n’roll revolution.”

The band’s live performances prove to be nothing short. Triconi’s vocals, reminiscent of Janis Joplin or Jefferson Airplane’s Grace Slick, take the audience back to a time where bell bottoms, chunky belts, and platform boots were still all the rage. Palfalvi’s wild energy on the drums almost always translates to his ending the show shirtless and drenched in sweat. Rallis’ guitar solos never fail to leave anyone, whether it be his bandmates or the crowd, hungry for more. Meanwhile Bottaro’s bass line, intricate and executed with intense precision, carries the whole ensemble forward as he joins Triconi in headbanging with his own silky black bob in true bassist fashion.

Outside of the limelight, however, they’re just four friends excited to make music together, pursuing a shared passion with their chosen family. Old Soul released their debut album, Overgrown in February 2023, and have since been featured in publications such as The Suburban, Wavy Magazine, and Forget the Box while performing at music festivals across Ontario and Quebec. They were also part of the lineup in both 2023 editions of McGill’s Open Air Pub (OAP). 

Earlier this year, they released their single “Blue Bossa,” a consummate blend of sounds inspired by their usual 60s rock jams along with hints of Brazilian bossa nova and blues influences. Shortly after, the band announced their second album, coming November 6, titled Undercurrent; a further departure from the colours of Overgrown. The album’s cover art, which features a model posing as a mermaid surrounded by water, is almost violently blue — a stark contrast to the warmer hues of its predecessor. The Daily sat down with all four members of Old Soul in order to find out more about the band’s story, as well as their hopes and dreams for their newest ventures.

This interview has been edited for clarity and conciseness.

Youmna El Halabi for the McGill Daily (MD): What was the main inspiration behind Undercurrent? 

Joseph Bottaro (JB): I think it was just because at the start of writing the new songs, we all collectively thought of the color blue. We felt like the songs were just…blue. It was a kind of synesthesia where we were all like, “Okay, these songs are just really blue. Starting with “Talking to Myself” — that was blue. And then “River” — also blue. 

Ryan Palfalvi (RP): It’s very moody, very introspective music as well. So there’s the idea of being “under,” within the subconscious. It’s more of an introspective record.

JB: And we used to practice and record in a basement, until that basement got flooded. It got covered in water, all of our equipment was submerged, and it was almost completely destroyed. Then we started relocating to different practice areas. I think Undercurrent really came together once we started to record the first few songs at a cottage up north, while it was snowing outside. There was a whole body of water there with a river covered in ice. We were taking a walk outside when we saw this tree branch underneath the see-through, icy water. And it was just like that — we said, “oh, that’s Undercurrent.”

MD: So what was going on in your mind when you were writing the songs featured on Undercurrent, as opposed to the Overgrown songs?

Loreta Triconi (LT): Undercurrent was written while Overgrown was being recorded and produced. Because some of these songs we’ve had since like 2020. For the more moody songs, we felt like they didn’t fit with Overgrown so they kind of became separated in their own way. A lot of those songs were ones that we had written while in isolation, during the lockdown, but some are newer. 

Peter Rallis (PR): It’s weird. The songs (on Undercurrent) are either four years old or they’re six months old. Half of the album is six to eight months old, and the other half is, like, three or four years old. And that’s also why writing this album was different. We didn’t come in with all the songs prepared. We had those — I don’t want to say leftovers, but — [these older songs] were a different sound which didn’t feel like part of the first record. It was still interesting to see, nonetheless, what new songs we kind of wrote on the spot and just managed to put out there.

MD: So, from what I understand — unlike your last three singles, “Talking to Myself,” “The River” and “Blue Bossa,” which you guys produced with Brandon Barsoumian, the new album is entirely self-produced. What old, reliable creative tools did you reuse for this album that you used in the first one, and what were some new ones that you learned?

RP: Well, I think the common thread would be that we’re always in the same room together when we write our music. So I think there are some ideas that each individual member brought forth for certain certain songs, but I think everything is done organically in the room when we play it together. And then the newer things would be what we’ve figured out in production and in recording ourselves. 

JB: Everything in the production sense was completely different from what we did for Overgrown. It wasn’t thrown out the window, but it was a different process entirely. We were recording in spaces such as our basement or makeshift studios in an Airbnb. So it became more creative and more tactile and hands-on in that way. We were literally standing on chairs to hang overheads on the drum kit and putting duct tape on the ceilings to record Undercurrent, whereas in Overgrown we would be eight hours in the studio [with equipment.] Undercurrent was a longer process, so we were taking more time to put things together, and it was more DIY. 

MD: It’s interesting how your first album was recorded in a studio, but the second was purely DIY. Do you feel like that changed something in you, as musicians? 

RP: For sure, because everyone was responsible for learning on the fly. I think there was less hand-holding, because everything became the responsibility of all the members of the group. In the case of our first experience, we were happy but there were still some things it left us wanting. So maybe [transitioning to DIY] could be perceived as going backwards in a sense, but it also allowed us a lot more creative control, and a lot more of an ability to express what we felt without having so many other mechanisms involved.

PR: I feel like when we went into the studio for the first album, we weren’t able to communicate how we felt about a lot of things, and we found it difficult and intimidating. There’s certain things that you look back on, and you say: “I wish I could have done it more hands-on, or more myself, or I could have been more involved”. And that offers you a different side of understanding when you’re making music, which goes into the final product, and that has to be taken into account. But we were also able to kind of make our own schedule without relying on anyone else, which gives a certain sense of flexibility.

MD: And what would you say was the most challenging part of the new process? 

RP: With having flexibility in our own schedule, we learned from trial and error a lot. You need to be ready to work and to work very hard, because the responsibility of engineering your own project is a lot. Joe [Bottaro] had a lot of sleepless nights mixing this project. It’s a whole other level of workmanship that’s not just being a player and not just being a composer — you’re crafting the entire piece now. Everything that we’ve done [for this album] has been independent.

LT: You have to trust each other and trust that you’re all gonna be ready to show up and do the job, and work together as a team. Because it’s not always easy. Sometimes you have a vision, or sometimes you have a way that you want things to be done, and before, we were able to talk to the producer to get an “unbiased” opinion. But now, it’s all us. It’s a lot of back and forth, and sometimes you get charged arguments. But we make it work eventually.

MD: And how was curating everything for your upcoming release party on November 13 at Le Balcon? You’ll have The Space Wizards opening for you guys, a band you’ve played with multiple times!

LT: Well, we just wanted to make this show spectacular. So we needed to go with a cabaret-style, fabulous venue. This one’s going to be inside a cathedral. That speaks for itself. It’s going to be in the heart of the city. And for The Space Wizards, we just wanted a cool band we’ve played with before that’s been on the scene for as long as we have — even longer, actually, than us. And we enjoy their sound and playing with them. So it’s going to be an honor to share the stage. 

RP: They’re a good vibe in that they’re more than reliable. They’re people that you can lean on. They’re also people who just love to get up there and play. And they get the crowd moving.

MD: And what do you hope your listeners get from Undercurrent?

PR: I hope people can find a soft place inside them, where they start picturing things, and their eyes are closed, and they can start feeling emotions that they didn’t know they could feel. Like connecting to the things that they haven’t connected to before. It’s like reading a beautiful novel where things are just popping up in your head and you’re taken to another place. I hope they’re just going to go on a whole entire trip from the beginning to the end, and make whatever they can from it — gather whatever they want from it, just to have their perspective, you know.

JB: The music kind of speaks for itself on the album. It’ll take you through a journey. It’ll take you to unexpected places, especially coming from us. 

Undercurrent is set to be released on November 6, and the first live performance will take place at Le Balcon on November 13.

The post A Talk With Old Soul appeared first on The McGill Daily.

This interview has been edited for clarity and conciseness.

Eva Marriott-Fabre for The McGill Daily (MD): Tell me, what started your lifelong love of books? At what age did you become interested in reading, and who were your earliest influences?

Adrian King-Edwards (AKE): I’m sure it came from my mother reading to me. I can remember her reading David Copperfield — that’s a very strong memory — and she read Black Beauty to me. So definitely, my love of books came from my mother. I can’t remember ever thinking about it. I mean, it was just what I was interested in. So, I mean, I did well in high school in literature, and I really enjoyed it, and I can remember being close with the English teacher in high school. And then, of course, when I came to McGill, I studied literature.

MD: How did you decide you wanted to study at McGill specifically? What brought you to Quebec and Montreal?

AKE: The bright lights of Montreal … you know, from outside, it appears like an exciting city. It is an exciting city. Also, growing up in northern Ontario, you have a huge prejudice against Toronto. I really, really enjoyed being at McGill and studying literature. It was a great experience.

MD: How did you foster your love of reading throughout your degree?

AKE: There were several things I was very keen on. We did one whole term on Ulysses by Joyce, and I was very keen on Faulkner. I was so keen on Faulkner that I wanted to go and see his home in Mississippi. I didn’t have any money, and in those days, people would often hitchhike. So I hitchhiked from here to Mississippi. Another professor, Professor Malik, did Paradise Lost with us. It was a very intense class on Paradise Lost. And then we did Chaucer with Professor Williams, and he would read to us in Middle English. And that, again, was fantastic. It was a great department. I really, really enjoyed being there.

MD: I read that The Word was not your first endeavour in selling books, and you started by selling books in the back of a Volkswagen in British Columbia. So what got you there?

AKE: I had this idea, as I was going along, that I would be a writer as well, and I also sort of started writing short stories, and that kind of thing, towards my third and fourth year. I went on a cycling trip after I graduated, and then I came back, pursuing my desire to write. I was going to write about my cycling trip — I cycled from London to Lagos, Nigeria. It took me about six months to do the whole thing and I’ve still got the bike in my garage. My first wife and I had really close friends in BC, in Belcarra Park near Vancouver, and we went out to visit them for the summer. We would leave here in April, and we would be gone all summer. The municipal law was that you could only sell books in unincorporated areas — places that weren’t towns. We’d go to lumbering camps, mining camps, and little hamlets which weren’t incorporated. We’d put out a blanket on the ground and put our books out, face up, and we would sell books like that, and we’d get to know a lot of people. People would tell us, “you know, there’s this guy who lives in a cabin on the lake about ten miles that way, and he’s got a big collection of science fiction.” We would go and knock on his door, and we’d trade books with him, and inevitably, he would feed us. We were working hand to mouth, so sometimes we’d have to wait a little longer to sell more books before we could buy gas. It was really fun…my first wife had a child who was four years old when we were doing this, and in northern BC people would come by on horseback and take them for a ride.

MD: So what brought you back to Milton-Parc?

AKE: I’ve lived on Lorne, Hutchison, Milton and Aylmer … this area is a wonderfully exciting neighbourhood to be in because of all the students. And at the end of August, I really look forward to the students coming back, because there’s all that life and excitement and energy back in the neighbourhood.

MD: How were you able to establish such close ties with McGill and why was it important for you to develop these relationships with your alma mater?

AKE: Well, we always wanted to have a store that was seriously academic and would benefit the students. I mean, that was always our focus. Then, well — first it was the students who told each other, and because my wife and I both graduated from the English literature department, we had all kinds of contacts with people in that department. And then it grew from there … 30 professors ordered [their textbooks] through us. But it was quite a few years before we started ordering new books for courses — it didn’t happen immediately.

MD: What challenges did you encounter in establishing and developing The Word? What were the difficulties that come with being an independent bookstore?

AKE: We had the store back when we were living in our apartment next door — it was a four-and-a- half for $105 a month, and for a year and a half we sold books out of our apartment. There were four doors there that all looked the same, so we put a picture of George Bernard Shaw in the window. And then people would know. It got to the point where people would just walk in. I mean, nobody was ringing the bell or anything. They just kind of knew because it was the cool underground bookstore. There’s two aspects here: the buying and the selling of books, and then dealing with the customer. And if you’re going to be successful, you’ve got to like both. And it’s really fun. I mean, every day when I’m in this store, on at least one or two occasions people will find a book that they’re really excited about, and you can hear them. They’ll take it off the shelf, and they’ll go “Ooh!” And that’s one of the things I live for. One of the advantages we have is that we’re so visible because hundreds of students walk by us every day. We’re selling literature books or philosophy books for a third of what they cost at Indigo or Paragraphe, so there’s obviously a price difference. And also there are the second-hand books. We have a much wider range of books available. We have books from 1950 or 1960 … last week, we actually bought 70 books by and about Heidegger. Most of those books are out of print and they’re not available. Even if they’re on Amazon or Abe [Books], there’s a premium attached, because we might be selling the book for $15 and theirs might be $25 — $25 American, in fact. We definitely have a cost advantage.

MD: What does your weekly schedule look like? How often are you at the actual bookstore and how often are you out sourcing books across Montreal?

AKE: Well, usually I’m in the store, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday. And then Thursdays, I do house calls. I go all over Montreal and we also buy books elsewhere. I mean, we bought a major library in Halifax a few years ago. In Toronto, we buy books … Ottawa, we buy books. But in those situations, we have to be sure that it’s really good. Sometimes you go for a house call and the books were misdescribed, or there really aren’t any books you want. So sometimes it doesn’t work. If we go down to Connecticut, for instance, we have to be sure that there’s going to be good books. And we always buy books when we travel. It’s something we always do. We just go buy books. You never know what you’re going to find — you can find some really real gems like that.

MD: How have you seen both The Word and the McGill community develop alongside each other over the years? Do you think there are many differences from when you first started, or even when you were a student?

AKE: I mean the neighbourhood has changed immensely. When we started the store, the neighbourhood was run-down. It was mainly rooming houses for elderly people and poor students. And then over the years, everything was bought up and turned into condos, and now it’s way more affluent than it used to be. That’s a major change in the neighbourhood. And although it doesn’t really appear that way from the outside, we’re making changes all the time in the store with regards to what we stock. Every week, we’ll discover a new author, and we’ll discuss whether we should stock their books. I would recommend if somebody is interested in literature, to start a second-hand bookstore. However, it’s really difficult now because of the really high rents. If we were just starting out now, we wouldn’t be here. If we didn’t buy the building 12 years ago, we would not be here because the rent would have been too high. Like any small business, you’ve got to work really hard to keep everything going … Yeah, we’re really fortunate. I’ve been glad that we’ve been in this location for so long. It’s really extraordinary.

The Word is open from Monday to Saturday at 469 Rue Milton. For more information, visit www.thewordbookstore.ca.

The post The Word Celebrates 50 Years at the Heart of Milton-Parc appeared first on The McGill Daily.

The play’s live audience follows a modern-day heroine, a young girl named Jen from a small English town who finds herself trapped in an alternate version of reality consisting of an endless succession of Shakespeare plays. This world is populated by a strange cast of actors who, at first, don’t seem to notice her twenty-first century attire or her inability to speak in verse. The dizzying odyssey that becomes her quest to find a way back to the outside world comes alive in an inventive text brimming with unmistakable wit and intensity. Coloured with the absurdist humour that contemporary playwrights seem to find irresistible and yet carefully maintaining its hold on the illusory curtain between spectacle and reason, Thorn’s writing negotiates an understanding with the viewer that the world of The Prince is capable of shifting with the switch of a stage light as quickly as the story derives new and poignant meaning from the pages of its original materials.

We’ll hear a play

The first time Jen (played by Mary Malone) delivers a line is minutes into the play, after watching the opening scene of Henry IV Part One unfold before her in full. To the audience, Jen’s sudden
materialization into the foreground is a dramatic departure from the events we expected to follow the King’s discussion with his counsel. This shift in focus forces an addendum to any narrative framework that may already have formed in the viewer’s mind, making it necessary to regain our bearings – it’s clear from Jen’s dialogue that she’d had very little to do with Shakespeare in her former life and, by zoning in on her character, the play hints for us to calibrate our experience to her perspective. Regardless of how familiar one might have been with Act 1, Scene 1 of Henry IV, we get an idea of Jen’s point of view from her bewilderment at the idea of speaking in metre and the incredulity with which she digests the idea of using thee and thou.

True to its form as the dramaturgical equivalent of a frame narrative, The Prince has no shortage of opportunities to suggest these changes in perspective. Jen is cautioned to follow the social conventions of the “characters” in Henry IV, who are described as “antibodies” with unalterable responses and pre-determined actions. She tries to comply, but her disorganized attempts at passing for an attendant in the presence of “Hotspur” Percy (played by Abigail Thorn) — a young noble leading the rebellion against King Henry — end up drawing attention to herself and leading to an off-script interaction in which the two actually trade free remarks about their differences in diction. Sympathy builds between them until Hotspur manages to utter a free line completely in modern prose. This conversation compels both Jen and the audience to once again question our understanding of the narrative setting: if it was possible for the cast of Henry IV to speak out of turn and out of verse, should they not be considered “actors” instead? As the events of the play continue to progress, the viewer is suspended in a perceptive social limbo: we, along with Jen, find ourselves trying to make a judgment on the humanity of these characters in order to assign them their due identities.

What’s in a name?

Thorn’s discerning treatment of the inherited characters — largely the dramatis personae of Henry IV Part One — speaks to a deliberate conscientiousness regarding their original circumstances. This manifests itself in an adroit sensitivity towards the themes and progressions associated with each role. One by one, through their proximity to the disturbance caused by Jen’s unsanctioned verbal investigations and often as a direct response to her sympathy for the hardships Shakespeare assigned them, the borrowed characters are given a chance to speak their minds in prose. Without necessarily creating new identities for them, the play takes this opportunity to recontextualize each character’s “role” in relation to the others and reimagine their conflicts with one another in the light of Jen’s (and our) modern world. The rambunctious Prince Hal (played by Corey Montague-Sholay) is given a new reason to be at odds with his father’s traditional values — the suggestions of queerness half- hidden in the subtext of his original characterization as a flippant tavern-hopper are drawn into focus, escalating tensions between father and son to an all-out row. The comedic proportions of their argument, including the various insults hurled by the King, struck me as suitably cathartic. At the same time Lady Kate Percy (played by Tianna Arnold,) trussed in a restless marriage with the impulsive Hotspur, received a gratuitous helping of emotional restitution and wasted no time making clear that, by all reason, she had just as much right to her freedom as Hotspur did to ride off to war on a moment’s whim. While these adaptations realized certain characters more idyllically and perhaps less practically than others, it’s evident that they were transliterated with the utmost tenderness and honesty. The excess of care afforded to Kate in particular is, I would argue, a measure of the collective sympathy accrued toward her character by the centuries of readership since Shakespeare first published his characterization of her.

As recurring tensions between the same characters steer them inevitably toward the same conflicts, so do their roles in relation to each other — as Hal, Henry, and Kate, but also equally as father, son, or wife – reinforce their captivity within the overarching narrative they share. More and more of the Henry IV cast begin to break form and lapse into prose, lending a growing sense of unrest to the environment of their “play.” It becomes evident that Hotspur, at least, has realized their predicament, but no sooner does so than quickly demonstrates a refusal to give up the associated role. Hotspur is aware of injuring Kate by failing to reassure her of their eventual reconciliation, but spurns her attempts at making amends: a choice which, in conjunction with a sudden reticence to acknowledge any previous interactions with Jen and the worldview she brings, points to a deliberate and discomforting repression. The players’ dual identities are sustained by the level on which they choose to engage with their own narratives: with the presumed identity afforded by their roles comes presumed purpose, which all the “cast” are hesitant to abandon.

The Prince killeth Percy

Portrayed by the playwright herself, Hotspur represents the play’s way of addressing identity and individual potential. As the insular “play” begins to unravel within the larger world of The Prince’s
constructed reality, Hotspur also becomes the first to step off the stage. Before the ambiguity around the identity of the “actors” is dispelled, Hotspur’s character was already hinting at a certain measure of dissonance between the parts they played and their underlying truth. Even though Lady Kate calls Hotspur her “lord,” and Hal and Douglas consistently use the language expected toward their male adversary, Jen, the true outsider to the ecosystem of the “play,” refers to the same with “she” and “her.” This discrepancy is never addressed until Hotspur is finally confronted about the truth of the “play’s” reality, and Thorn’s dialogue betrays her as answering for someone who, once separated from the assumed identity of Hotspur, would never have been called a “son” by the Earl of Northumberland. With her admission, the viewer is released from suspending the uncertainty in their minds, and instead is faced with the understanding that Hotspur’s choices were never anything but perfectly human. The world of Henry IV is indeed a stage, but its actors are no less than men and women.

While Henry IV derailed from its original script, the overarching narrative of The Prince was also on a turbulent course of collision with the world outside. Hotspur’s abandonment of the “stage” is facilitated gradually through an unspoken dalliance with the elements of the real stage — the one being filmed and surrounded by a live audience. As the characters within Henry IV lose conviction in the insulation of their theatrical reality, the actors’ costumes start shedding their literal lustre from scene to scene. Hotspur’s armour is progressively removed and replaced with a tousled mix of modern and medieval garments, while Kate’s regalia is slowly reduced to an underskirt and tube top. The production delights in using its most direct modes of information to affect the other dimensions of its narrative, in a way that could only suit its chosen subjects. Thorn’s first appearance had Hotspur locked in a duel with the Earl of Douglas, clad in full plate armour and wielding a longsword, only for more unlikely weapons to take its place once the character’s facade begins to fold — in a devastating sequence towards the end of the play, she attempts to reenact the fight armed with only her bare hands, while at another point she finds herself holding an empty glass bottle given to her by Jen clearly labelled as Diet Coke. The cleverness of The Prince also informs an acerbic sense of humour: the play is wholly unafraid to move at breakneck speeds between probing its existential themes and delivering the incursion of Diet Coke into its world as a jarring gag. Its best comedic moments hinge on the irony created by the characters of Henry IV grappling with the real world in the form of dialogue with Jen or, rarely, through a chip in the proverbial fourth wall — the same modes of narration from which it derives its strongest development. In this way, it manages to remind us not to take it too seriously without the writing feeling flippant.

Since its release on the video streaming platform Nebula this summer, The Prince has had no difficulty reaching a wide audience of virtual theatregoers. Between the boldness of its premise, the thoughtful execution, the approach to queer commentary, and the effusive adoration it has for Shakespeare’s oeuvre, its draw is obvious to those who can identify with its transformative direction. Although not without its flaws, it awards a novel outlook to anyone who is willing to engage with the multitudes within its narrative. The play’s the thing, wherein the play’s the thing — wherein, as long as one catches the conscience that is one’s own, one might always have a part to play.

The post From Destiny to Denial … to Diet Coke appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Since graduating with a degree in Marketing and Philosophy in 2012, Virani has had exhibitions in Galerie Mile End, Centre Culturel Islamique de Québec, the Art Gallery of Ontario, the Royal Ontario Museum, as well as several online exhibitions. His most recent work, The Memoir Project, is a series of 34 book covers designed using the public’s responses to the prompt: “What would the title of your imaginary memoir be?”

The following interview has been shortened and edited for clarity.

Amelia H. Clark for The McGill Daily (MD): My first question is, do you have any favorite titles and covers?

Aquil Virani (AV): That’s a little bit like choosing between your children, but the one that stands out to me was, Oops: A Memoir, just because it’s such a short title and it’s vague enough that it could mean a lot of things, and yet it has so much character.

I did, in fact, choose one for myself, which I wouldn’t say mine was my favorite, but I did choose a title for myself that was Aquil Verani: Drawing, Connections. That’s part of the fun of the project and what makes it interesting is that each of the titles are interesting, both in terms of what people choose to depict about themselves, to share about themselves, and just the different ways you can go about it right. You could do a funny one, or you could do, like a really descriptive, very telling one, short or long. And so you know that that was very fun in terms of gathering the titles, one of the most fun parts of the process.

MD: One question I would have is why did you direct this question to the public instead of friends or family?

AV: I was interested in responses from the public in general to kind of imply that we all have a story, no matter who we are. So in asking anyone “what would the title of your memoir be?” you’re kind of implying that everyone has a story, not just my friends and family. That is, whoever would see that question has a story worth telling. I don’t think just my friends have interesting stories. I think everyone does.

MD: McGill isn’t really known for its visual arts programs, and yet it does produce graduates like you who succeed as working visual artists. When you were at McGill, what was your creative outlet?

AV: Both visual art and graphic design. There are pros and cons that I constantly think about whether or not I should have gone to art school, but I really appreciated being at McGill because of a few reasons. Number one is the people you meet, right? The people I met in my years at McGill I wouldn’t have met if I went to art school. Both the specific people, of course, but also the diversity of different intellects, different subject areas, and so on.

You know, I had friends in Engineering, in Arts, in Science and so on, which I don’t think happens as much at art school. The other thing is that being in an environment like McGill is very stimulating in a certain way, and because there aren’t a lot of visual artists or graphic designers around compared to art school, you’re given a lot of latitude to experiment and try stuff in an environment where there’s not so much pressure because there’s a million other artists all better than you, right? There’s kind of a freedom and a latitude given, because it’s not an art school, right? So I actually think that helped me a lot in looking back.

MD: You still have a bunch of artwork in McGill right now, including your exhibition Copycat, which I believe you made when you were a student?

AV: Correct! I did two exhibitions as a McGill student. The first one was pronounced “mind fuck”, spelled M, I, N, D, F, C, U, K, and it was in the art lounge in the basement of Leacock. Because I couldn’t find any other solo art show done by McGill student in my research, I marketed it as the first ever solo art show at McGill. Looking back, I wouldn’t do that now, but back then I thought that was a fun idea, and I made sure to not spell the F, C, U, K, so I wouldn’t be in trouble by McGill administration putting posters up.

And then there was Copycat, which was more actually in line with the work I have continued to do, that is to say participatory or collaborative artwork that, in a way, integrates or empowers participation.

MD: The work you did at McGill; What did it mean to you then, and what does it mean to you now?

AV: I’m very lucky and privileged to still be a practicing visual artist. And part of that gratitude I have is to be able to look back at work I made and see one of two things; It’s like, “Oh, that was really early experimental stuff I don’t do anymore, but I’m glad I did it,” or to look at work I did and say “That is actually still in line with work I’m making 10 years later.” There’s work that is participatory, or that integrated public participation, and that’s the work I’m still doing. So it’s cool to look back and feel, even as, you know, an 86 year old, I’ll still be interested in that since it’s kind of baked into the cake of my personality; and maybe that’s why I was interested in it then and why I’m still interested in it now.

MD: Have you always kind of had that sense, even when you were a kid?

AV: I grew up in Surrey, it’s like the Brampton of Vancouver. And so, a large majority of my friends were Punjabi, that is to say, either sikh or not sikh, so it’s a very particular upbringing because it’s a lot of second generation kids, right? Our parents came here to Canada, and now we’re growing up watching hockey and playing street hockey, and our parents don’t understand why we’re watching hockey, but they’re happy for us, you know, even though they don’t get it.

MD: And were your parents encouraging of your art?

AV: Oh, on the whole I would say yes. I think there was a bit of pressure to become a lawyer or to become an actuary. I was good at math and sciences as a kid and in high school, but I always had this sense that being an artist will make me the happiest, regardless of what that lifestyle implies financially. I told myself as an undergrad, I’d rather be sure about happiness and make the money work, then be sure about the money and make the happiness work.

MD: I think that’s totally the only direction to go, and especially telling considering things have worked out very well. I saw that you’ve won quite a few awards. How does it feel to receive such recognition for your work?

AV: I’m filled with gratitude at any kind of external validation of my work. Basically it’s an organization saying, “we like what you’re doing, keep going.” That’s how I see it. It’s sort of like institutional cheerleading, almost. And in line with those awards and with getting older and becoming a bit more assured in what you’re doing, the meaning of awards morph or change a little bit.

Like when you’re on a hike and you see markers on a tree, a pink ribbon. When you’re younger you see the markers on the trees, and you’re like, “Oh, I’m on track.” Whereas, as you get older, it’s like, “Oh, I’m still on track.” It’s a different feeling. It’s like I’ve reached the midway point of the trail, as opposed to earlier on when you’re like, “Where’s the trail? I haven’t seen anyone. I think I’m alone. It’s getting darker, and my flashlight is out, and I’m a little scared that I’m not even on the trail.” Whereas now
because I’ve lived through those years it’s like, “Oh, I’m still on the trail.” So, it’s a little less nerve wracking these days.

MD : Did your experience at McGill shape the artist you are today?

AV: Okay, two quick answers, and then maybe a longer one. Number one, definitely yes. My
years at McGill were formative in the development of my personality and my political values. They were formative in the friends I made. Attending McGill, for me, was like going to class with a bunch of people who are smarter than you no matter what, and so you’re just there to make such good friends with just about everyone who’s smarter than you. That’s very formative; both in terms of getting to know different people with different backgrounds and different life experiences, and I think it’s humbling. I think personally higher education humbles people because you’re like “I am in this context where I am a student by definition, that means I have something to learn from others, not only profs, but TAs, not only TAs, but other students,” right? You’re in a learning mindset which breeds humility.

The other thing I’ll say when I talk about my politicization is that I illustrated for the McGill Daily. When I think back to my days with the McGill Daily, it was not only really nice to be around a bunch of other illustrators, and engaged with the world around you in the way that being a student journalist or being interested in the news does is. But, I also think that I learned a lot in discussions with friends about how everything is political, and about the different power dynamics at play.

MD: I completely agree with what you mean about the vibe at the McGill Daily and the other student papers. It’s really nice to just be around other people who are as into it as you are.

AV: Totally, I learned Photoshop from working at the Daily and so when you talk about formative
years it’s like, how would I become an artist and graphic designer if I didn’t initially learn
the basics of Photoshop as a Daily illustrator? That’s scary to think about. Maybe I’d have become a textile artist or something. Whatever time I wasn’t spending at the Daily I actually would join the crocheting club and get really into that.

There’s something, and I’m not gonna toot the horn of student journalists because I’m biased, but there’s something about wanting to learn about the world around you, and making other people’s problems your problems, that I think engaging with the news does. Reading the news and caring about what’s happening in the world forces you, in a way, to be a citizen in the world and help shape the world you want to see.

The post An Interview with Aquil Virani: McGill Daily Illustrator to Artist for Peace Award Winner appeared first on The McGill Daily.

David Lynch, an enigmatic filmmaker, died on January 15, 2025. David Lynch’s passing was not only a huge loss for his many fans, but also for actors and film industry people who worked with him. Numerous well-known actors have expressed their grief over this loss on social media, sharing how David Lynch impacted their lives personally and talking about his unique character. Kyle MacLachlan wrote in an Instagram post: “I will miss my dear friend. He has made my world – all of our worlds – both wonderful and strange.” Kyle MacLachlan starred in a number of David Lynch roles, including that of Agent Dale Cooper on Twin Peaks (1990-1991) and Paul Atreides in Dune (1984), to name a couple. Strangeness and ambiguity aren’t the only constants within Lynch’s work. There is also a strong sense of loyalty between the director, cast, and crew. Kyle MacLachlan, Sheryl Lee, Jack Nance, Naomi Watts are just a few of the actors who consistently appear in his films. The lovely messages online from actors and collaborators are very telling of Lynch’s character, as is their apparent eagerness to work with him in multiple projects. He was special to fans and to those within the industry.

In my interview with Chris Alexander, a fellow filmmaker and artist, he had much to say about David Lynch: who he was as a person, as well as the unique artistry of his work. We covered several of Lynch’s films – those that seemed to have the biggest impact on Alexander – including The Elephant Man (1980), Blue Velvet (1986), Wild at Heart (1990), Eraserhead (1977), as well as his hit TV series, Twin Peaks. Alexander pointed out that Lynch often incorporated aspects of reality into his work while depicting them in strange and ambiguous ways (referring to Eraserhead): “Here we have this insane movie … at its core about fatherhood and the anxieties surrounding fatherhood presented in such a fucking insane way.” When asked about how Lynch left his mark on the industry itself, Alexander stated, “I think he has managed to affect the film industry, change the way so many people watch movies, receive movies. He is an artist to his heart. When he was not making movies, he was making furniture, or painting pictures, or releasing records. He had to create. But everything he did was incredibly singular. He never sold out. He always made stipulations to sugar-coat his weirdness for the mainstream, but he never bent.” Like many gifted artists, Lynch had a compulsion to create and never worried about catering to anyone if it meant changing his style and not remaining true to himself. This was a huge part of his appeal. “He was always true to himself. He never wavered from who he was as an artist. And yet he managed again to change the system from within, to affect the mainstream, and never, ever sold out to the suits.”

Alexander further talked about the intricacies that set Lynch aside from other experimental directors: “To watch Lynch’s movies, sometimes it bypasses the intellect and goes right to the guts. You feel it. You viscerally respond to it. And a lot of it has to do with elemental imagery.” Lynch was known for his over-the-top creative choices that oftentimes were grotesque with seemingly no rhyme or reason. His use of music was fascinating. It could seem contradictory even; for instance, the girl with the ethereal voice juxtaposed by the gritty Twin Peaks biker bar. And yet, it worked. Alexander further discussed how Lynch’s death personally impacted him as an artist: “It ’s almost like an eraser of your past because everything you grew up with, the magic in your life, starts to deplete, and you have to really train yourself to look elsewhere for the magic. But with Lynch’s passing, it really felt different than many of the great artists and thinkers we know.” Lynch’s unique style and artistry genuinely reflected his character. He didn’t just love to create – he absolutely had to, and he did it in a true, real way. In a world where we are taught to fear – where our instincts are to avoid things that are different, foreign, and weird – Lynch strived to embrace it. He was a man with an open mind and heart who was not afraid to show it. David Lynch was a true artist who left a lasting mark on the film industry and on many individuals. He was weird, and we love him for it.

My first experience with a David Lynch film was the nightmarish Eraserhead, his 1977 feature-length debut. Attempts at explaining this film’s plot are famously futile – more important is the feeling it evokes. For me, it was pure disorientation. I was lost; I didn’t know what was happening, what to think, or how to feel. I felt like I had unmarked paths, each leading to an indescribable somewhere.

Lynch’s films are all like that. They bring you into the dark; they try to show you what you can’t see. Inevitably, they lose you. And yet, once the credits roll, you feel a shift towards clarity. Through a descent into the unknown, you become immersed in your unique sense of being. That is the essence of a dream. Wading in the muddled corners of consciousness, those other places our waking selves don’t get to see. When you wake from a dream, you simultaneously experience the return to one self and the loss of another. That is, we trade one self for another every time we wake up. Lynch embraced that fear: he wanted to show us the other place. He wanted us to dream.

When I think of dreams put to screen, I think of Mulholland Drive (2001). It follows aspiring actress Betty Elms (Naomi Watts) and mysterious amnesiac Rita (Laura Harring) as they try to find their
way in an unfamiliar Los Angeles. Numerous disjointed vignettes point to some hidden truth that is never entirely revealed, ultimately prodding at the insidious underbelly of America’s entertainment industry. Betty gets off the plane alongside a friendly elderly couple who welcome her to Los Angeles and assure her of imminent success in her acting pursuits. After she leaves them, the film jumps to a scene of them in a limousine… smiling. Not casually smiling as you’d imagine, but intently, silently grinning as they stare into the distance. This is one of many scenes that warp a familiar situation just enough for deep unrest to permeate. Something is slightly awry, like in a dream. The whole film feels fuzzy, like how your eyes are out of focus moments after waking up.

This quality envelopes Mulholland Drive. It lends it an unreality that serves both absurd humour and cosmic horror. Like any dream, Mulholland Drive is fluent in both of these languages. It oscillates between them, containing some of the funniest and most terrifying moments I’ve seen in a film. The dichotomy of absurdism and horror is a common theme in Lynch’s works, and he often uses it to make us question reality.

The 1990s murder mystery show Twin Peaks is perhaps David Lynch’s most famous work. Like Mulholland Drive, it uses a harsh juxtaposition of humour and horror to expose the terrifying realities we live with but do not acknowledge. The show begins after after the isolated mountain town of Twin Peaks is shaken by the death of homecoming queen and local sweetheart Laura Palmer. Idiosyncratic FBI agent Dale Cooper is assigned to the case, and his investigation uncovers supernatural mixed truths. Both tonally and stylistically scattered, Twin Peaks contains extreme moments of psychological horror and violence in with a (by-design) cheesy teen soap opera. The use of horror to punctuate the moments of whimsy provides a glimpse into the show’s ultimate goal: to expose the lie of the American dream. On the surface, Twin Peaks is an idyllic mountain paradise straight from a postcard. However, once the layers are peeled back, the disgusting undergrowth of American life reveals itself. This is accentuated by Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me (1992), a prequel film that depicts the tragic events that led to Laura’s death. It is an unabashedly scathing critique of idealistic America; the once-picturesque town of Twin Peaks is reduced to a desolate wasteland of parking lots, trailer parks, and suburban sprawl. This reflects the experience of Laura, who was ultimately failed by the cookie-cutter American experience. These themes are explored throughout Lynch’s work, including films like Blue Velvet and Eraserhead, which examine the horror beneath mundanity.

Beyond surreal horror, David Lynch was also capable of realistic an highly compassionate films.
The Elephant Man captures this side of him better than any other work. The film is a biopic of Joseph “John” Merrick, a man who lived in 19th- century London and suffered from severe physical deformities due to an unknown medical condition. Merrick was exhibited in a freak show as “The Elephant Man” until he met an esteemed doctor and was housed permanently at the London Hospital. The Elephant Man forgoes Lynch’s signature surrealism, instead opting to tell a humanistic story of a gentle soul who endured immense mistreatment and pain. It captures both extremes of human suffering and compassion as John Merrick learns what it means to be known, to be loved, and to have your heart be full. The Elephant Man is a testament to Lynch’s versatility as a filmmaker. He knew brutality and compassion, imminent realities, and indescribable dreams. He understood every extreme and portrayed them with respect for the inevitable humanity at the core. He had a way of realizing distilled ideas on the screen like no one else.

In his book Catching the Big Fish (2006), he wrote: “I believe that if you sit quietly, like you’re fishing, you will catch ideas. The real, you know, beautiful, big ones swim kinda deep down there so you have to be very quiet, and you know, wait for them to come along… So, you get an idea and it is like a seed. And in your mind the idea is seen and felt and it explodes like it ’s got electricity and light connected to it. And it has all the images and the feeling. And it ’s like in an instant you know the idea, in an instant…”

David Lynch passed away on January 15, 2025. He was 78 years old.

His age, debilitating emphysema, and relative inactivity over the past seven years had marked an evident slowdown in his career, but his death shook me nonetheless. To me and many other fans, David Lynch was a myth – a cloudy form like smoke. But the haze eventually drifts away, and we inevitably wake from our dreams. That ’s how I process David Lynch’s death. His being has dissipated into the atmosphere and gone somewhere we can’t know. As his Twin Peaks co-creator Mark Frost said, “The man from another place has gone home.”

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Canada’s largest student protest took place in 1969 at the Sir George Williams University (SGWU) campus (now Concordia University). Hundreds of students at SGWU organized a two-week peaceful sit-in at the university’s computer lab, protesting the university’s anti-Black faculty and administration, before they were assaulted by Montreal riot police on February 11, 1969. Most of the recorded material from this demonstration is held by the Concordia University Archives under the “Computer Centre Incident” Collection. On January 29, 1969, while the occupation was underway, Black students at SGWU published a list of “demands” for the administration: to meet with students to negotiate the formation of a hearing committee and to drop “all criminal charges against Black students.”

The archives also indicate the students’ commitment to envisioning a future for Black students at the university, from advocating for a Black studies program to demanding Black control in the admissions process. In the January 28, 1969 issue of the SGWU newspaper The Georgian, a student wrote about a “Black Studies Program” organized and led by students to educate their peers on racial inequalities, which was met with very limited participation. A letter to the editor in Concordia’s Thursday Report on February 17, 1994, reveals that students were still calling on the university to “accommodate a Black Studies programme” twenty-five years after the events of the protest. The efforts of these student activists in creating a space for Black voices in the university structure are undeniable.

Despite the resounding volume of these critiques and demands from students, it took Concordia University over fifty years to acknowledge their complicity in the Sir George Williams University protests. Only in October 2022 did the university formally apologize for their “enforced silence” on the 1969 protest. If the material evidence from the SGWU protest — the declarations, statements, flyers, and newspaper articles — had not been under the complete ownership of the Concordia Archives, would the university have been able to carry out this “enforced silence” for so long?

Having control of student protest materials also allows the university to manipulate the narrative around such protests. They can present the facts in whichever way best benefits their public image. This can be clearly seen in Concordia’s formal apology. When writing about the university’s path forward, the apology redirects attention away from the 1969 protest and onto the “Task Force on Anti-Black Racism” that was issued by the university in 2020. “The Task Force on Anti-Black Racism has recommended specific, meaningful actions that will guide us on this path,” it says, adding that the task force has put forward measures that “span most aspects of university life” and “aim[s] to encourage Black knowledges.”

Looking at the 1969 student protest archives reveals that all of these ideas had previously been presented by students to an administration that simply turned a blind eye to their demands. Even as Concordia restated their commitment to Black Studies, there was no mention of the past student activists who had led the efforts for a Black Studies program as early as the 1960s. Not only does this erase the important role that historical student activism has played in reshaping the structure of the university, but it also affects how present-day student activism is perceived. Had Concordia been more honest about the direct impact that student-led efforts had on the current state of the university, I believe that the current public attitude towards student activists at the university would be less hostile.

Similar to how Black students at SGWU took the matter of Black Studies into their own hands, McGill’s African Studies Department — officially introduced in 1969, the first of its kind in any Canadian university — would not exist as it does today without the mobilization of student activists in 1997. However, most of the available information about student involvement in the African Studies Program lies within the trenches of the McGill University Archives Collection, contained in one scrapbook that consists of various written materials and newspaper clippings.

Looking into the archives of student protests reveals that “budget cuts and hiring policies” in the 1990s were rapidly destroying the existing program. A report from the Africana Studies Committee (ASC), created by students to counter the destruction of the program, shows that the McGill administration removed several core courses and attempted to reduce the status of the program from a major to a minor. Meeting notes from an ASC faculty meeting on March 6, 1996, further disclose that over 200 students rallied in front of the Arts building in support of the African Studies program, in addition to 400 letters of support signed by students that were handed to the Dean of Arts. The scrapbook also includes several flyers calling for students to rally; they each carry the bold slogan “Defend Diversity,” followed by a subtitle reading, “Bring your noise-makers, guitars, drums, and your social conscience.” The same student group handed out educational pamphlets containing information about how administrative procedures affected threatened programs such as African Studies. Further still, the scrapbook includes posters for “Emergency Meetings” to discuss ways forward for the African Studies program. This material evidence provides a complete overview of student efforts in reviving the program, revealing how student activists were at the helm of this project.

Yet, none of this is mentioned anywhere in the publicly-available information about McGill’s African Studies program. The current page for African Studies on the McGill website simply reads: “Established in 1969, the African Studies Program at McGill was the first of its kind in Canada.” A cursory search on the internet about the program’s history yields next to no information about the involvement of student activists either; the only source is a 2022 article from The Tribune, which details the formation of the Africana Studies Committee. Even the scrapbook located in the McGill Archives Collection is inaccessible online — anyone wishing to view its contents must first submit a request to the archives to view it in its physical location.

It is clear that the McGill administration is not interested in bringing attention to the historical role of student activists at the university. Though Concordia eventually disclosed the uncensored details of the 1969 protest on their main university website, along with providing full access to the protest material on the Internet Archive, McGill continues to hide the extent to which student involvement shaped the university. This allows McGill to protect their branding and suppress historical student dissent.

It is extremely easy for universities to occlude the historic efforts of student activists when they see fit. As students, we have to keep the memory of these protests alive. We must make active efforts to preserve these examples of student activism so that we can use the same praxis as our predecessors in order to make real change today. It is especially important for us to document activism by Black students because it acts as a historical record of their fight against systemic racial inequality and ensures that their actions are not erased or forgotten over time.

If you, or anyone you know, are actively involved in protesting and organizing within student circles at McGill, I urge you to try and maintain material evidence of these protests as best as you can. Whether it is flyers or zines, pamphlets or banners, they all contain valuable information worthy of preservation. You can reach out to student-run archives like the Student News and Protest Archive (SNAP) or maintain a record of your own. As student activists, we are responsible for recognizing the ones who came before us and providing the same support for those who will come after us.

The post An Archive of Dissent appeared first on The McGill Daily.

After the substantial pressure of a long-fought struggle by Divest McGill and their allies, the McGill Board of Governors finally pledged to divest from direct investments in fossil fuels in December 2023.

Given the well-documented negative social and environmental impacts of the fossil fuel industry, this is undoubtedly a major win for climate and social justice organizers at McGill. But despite the McGill Media Relations Office (MRO) recently confirming to the Daily that the divestment has been “successfully completed,” there is yet more work to be done in reducing McGill’s ties to the fossil fuel industry.

Last October, I had the opportunity to interview Emily Eaton, co-author of a study titled “Fossil fuel industry influence in higher education: A review and a research agenda.” Eaton and her co-authors investigated the numerous ways in which the fossil fuel industry influences the curricula and research outputs of higher education institutions.

“There is a growing movement across many universities, especially led by students, that are looking not just at [fossil fuel] divestment but also at disassociation,” explained Eaton. “[They are] acknowledging that it’s not just that universities are invested in fossil fuel corporations, but also [other] ties that they have […] whether that’s funding a research chair or coming on campus for career days.”

These ties, identified by Eaton and her co-authors, include fossil fuel industry personnel sitting on university boards (or vice versa); fossil fuel companies sponsoring research, academic posts, or scholarships; and hosting career recruitment events for students that encourage them to work in the fossil fuel industry. The Daily has uncovered evidence of many of these ties at McGill.

What is the fossil fuel industry?

The term “fossil fuels” encompasses non-renewable energy sources such as oil, coal, and natural gas. This industry plays a significant role in Canada’s economy, accounting for 7.7 per cent of the country’s GDP and 25 per cent of exports in 2023. At the same time, the oil and gas sector is responsible for 31 per cent of Canada’s greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions. On a global scale, fossil fuels account for over 75 per cent of GHG emissions, therefore making them the largest contributor to climate change overall. According to the International Panel on Climate Change’s 2023 report, global warming as a result of the burning of fossil fuels has led to more frequent and severe extreme weather events, putting people’s lives in danger across the globe. Fossil fuel companies have been aware of the industry’s negative environmental effects since the 1950s and ‘60s, yet have continually sought to obscure this knowledge from the general public in order to avoid government regulation.

The Corporate Mapping Project, which tracks the power dynamics within Canada’s fossil fuel industry, names three categories of actors within the industry. First, there are “emitters,” which are the corporations directly extracting, transporting, and processing fossil fuels. The work of these “emitters” is then supported by “enablers” and “legitimators.” “Enablers,” which include many banks, facilitate fossil fuel production by investing in these companies or creating regulations that are favourable to the industry. Finally, “legitimators” work to persuade the public or political elites on the benefits of fossil fuels – they may argue, for instance, that fossil fuels have a place in a low-carbon future, or that transitioning away from them is simply unfeasible. When looking into McGill’s ties to the fossil fuel industry, it is important to consider not just the affiliated companies themselves, but also the other actors providing them with both material and ideological support.

Fossil Fuel Interests on the McGill Board of Governors

In October, McGill appointed its first-ever Deputy Chancellor, Cynthia Price-Verreault. Price-Verreault had previously served on the Board of Governors for ten years from 2012 to 2022, including as Chair of the Committee to Advise on Matters of Social Responsibility (CAMSR, now CSSR), the committee which advises the Board of Governors on divestment from fossil fuels. She is also a former Petro-Canada employee, having worked as Director of Retail Marketing Services for 18 years, per her LinkedIn. Price-Verreault was the chair of CSSR (then CAMSR) in 2019, when the committee first considered and then decided against divesting from fossil fuels.

Price-Verreault is no longer a member of CSSR, but the current chair, Alan Desnoyers, also has corporate ties to the fossil fuel industry. Desnoyers works at the Royal Bank of Canada (RBC) as the regional vice president of Private Banking for Quebec and Eastern Canada. The Corporate Mapping Project classifies RBC as an “enabler” for being a key financier of the fossil fuel industry. A report by a coalition of environmental groups including the Rainforest Action Network and the Indigenous Environmental Network found that over the year of 2022, RBC was the biggest funder of the fossil fuel industry in the world. That year, the bank spent a total of 42 billion USD on fossil fuel development projects. Desnoyers has also previously worked at BMO and TD, two other banks which both remain huge investors in fossil fuels.

Page 49 of the McGill Board of Governors Handbook lists examples of conflicts of interest, including “when a Member, whether directly or indirectly, has a personal interest in the outcome of deliberations of the Board” and “when a Member is a member of the senior management personnel of a corporation, institution, or body, […] whose interests may be in competition with those of the University.” It could be argued that RBC’s continued interest in supporting the fossil fuel industry is in opposition to the decisions of numerous governing bodies such as the McGill Senate, SSMU, and even the Board itself, who have voted in favour of divestment from fossil fuel companies and acknowledged the socially and environmentally destructive nature of the industry. Given Desnoyers’s position as a senior employee of RBC – a corporation which profits ostensibly from the development of the fossil fuel industry – how likely would he be to vote for measures which could harm the industry’s growth?

When asked if Desnoyers’s position at RBC has ever been considered a conflict of interest, the MRO replied: “All members of the Committee on Sustainability and Social Responsibility (CSSR) commit to following our Board of Governors Code of Ethics and Conduct.” They added that “A conflict-of-interest declaration process takes place on an annual basis in order to ensure compliance.”

This system is reflective of a larger issue, raised by Divest McGill: the undemocratic structure of the Board. Out of the Board’s 25 voting members, 14 are unelected, including Desnoyers. The President and Chancellor, currently Deep Saini and Pierre Boivin, as well as the 12 members-at-large are chosen by the Board with no formal input from the rest of the McGill community, except in the case of the President where community members are invited to attend consultations. The other 11 Board members — representing students, staff (academic, administrative, and support), alumni — and Senators are elected by their respective communities, but comprise a minority of voting members. The average McGill community member therefore has relatively little say in who gets to sit on the Board and make executive decisions for the university at large, including whether or not to divest from industries such as fossil fuels or weapons manufacturing.

Recruitment from Fossil Fuel Industry

Universities are prime reservoirs for fossil fuel companies looking to recruit future employees into the industry. McGill career fairs have often hosted representatives from fossil fuel companies, particularly within the engineering department. The semesterly TechFair, organized by the Engineering Career Centre and volunteers from the engineering and computer science departments, has become a target for protests on account of the companies it chooses to host. In October 2023, Science for the People Canada created a zine highlighting the harmful actions of companies participating in TechFair, specifically those involved in the military and defense, mining, and oil and gas sectors. The zine argues that recruiters use the tech fair to greenwash their companies’ unethical practices in order to recruit new employees. Science for the People aims to “provide the other side of the story.”

In recent years, TechFair has continued to host companies directly involved in oil and gas extraction. Some of the companies hosted include Suncor, Teck Resources (also known as Elk Valley Resources), and Canadian Natural Resources Limited, which all directly participate in the extraction of fossil fuels. However, in addition to these direct “emitters,” Science for the People also flags “enabler” companies that collaborate with fossil fuel companies and help facilitate these operations by building relevant infrastructure or working to open up new land for exploitation. Examples of these companies include Preston Phipps, Klohn Crippen Berger, Enero Solutions, Alberici, and CIMA+.

In the winter 2025 edition of TechFair, a list of potential companies leaked to the Daily included Glencore, the world’s largest private-sector coal company, which produced 1.1 per cent of the world’s emissions in 2023. The company has also been accused of human rights abuses, environmental damage, and pollution in areas where it operates, such as Colombia and northern Quebec, according to a 2024 report by Mining Watch. Glencore is no stranger to TechFair, having been present at the past three semesterly events. Their inclusion, in addition to that of other oil and gas contractors such as Preston Phipps, shows that careers in the fossil fuel or similar extractive industries are still being heavily promoted at McGill.

Besides TechFair, the Desautels-run Jaclyn Fisher Career Day commonly features banks which invest heavily in the fossil fuel industry. In their September 2024 event, representatives came recruiting from TD, CIBC, and BNP Paribas. According to the Banking on Climate Chaos 2024 report, TD and BNP Paribas respectively provided 178.44 and 186.79 billion USD in fossil fuel financing between 2016 and 2023 (although the latter claims to have stopped financing new oil and gas fields in 2023).

The MRO explained that recruiters at McGill career fairs vary each year, mainly reflecting “market trends” and positions open to university graduates. They told the Daily that “McGill is willing to consider the participation of all lawful companies,” stressing that it is up to the students and not the university to determine which companies they are interested in. They added that if students have concerns about specific participants, they can share them with careers.caps@mcgill.ca.

Research funding and donations

Many Canadian universities, such as the University of Toronto, the University of Alberta, and the University of Calgary, have already been scrutinized for holding research partnerships with the fossil fuel industry. In a 2018 study on corporate influence in Canadian universities, University of Victoria researchers William Carroll and Garry Gray explained that “there is a long history of corporations directly funding research in order to cast doubt on independent scientific findings considered averse to industry interests,” citing the tobacco, pharmaceutical, and asbestos industries as examples. However, Eaton and her colleagues believe that there still remains a “gaping hole” in public knowledge about the fossil fuel industry’s influence on academic research.

The Web of Science database offers searching for academic publications based on the affiliations of the authors and the agencies which fund their research. Using this tool, the Daily was able to search for publications both authored by McGill researchers and funded by fossil fuel companies. The non-exhaustive results included companies which were either listed as “emitters” in the CMP’s Top 50 Fossil-Power index or as members of the Canadian Association of Petroleum Producers (CAPP). Out of the 34 total companies included in the list, 14 had funded McGill-affiliated publications (available on Web of Science). The company Shell funded the most publications at 92, followed by Teck Resources at 61 and Imperial Oil at 27. In 2024 alone, McGill scholars published papers funded by Shell Canada, Teck Resources, and Imperial Oil.

A large number of these publications came from the Faculty of Engineering, specifically the Department of Mining and Materials Engineering. The faculty has a history of collaborating with fossil fuel companies – a 2019 Tribune article found that Shell and Imperial Oil had donated $702,775 toward research grants primarily for McGill Engineering students between 2008 and 2015. Both companies routinely collaborate with universities to fund research through schemes such as the Shell Research Alliance and the Imperial Oil University Research Award, which was won by a McGill professor in 2018. In addition to those from Engineering, members of the Faculty of Agriculture and Environment have also been involved in recent collaborations with Shell USA through the EcoToxChip project.

As reported in a Tribune article, McGill accepted a total of $1,137,954.10 in donations from several fossil fuel companies including Cenovus Energy, Suncor Energy, and Gaz Metro between 2008 and 2015. The Investigative Journalism Foundation’s charitable donations database shows that McGill received an additional $1150 from the Suncor Energy Foundation in 2016. Beginning in 2007, the Imperial Oil Foundation also donated $800,000 over a period of five years to the Faculties of Science and Education’s WOW Lab.

McGill’s Gift Acceptance Policy outlines several restrictions to accepting financial donations, including limiting those that “may come from illegal or unethical activities “violating university or government policies on equity and human rights, or gifts with conditions attached that the university deems unreasonable. When asked how the policy is applied toward fossil fuel donors, the MRO gave the reply that it “allows [McGill] to consider donors and gifts on a case-by-case basis.”

Moving forward

Most climate scientists today agree that fossil fuel extraction poses a significant threat to humanity and the planet. They warn that only by phasing out these industries will we stand a chance of preventing further destruction to the environment. While divesting from fossil fuel companies made for a powerful symbolic gesture, McGill’s investment portfolio was just one of the ways the university is connected to the fossil fuel industry. Although the connections identified in this article are by no means exhaustive, they offer insight into McGill’s continued relationship with the fossil fuel industry. Divestment is a start, but McGill has a long way to go before truly cutting ties with fossil fuels.

The post Divestment From Fossil Fuels Is Just The Beginning appeared first on The McGill Daily.

As the National Day of Truth and Reconciliation approaches, and with McGill hosting its annual Indigenous Awareness weeks, The Daily decided to focus on the precarious housing situation for Indigenous residents in Montreal. We looked at the shortcomings of institutional and government measures, systematic discrimination, and the work of several organizations providing services to Indigenous homeless populations.

Delving into the failures of institutional and governmental responses, reinforces the understanding that colonial legacies and ongoing systematic discrimination  continue to increase the risk of homelessness for Indigenous peoples. There are very limited services dedicated specifically to Indigenous peoples experiencing homelessness. The Daily had the chance to interview Na’kuset, the executive director of Native Women Shelter, and David Chapman, the executive director of Resilience Montreal, two Montreal-based organizations leading numerous initiatives and projects to help indigenous communities.  

Assessing the Indigenous Homelessness crisis in Montreal

Montreal’s homeless population, totaling 4,690, is the largest in Quebec. Indigenous people are overrepresented in this number. While only making up 0.6 per cent of the city’s population, Indigenous peoples represent approximately 12 per cent of Montreal’s visible unhoused population. Indigenous people experiencing homelessness in Montreal also tend to be underserved by shelter and transitional housing systems and experience more long-term and cyclical homelessness.

The issue goes well beyond numbers. In their April 2024 report Eyes Wide Open, the Montreal Indigenous Community NETWORK defines Indigenous homelessness as “the historic and ongoing displacement, geographic separation, mental disruption, imbalance, cultural genocide and spiritual disconnection experienced by First Nations, Inuit, and Métis individuals, families, and communities,” in addition to “[their] state of lacking permanent, stable, and/or basic living conditions.” While aspects of this specific form of homelessness overlap with traditional material precarity, it is inextricably linked to the legacy of historically constructed and ongoing settler colonialism and racism. For generations, these systemic forces have displaced and dispossessed First Nations, Métis and Inuit people from their traditional governance systems and laws, territories, histories, worldviews, and ancestors. 

Roots of Indigenous Homelessness 

Today’s exclusion of Indigenous people from housing has its roots in systemic and institutional marginalization and discrimination, trickling down from Canada’s colonial history and government policy failures. The enduring impact of colonial policies, such as the Indian Act and the 1975 James Bay and Northern Quebec Agreement, has disrupted Indigenous communities, displacing them from their traditional lands and undermining their cultural and governance structures. The legacy of residential schools play a significant role in perpetuating homelessness among Indigenous peoples. Intergenerational trauma has disrupted family structures and community cohesion, contributing to the instability and vulnerability that often leads to homelessness. Other causes include failures of social systems, including thorough overrepresentation in the criminal justice and prison systems and child welfare programs. Together with other failures–such as economic barriers, bad living conditions (approximately 75 per cent of reserves have contaminated water), insufficient educational structures, these factors push Indigenous people to move to urban centers such as Montreal. However, the high influx of people faced with inaccessible housing and a limited supply of appropriate services leads to the augmentation of homelessness. 

Addressing the factors leading to Indigenous people experiencing homelessness requires long-term systemic change, including repairing the historical and ongoing impacts of colonization, providing culturally appropriate support services and preventative initiatives, and creating opportunities for Indigenous communities to thrive culturally, socially, and economically. Though much of the burden falls on the government, this is first and foremost a human and community responsibility. 
When discussing the causes of Indigeous homelessness, David Chapman, the executive director of Resilience Montreal, told the Daily that “the 100 years of cultural genocide through residential schools where Indigenous people lost their language and culture very intentionally [was clearly] a policy of the Canadian government.” He notes that “as people suffer the implications of this loss, it makes them more susceptible to things like addiction, for example, social problems, family breakdowns and violence. So, of course, there’s a reason why there’s such a high concentration of Indigenous peoples on the streets of Montral.” Chapman concludes that “part of the challenge is educating people on the history of genocide in Canada and when they are a little bit educated, it does help when you’re trying to implement new resources.” 

What initiatives have been developed to tackle this critical issue?

In 2020, the city of Montreal launched its 2020-2025 strategy for reconciliation with the Indigenous peoples. Among the objectives stated are “Support the urban Indigenous community”, “Improve the feeling of safety of Indigenous people in Montreal”, and “Support the economic development of Indigenous peoples in Montreal”. With 2025 just a few months away, are we anywhere near reaching those objectives? 

Continued institutional abuses, compounded by the Government’s inability to help improve the living conditions of Indigenous communities in urban settings such as Montreal, forced local initiatives to step up to the challenge. Created in 1987, the Native Women’s Shelter of Montreal (NWSM) is the only shelter in the city to provide support for First Nation, Inuit and Metis women and their children. The NWSM provides a safe space for Indigenous women and their children to heal and build better futures. Through support services and programs tailored to specific needs, they aim to accompany these women towards independence and foster empowerment.  The Daily spoke with Na’kuset, the executive director of NWSM since 2004. She notes that the shelter has “programming specifically for Indigenous women who come to spend time with us. Each person who comes in is assigned a support worker, and each week we are updating to see how the progress is helping them in everything that they need. And then we have the outside project, like the Cabot Square. So we go over and above to help the Indigenous population, but the demand is high of course.” 

With the increasing demand in recent years, existing resources have not been able to provide sufficient support to everyone. This has also caused people to find shelter in unsafe places. Homeless Indigenous women are particularly affected, facing gender-based violence in addition to a lack of material support. “There needs to be more spaces like the Native Women’s Shelter because we are exclusively the only Indigenous shelter that serves Indigenous women and their children. No one else does that,” Na’kuset told the Daily. 

She then added that “every woman who comes in has different issues. It’s not like just painting everyone with the same brush, right? We accept them when they come in, and then we find the appropriate resources for them. We support them with what they need, and we accompany them because there are issues with all the institutions, whether it be education, whether it be hospitals, whether it be welfare, whether it be finding housing. There’s always challenges. We actually get used to it. But when we support the women, we go with them because they shouldn’t have to deal with it for themselves. And when you have a staff that accompanies them, then that door gets jammed open, which is what we want.” 

Last June, Resilience Montreal held a memorial to honour the lives of over 30 homeless people who have died since 2021. Chapman observed that “when you look at the photos, about half of the people who’ve died–who’ve used our services in the last few years – have been young Indigenous women.”
First founded in 2019 by the Native Women’s Shelter, Resilience Montreal has established itself as an independent day shelter. The organization provides basic need services, including three meals a day, showers, and hygiene, as well as Intervention Services such as Indigenous-centered wellness services, government documentation assistance, and a housing program. 

 Challenges to carrying out efficient services

“What’s interesting to me is that people love the idea of accessible services to unhoused populations. In theory, this is a very popular idea that people will support. The problem lies in trying to implement these accessible services. And the problem is no one wants a homeless resource in their neighborhood.It’s worse than that, when you try to implement a homeless resource, sometimes not only will neighbors try to block you but some may even try to sue you. In fact and in fact right now there’s a class action lawsuit in the Plateau,” explained Chapman to the Daily. 

Class action suits have been brought by neighbours and nearby business owners against Hotel Dieu hospital on St-Urbain Street (serving as a shelter since 2021) and the Open Door Montreal shelter on Park Avenue. “They’re suing for 25.000$ per citizen for diminished quality of life,” added Chapman. Resilience Montreal has faced similar issues in the past years. 
Cohabitation is one of the biggest challenges faced by organizations helping homeless people. Class actions such as this one are also a reminder that difficulties don’t solely come from the government, but also fellow citizens. 

Chapman elaborated on this, saying that “everyone’s demanding their rights. One of the challenges is to have a bigger conversation in human society about, what does collective human flourishing look like, you know? Instead of these human rights standoffs, which is what we’re looking at right now, and it’s growing in Montreal.” He then added that efforts went beyond pointing fingers at the government. 

“What’s hard to come to terms with is that we talk about the precarity of services for Indigenous women, for Indigenous peoples in general, in the city of Montreal. Yet in trying to move forward and implement these services you’re always given many obstacles and frequently you just can’t succeed,” said Chapman before adding that “I’ve had this conversation with people where I’ve explained that by blocking homeless resources from your neighborhood, you’re just going to have more unnecessary deaths of unhoused persons. Unfortunately it’s a sad reality but your average citizen doesn’t care, and governments don’t care because your average citizen doesn’t care.” 

On September 30, the National Day of Truth and Reconciliation, citizens of Montreal must ask themselves, what sacrifice should we be able to make for healing and efficient solutions to occur? 
Discussing the ninth anniversary of the release of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, Na’kuset told the Daily that “the TRCs were created for institutions, and for institutions to apply, which they don’t, and nobody’s forcing them to. So although it may be a government thing, I would say it’s across the board for people to choose not to apply them. […]  There’s many different ways that social services or youth protection could amend their ways, but they don’t do it. So everyone is ignoring these recommendations that they’re supposed to implement, and the government, again, is not doing anything to enforce it. So it’s pretty distressing that we continue to be ignored.” 

Emerging new initiatives and hope for healing process to take place 

Although both Na’kuset and David Chapman highlighted the dire circumstances faced by Indigenous peoples and the limitations of the organizations trying to assist them, they also spoke about emerging initiatives that offer signs of hope. Na’kuset mentioned the new two stage housing program launched by the Native Women’s Shelter, Miyoskamin. 

New initiatives include the Mitshuap near Cabot Square, which has recently opened its doors for homeless people to find refuge. It is the first urban shelter created and run by Indigenous people. Chapman explained how it was an initiative by the Innu Nation in response to the tragic death of Raphaël André, an Innu man who froze to death in an outdoor public toilet in January 2021. At the time, homeless people had to hide during the night because if they were found by the police, they would receive a $1,000 fine. 

“This example is a representation of Indigenous leadership resurgence, where in the past Indigenous leaders living on reserves would not involve themselves in the processes of larger cities. But there’s been an Indigenous resurgence in Quebec and other parts of Canada as well, and we’re seeing a new pattern of Indigenous leaders taking more initiative to make sure that their community members are well treated in urban centers and I think this is a good sign. I think we’re going to see more and more Indigenous-led initiatives in urban centers and this will be part of the healing process,” expressed Chapman as a sign of hope. 

Efforts and work towards healing and restoring dignity to Indigenous peoples is going to take a long time; even if the city were to approve the building of new centres, they would take years to build. But efforts are there, and people need to continue contributing to organizations such as Resilience Montreal and the Native Women’s Shelter. 

“There’s a reason why we call Resilience Montreal, Resilience Montreal, and it’s because obviously we’re recognizing the strength of the people we’re working with and we’re recognizing their resilience,” concluded Chapman. 

Getting more involved as students and residents of Montreal 

The issue of Indigenous homelessness should be of the utmost priority in government policy-making. It should also be part of the citizen’s responsibility to work towards healing and restoring dignity to the Indigenous peoples. “Volunteering is a great way to set  an example of how societies can look at solving the challenges we face collectively. With people who are afraid of a new homeless community, or project in their neighborhood, if they would just come in and actually volunteer in a homeless resource for a few days somewhere, they would find that many of their fears are reduced,” said Chapman. Resilience Montreal has daily volunteering shifts, where the main tasks include either assisting in the kitchen, service or working in the clothes distribution section of the shelter. 

“Students should try to do fundraising initiatives for the Native Women’s Shelter, they should show up when we have vigils, they should show up when we have marches, said Na’kuset. “They should find a way of trying to challenge the institutions that are not applying the recommendations for the TRC, asking them why they’re not doing it. Who does it serve when you don’t apply them?” 
The NWSM is organizing the Every Child Matters: A Day of Action for Truth and Reconciliation March in partnership with Pop Montreal and the David Suzuki Foundation. The rally will start at 1 p.m. in Parc Mont Royal.  

Indigenous housing precarity has been ignored for too long. It is necessary to move beyond a competition of rights and privileges that sets a dynamic of us versus them. We must strengthen bonds between individuals and communities and tackle this issue as a collective community, because it is a matter of common good. 

The post Mobilizing Collectively to Tackle Indigenous Homelessness appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Prior to the interview, I held the belief that McGill didn’t care so much for the visual arts. While there was room for this critique, I left it outside the door when I walked into Gwendolyn’s office for the interview. My first interaction with her was one day prior when she gave a talk in my class which introduced the Visual Arts Collection and the opportunities that they had for undergraduate students. I was enamored with her passion and sought to know more about the collection. Before her talk, I never knew that McGill had a Visual Arts Collection; nor that it was so expansive, including more than 3,500 works of art. Something that happens to most students in their first year also happened to me. I was so inundated with information about McGill when first arriving that once I was able to fall into a routine here, I never took the time to do any more searching about opportunities or organizations that this institution might have. So I was completely unaware of most things occurring at McGill that pertained to the fine arts.  

This idea, that McGill didn’t promote the visual arts, is the very first thing that Gwendolyn and I discussed. 

Interview has been edited for clarity.

GO: One of the interesting things is there are a lot of arts activities going on, but how you figure out about them is one of the challenges. There’s an art show right now at the Redpath Museum. But how would you know? Also, during the pandemic, we started something called De-Stress and Sketch. So every week, we put out on our Instagram (@mcgill_vac) something from the collection and tell people to sketch it. We found that they were enjoying it a lot, and then they started sending us their pictures. So the next week, we would post their pictures and send them a different work to sketch. We ended up with a thousand followers on Instagram. So all this to say there’s stuff happening, but we’re not great as a community about letting everybody know about things.

Evelyn Logan for The McGill Daily (MD): Well, that was what I had hoped, because last year was my first year here and coming into McGill, I had so much being thrown at me, but I wasn’t receiving the information about the arts. It led me to believe that maybe there wasn’t that much programming, or that there wasn’t a community of students, or that the school wasn’t trying to cultivate that at McGill. I think it’s much better now knowing that it’s out there, but people just don’t know. 

GO: Do you know that an artist is doing a performance all day outside tomorrow?

MD: No, I haven’t heard.

GO: See? So this year’s Indigenous Artist in Residence [Soleil Launière] is doing a performance on the East field [September 12]. 

Last fall, for three convocations in a row, the person getting an honorary degree was an artist, a visual artist. François Solven got it for [Winter] 2023, and then in the fall, someone named Robert Fuhl, who’s an amazing Indigenous artist, got it. Last spring, Edward Bertinski, who’s a photographer, got it. So that’s a thing that’s happening. I can take some credit for François Solven. The other two, I have nothing to do with.

Those kinds of things are all happening, almost under the radar. From my perspective, we need to figure out a way that people can know about these things. 

MD: Circling back to the McGill community, I read on the website that you’ve been here for 10 years. Can you talk about your experience, what it was like when you first joined, and what it’s like now?

GO: What’s interesting with this collection is that it was run by a committee before it was run by me and my professional team, and they were doing their best, but they were a committee. I’ve done research about university collections, and they get organized and become official collections when there is a crisis or an opportunity. So we’re not unique. We can’t wag our finger at McGill. This is the progress that happens with a university collection, as opposed to an art museum, which is often started by artists, and then becomes a place where people donate their art. The business of McGill is education, first and foremost. So the emphasis is rightly on that.

MD: Yeah, that’s very interesting. I feel like when I’m considering the history of McGill, and I don’t even necessarily think of the arts. I’m thinking more about the sciences and math.

GO: I think that’s fair in that the art collection was a sideline. The fun thing I found out was, in 1948, they decided that they were going to have a Bachelor of Fine Arts program. And it went on for a couple of years. Their target audience were veterans coming back from World War II. That’s not who they got as students. They got women. 

Then, there was a change of dean. I think we didn’t really understand what a fine arts program was about, so it ended up morphing into the Art History Department, which used to teach more studio art, but now doesn’t. Also to say, what happened here is not unique either. I’ve seen it in other places. 

MD: I was never considering visual arts programming at McGill. What’s the balance between the studio class and the rest of my curriculum? And I was critiquing the fact that McGill doesn’t have studio classes more widely available, but not necessarily thinking of who the class’s audience could be.

GO: Exactly. What’s the role of a studio class if you are not going to be an artist? I mean, that’s one of those questions. The structure for what you need [compared to] the role [for] artists is a little different, which was part of what happened in the ’50s. When the dean changed, the next dean didn’t know how to find artists to teach. It’s one of these things where I kept looking for a really bad guy in the story of what happened to this program, and I couldn’t really find it. It was just that people didn’t really understand.

MD: I feel like that’s a very common theme when it comes to art and how it is considered by larger society. 

GO: Yeah. I do pottery now at the Visual Arts Center in Westmount, just for fun. There are students in some of the classes who do things there because it’s an art school. I’ve been talking to people and finding out that actually they’re studying something at McGill, and this is what they’re doing with their spare time. I didn’t notice that they’re McGill students, and they did four classes in a row.

*** 

MD: Which accomplishment are you most proud of?

GO: My staff get tired of hearing me say this, I’ve looked at this as the glass that’s half full, and we’re filling it. So, okay, 20 years ago, they were having trouble keeping track of things, and the list we had wasn’t up to date. Our list is up to date now. Awesome. We’re filling that glass. We’re keeping track of things. We’re doing programming. And I’m really proud of the internship program.

At this point, Gwendolyn’s second in command, Michelle Macleod, the Assistant Curator of the Visual Arts Collection, entered her office and showed me a “Gwendolyn original,” a small piece of pottery beautifully glazed in the abstract style. 

MD: What do you see for the future of the visual arts collection?

GO: The library is going to be renovated. There’s going to be Fiat Lux, and I want to make sure that we have great opportunities to show the collection. There’s lots of talking that I’m doing to people about what we need to do to make that happen. In an art museum, everything is in climate-controlled space and all of that. We show art in all kinds of spaces [at McGill]. It’s a risk, but it’s a risk that I think we want to take.

One of the things that we’ve worked very hard to do is make this collection reflective of our community. Basically, it began as Canadian portraits, Canadian landscapes. And now it’s got lots of different works. That’s Maori, [Owens points to the work on her wall], it’s about to be in an exhibition in the [McLennan] lobby here. So come back next week in the lobby, and you will see an exhibition that Michelle [Macleod] has curated.

[The goal] is to get all the art out of storage. 

Follow the Visual Arts Collection on Instagram at @mcgill_vac.

The post Under the Radar appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Contrary to what some might believe, TikTok is about more than viral dance videos. The video-centric social media platform empowers individuals to create and share a wide array of content, from memes to updates on world events. Many people have harnessed TikTok’s potential as a stage for advocacy and activism, as creators are able to draw attention to pressing social issues locally and globally.

One community that is reclaiming time and asserting their voice on this app is the disabled community. This large, diverse group has leveraged TikTok to spread accessibility awareness and challenge ableism. Each creator brings a unique perspective to this discourse. Take, for instance, Tyler Lima-Roope (@Tylerlimaroope), whose witty, tongue-in-cheek videos humorously recount personal experiences of ableism, or thoroughly analyze whether characters on Scooby-Doo or the Office would be “ableist or ally.” For others like Imani Barbarin (@crutchesandspice), TikTok is a platform for delivering incisive societal critiques on the intersecting issues of disability, race, class, and more.

Another notable advocate is Taylor Lindsay-Noel (@accessbytay), a 31-year-old woman living in Toronto. A former competitive gymnast, Taylor experienced a spinal cord injury during sport at age 14 which left her paralyzed from the chest down. Post-high school, she pursued studies in Radio and Television Arts at Toronto Metropolitan University, and eventually established the podcast Tea Time with Tay. This podcast explored a variety of topics with special guest athletes, actresses, advocates, and more. Today, Taylor is the busy owner and CEO of a luxury tea brand and cafe, Cup of Té, a motivational public speaker, and a content creator and advocate on social media. Viewers of Taylor’s content are drawn in by her candid and joyful approach to life and advocacy.

As a student studying inclusion, I was eager to speak to Taylor to hear her thoughts on TikTok as a space for disability advocacy and community building. I reached out to her to inquire as to whether she would be open to speaking on the subject and she was kind enough to agree to a meeting via Zoom. In that call, which took place in November, we discussed TikTok, accessibility, advocacy, and more.

To begin our conversation, I asked Taylor about what had inspired her to start creating content on TikTok. Her response harkened back to the COVID-19 lockdowns when she and her friends would daydream of going back out into the city to visit their favourite local haunt. “We kept talking about this one place we would always go to. We went there every single time we met up. And the question of ‘why are we always going to the same place?’ was asked…” she explained. “And the answer was that we knew it was accessible and that we knew it would be easy for me. We started talking about how that shouldn’t be the case. There should be way more options.”

This realization sparked a conversation about the lack of reliable information on accessible alternatives, leading to a crucial turning point for Taylor. It was in this vacuum that Taylor’s restaurant accessibility reviews were born. As she put it, the aim of her early videos was to “start documenting our experiences – the good and the bad – so that people can have a visual idea of how inaccessible places have a real-life effect on people with disabilities or accessibility needs.” For her reviews, Taylor and company travelled to local restaurants to review the food, drinks, ambience, and most importantly, the accessibility of the venue. Her commentary would hone in on details like automatic doors and the layout of washroom spaces – important features to consider for those with extended mobility needs.

In one of her most widely viewed restaurant review videos, Taylor visits the Shameful Tiki Room in downtown Toronto and soon discovers that she had been misled by the accessibility information provided by the restaurant on the web and by phone. While the establishment claimed to be wheelchair accessible via Yelp and confirmed this to Taylor over the phone, her visit revealed the opposite to be true. The venue did not have an automatic door, and there was virtually no room between tables to maneuver her wheelchair. She also discovered that there was a step leading to the washroom area and that there were no wheelchair-accessible stalls. After Taylor’s review went up, showcasing the restaurant’s poor accessibility standards and noting their hypocrisy in declaring the establishment “wheelchair accessible,” viewer support came pouring in. The Shameful Tiki Room is now no longer listed as wheelchair accessible.

Reflecting on her restaurant reviews, Taylor told me she had originally imagined that these videos would only be of interest to other members of her local disabled community. However, she soon discovered that there were many types of people watching her videos for information on accessibility. Parents with strollers, elderly folk, and caretakers were also benefiting from her insights. Moreover, she was surprised and amused to discover that her viewers were also interested in watching her videos as food blogs. This struck her as ironic because “I’m not much of a foodie… I was always a chicken-fingers-and-fries girl. So my friends and I find it so funny that people say now that I’m the restaurant girl.”

Given the support she had received from her broad audience base, Taylor felt motivated to continue to grow and evolve her content. In principle, she aims to “change the narrative about what a disabled person’s day-to-day looks like.” In reviewing comments left on her videos, Taylor has had the chance to see the impact that her mission has had on others. For instance, she shared “I talked about a fork that I use, and I see “Oh my god, I’ve been looking for something like this for my grandpa. Thank you so much for this resource.” So, knowing that people can look to me as a resource… I love that. That’s really cool.” Being able to help others on their personal journeys with accessibility has brought her a sense of meaning and fulfillment.

On her mission to show what an accessible life can look like, Taylor welcomes viewers into both her personal and professional worlds. In her series, Day in the Life of a Paralyzed CEO, Taylor shares her entrepreneurial endeavours. In one such video, Taylor takes viewers through her day from her morning routine where she is assisted by nurses, to a brief stop at a studio where she is filming a special project, to finally ending her workday at her own café to meet with her team of staff. In a different video series, Dating Disabled, Taylor speaks to deconstruct myths surrounding disability, dating, and sex by drawing on her own experiences.

“I think there’s just a lot of misconceptions when it comes to people with disabilities and their dating life, and I just want to change that perception. I’m just like everybody else with the same wants and needs, [and] a lot of the same capabilities,” she said, expanding on why this project in particular was so important to her. In these videos, Taylor often adopts a fun, gossiping tone to answer viewer questions on more intimate topics. She shared that she is comfortable and enjoys having these conversations on camera.

However, in as much as Taylor seeks to dispel misconceptions of what it is like to live with a disability, she emphasized that her experiences should not be generalized to all disabled people. “I don’t want people to think that what I do, or my experiences, or my outgoingness, are exactly the norm. So, I don’t want people to expect that from everyone. But more so leave my page with a broader perspective of what is capable for somebody like [me],” she said.

In considering the sheer magnitude and variety of projects Taylor has on the go, it’s no surprise that she feels overwhelmed at times. She had not anticipated that her TikTok page would grow to such an extent that she now works with professional management to run campaigns and offer consulting on accessibility. This overwhelming success has led Taylor to reconsider her future goals.

“It’s made me reexamine where I want to go, what my goals are for the future as an entrepreneur, and if it’s time for me to pivot and just focus on social [media] and just be an advocate. So, I’ve had a lot of self-development and reflection over the last year and a half,” she explained.

As she looks forward and imagines a future more dedicated to her social media platform and advocacy, Taylor considers a range of projects and possibilities. She would like to take her accessible restaurant reviews international, and in doing so simultaneously tackle the notoriously inaccessible travel industry. For Taylor, her advocacy goals take on the utmost importance. Even as she considered the possibility of someday having a family, she mentioned that she looks forward to tying it into her advocacy work, as “it would be a really powerful thing to talk about parenthood as a disabled mom.”

As Taylor looks forward, she is propelled by the desire to make her province, the country, and the world “a more accessible and understanding place.” She identifies TikTok’s role in providing her with a platform to foster advocacy, challenge societal norms, and transform our world. On TikTok, she has carved out a space to share crucial accessibility information with the public, engage in candid discussions around disability, and expand and evolve her various businesses.

“I’ve always been looking for the why after my accident. Like, why did this happen to me? And I feel like I’m stepping into my why. I was put in this position so I can have a platform in order to make changes for the communities I represent. I feel lucky to do that and a lot of that is because of TikTok,” she explained.

In navigating the digital landscape with authenticity and purpose, Taylor continues to derive joy and meaning from her work as she leads the way to a more accessible and inclusive future. As her platform grows, Taylor remains committed to using her voice to advance positive change for the disabled community in Toronto and beyond.

The post “I’m Stepping Into My Why” appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Certain quotes have been edited for brevity and clarity

March 7, 2024 marks five months of the war in Gaza. At the time of writing, the death toll in Gaza has surpassed 30,000 people, including more than 12,300 children, 1,139 people in Israel, and 411 people in the occupied West Bank. Meanwhile, an estimated 1,200 journalists in Gaza continue to be targeted and face precarious conditions as they relay information about the daily events and conditions on the ground. On February 28, the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) released a preliminary investigation of journalist deaths in the violence since October 7. The account showed that at least 88 journalists and media workers were among the more than 30,000 killed since the war began on October 7, making Gaza the world’s deadliest place for journalists.

On February 20, the Critical Media Lab hosted the hybrid panel “Journalism under siege” in collaboration with McGill, the Research Group on Democracy, Space, and Technology, and Tufts University. The panel is part of the “On Gaza’’ speaker series, and panel members included Sherif Mansour, the CPJ Middle East and North Africa Program Coordinator; Nidal Rafa, a Palestinian journalist and producer; Ghoussoun Bisharat, the editor-in-chief of +972 magazine; and Palestinian journalist and human rights activist Mahmoud Mustafa, reporting from north Gaza. Previous events included discussions on health care and infrastructural ruination.

Dr. Diana Allan, associate professor in Anthropology at the Institute for the Study of International Development at McGill and co-founder of the Critical Media Lab, introduced the event as a discussion on the “war on Palestinian journalism.” Professor Amahl Bishara, the moderator of the panel and associate professor at Tufts University, added that “we all, and not just those concerned with Palestinian and Israeli people and places, but all those concerned with the fate and processes of human rights, decolonization and striving for justice, all rely on the work and words of the Palestinian journalists who are on the ground doing this work every day.”

The Daily spoke with Dr. Allan about her work as an anthropologist, archivist, and ethnographic filmmaker with Palestinian refugees living in the camps in Lebanon. She explained that the “On Gaza” series emerged from conversations with two of her graduate students about “the urgent need for a space on campus in which to discuss what is happening in Gaza.”

She further added that “as is often noted, we have been watching a genocide unfold in real-time — literally, the obliteration of a world and a people, which is unprecedented and horrifying in ways that are hard to describe or bear. And yet, outside of the student mobilizations on campus — which have been so amazing and inspiring — there has been almost no public discussion of these world-transforming events at McGill.”

“In convening these talks the aim has been to open a space for critical discussion about the material conditions of life and death in Gaza today, and the broader implications of Israel’s genocidal war on besieged Palestinians. Beyond simply sharing information, my hope is that these talks can also help to build solidarity and community, which is why they have been in- person,” she told the Daily.

Panelist Sherif Mansour expressed his concerns regarding the unprecedented killings of journalists in Gaza and their consequences. He emphasized that the alarming situation stems from a pattern of violence and killings that goes beyond the beginning of the war in October. Referring to the CJP’s 2023 report “Deadly Pattern,” he explained that there is a “precarious, dangerous and deadly environment, specifically for Palestinian journalists covering Israeli army operations.”

Killings of Palestinian journalists are not isolated occurrences. Since 2001, CPJ has documented at least 20 journalist killings by the Israeli Defence Forces (IDF).

“What we see is that this deadly pattern continues unchecked because we haven’t seen accountability,” asserted Mansour. He explained that the Israeli army only committed to doing an investigation if the journalist killed had a foreign passport or worked for an international media outlet. Even then, “it doesn’t lead to anything: no one is charged, no one is held accountable.”

Such was the case with the Palestinian-American television journalist Shireen Abu Akleh, killed by the IDF on May 11, 2022. The IDF investigation determined there was a “high possibility” that one of their soldiers “accidentally” shot the journalist while engaging Palestinian gunmen. This announcement came five months after her death. To this day, no accountability has been reached.

Mansour warned that since 90 per cent of the journalists killed in this war were Palestinians, this systematic targeting would compromise the ability of Palestinian journalists to cover IDF activities. “The deadly pattern has not just continued, but has turned what was a chilling effect before this war into a news blackout and forced on the media especially Palestinian journalists that were said to bear the brunt of Israeli fire and bear witness of all journalists worldwide about what is happening in Gaza.”

In late October, Israel’s military told Reuters and Agence France Presse that they are unable to guarantee the safety of journalists operating in the Gaza Strip, due to the ongoing Israeli bombardment.

Journalists in Gaza face immense challenges in carrying out their work. The Israeli army has destroyed around 50 local and international media outlets in Gaza since October 7, as reported by the Palestinian Journalists Syndicate (PJS), in addition to the devastating loss of life. In addition to the killings, reports have also emerged of different forms of violent “incidents” with the aim of reinforcing the “news blackout.” This comprises 25 arrests, various cases of assaults, threats, cyberattacks, and censorship. According to CPJ’s data as of February 27, 19 journalists were reported to be in Israeli custody.

Bisharat asked Mansour about the “horrific arrests of journalists,” which have been “somewhat neglected in this scheme of things.” He explained that every year, CPJ produces a report on journalists who have been incarcerated.

“For the first time, Israel was one of our top war jailers of journalists,” he said. Throughout the war, they have documented 25 arrests with a majority in the West Bank. All were Palestinian journalists put in military trials under administrative detention. “Under those tribunals [journalists] can be held indefinitely [without a trial] for the suspicion that they could incite violence in the future.” He then added that among them, five had been beaten and tortured during their custody. Mansour then explained that these incarcerations were part of a wider pattern of censoring Palestinian journalists.

The families of journalists in Gaza have also been targeted by the IDF. For instance, according to reports from Reuters and The Guardian, eight members of photojournalist Yasser Qudih’s family were killed on November 13 when their home in southern Gaza was hit by four missiles. On October 25, Wael Al-Dahdouh also lost his family to Israeli bombardments, after having moved to a house in the Nuseirat refugee camp in central Gaza, where they though they would be safer.

“People didn’t hear the story about Wael Al-Dahdouh when he lost his kids and wife […] If his name was John Smith I’m sure that it would have been a headline in Europe and America,” said Rafa. “It is so sad to see that there is such hypocrisy and such double standards when it comes to this. But this is reality.”

“All of us can only learn journalism from the journalists in Gaza,” declared Bisharat, pointing to the immense challenges and risks taken by the journalists on the ground. She explained that there exist three main challenges in covering what is happening in Gaza. Firstly, “we need to make sure that audiences outside Israel and Palestine understand that history didn’t begin on October 7 […] and that there is a regime of apartheid in full force in Israel/Palestine” she said. The second challenge regards getting the information out of Gaza, highlighting difficulties with the internet, blackouts, and concerns for their safety. “The third challenge is trying to connect the dots,” she explained. +972 continues its efforts to cover simultaneously what is happening in the West Bank in terms of settler violence and the expansion of settlements, but also events in Israel.

She then proceeded to share the story of Ibtisam Mahdi, mother of two children, who “while trying to feed them, does amazing work of journalism.” Her last work was on the destruction of Palestine’s historical sites. She also recalls Mahmood Mustafa, who wakes up every morning to find food and internet while trying to report and take care of his parents.

“They are the heroes of this war,” said Bisharat. “Despite having to take care of their own safety, taking care of their family, they keep doing amazing journalistic work.”

“Mainstream Western media has consistently marginalized and silenced Palestinian perspectives and have served to center and bolster Israeli narratives,” declared Dr. Allan to the Daily.

During her section of the panel, Rafa spoke out about issues in the international media coverage of Gaza. “There is a pattern here, not to put the context,” she explained, adding that “there is no conflict here, by the way, it’s an occupation. But if you don’t use the word occupation, how do you expect our audience to understand what is going on?” Rafa warned that not including the context and explaining the larger unfolding of events is not only “dangerous” but is also done “intentionally.”

“I think terminology is very important […] Instead of saying massacre they will say incident, instead of saying occupation they say conflict […] Things are not done by accident […] the problem is with the narrative, who is telling what, when and who is listening to what when how,” declared Rafa.

In 2002, Dr. Allan co-founded the Nakba Archive with Mahmoud Zeidan, a Palestinian educator and human rights advocate from Ayn Hilweh camp in South Lebanon. This community-run oral history project influenced her formation as a scholar of Palestine. She shared with the Daily the significance of oral history in highlighting the Palestinian experience and challenging dominant narratives about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

“I think Palestinians are often understood as abstractions — as humanitarian victims, as “terrorists,” but rarely as political subjects with legitimate aspirations for national self- determination, liberation, and the right to live dignified lives in peace and security,” she explained.

As part of the Nakba Archives, Allan and Zeidan recorded around 500 interviews about the 1948 expulsion of Palestinians, during the creation of the State of Israel, with first-generation Palestinians in camps across Lebanon over five years. Their aim in creating this archive is to re-centre Palestinian narratives, including those of Palestinian refugees, and expose the violent history of Israel’s state formation in the Middle East.

“A definitive history of the Palestinian Nakba, as told by Palestinians, has yet to be written.” she added. “Oral histories can fill some of these gaps, shed light on subaltern experience, and challenge settler colonial narratives — refugee narratives also have the power to transform our understanding of history itself — its form, substance and purpose, the matter of who tells it, what constitutes an ‘event’ or ‘truth.’”

While he wasn’t able to attend the panel in-person, journalist Mahmoud Mustafa sent a video describing his everyday struggles in getting news out of Gaza. “No words can describe this agony of life,” he says. While testifying to the inhumane consequences of the warfare carried out by the IDF — the constant worry, hunger, lack of sleep, search for shelter, and so on — we could hear sirens and loud noises in the background. “The Israeli army is trying to mute us,” he asserts, adding that “our rights to be journalists are denied.”

Mustafa responded to accusations made against him for not being neutral. “Why are you asking me to be neutral while my friends have been killed? What do you mean by ‘you have to be neutral’? I am facing the killing and the dangers every day.”

“We need the support of other journalists outside Palestine to complete our work, to amplify our voice,” he concluded.

Dr. Allan told the Daily that “in this moment, when the censorship and silencing of Palestinian voices and those in solidarity with Palestinian liberation is stronger than ever, supporting and amplifying the work of journalists like Mahmoud Mushtaha or Nidal Rafa is really vitally important.”

She concluded by empathizing with many students’ reaction to the McGill administration’s communication since the beginning of the war, highlighting the “unseemly power dynamics” at play in the unequal treatment of pro-Palestinian and pro-Israel voices on campus. “These forms of censorship and intimidation are very troubling and are something that all members of our community need to actively challenge,” she added.

Nidal Rafa prompted that “the world has to stop with their double standards and to say enough is enough. I think Palestinians are not asking for much. […] I say it’s very simple. There is an occupation here and Palestinians are asking for freedom and self- determination.”

On a more optimistic note, Bisharat added that “we are witnessing cracks in the international media in its coverage of Israel/Palestine,” referring to the work and fights of journalists such as Chris McGreal from The Guardian.

Sherif Mansour brought the event to a close by saying: “The consequences of what happens to Palestinian journalists are going to stay and go beyond this war, beyond this region. Because impunity like violence does not know boundaries.”

“Poetry as Resistance,” the next event on the “On Gaza” speaker series, is scheduled for March 12. The panel will be held in the Critical Media Lab, Peterson 108, from 2:30 to 4:00 p.m. Prof. Rula Abi Saab from IIS, herself a poet and novelist, will be moderating.

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

Garvey’s extensive political work led to him to found the United Negro Improvement Association (UNIA), which by the early 1920s included over 700 branches in 38 American states. On 13 February, I made my way to Montreal’s very own UNIA branch to see When Big Man Talk, an art exhibition hosted by the Jamaica Association Arts Centre (JAM Arts Centre) to celebrate the legacy and spirit of Marcus Garvey’s work.

Established in 1919, the UNIA Hall on Notre-Dame Street West is still alive and thriving over 100 years later. Walking through the second set of doors, I was greeted by a warm, cozy room lined with rows and rows of easels displaying the eye-catching, emotive artwork of the exhibition’s four featured artists. I immediately felt myself captivated by the artists’ masterful use of mixed media, bold paints, and dynamic photography. I could have spent hours gazing at these pieces, which each took unique artistic liberties to translate Marcus Garvey’s message into our present and future worlds. 

Garfield Morgan’s work used a multimedia approach, using creative, unconventional materials to add a layer of dimension to his portraits. A didactic to the left of his exhibit listed gift wrap, a repurposed dress, African wax fabric, acrylic, oil paint, plaster, and repurposed plastic among some of the materials used. The exhibition program describes Morgan’s work as “resembling that of Jamaican master Daniel Heartman and the imagination of an Everald Brown.” I was particularly enchanted by Morgan’s striking use of contrast and silhouettes. One of my favourites was titled “Meditation (Echoes of a culture past, present and future)” which captures the serene, yet somber side profile of a young Black man in repose. 

The paintings by Anthony McLennon also included portraits: one was of his grandmother smiling gently, eyes glimmering, and another was of himself holding a wine glass while gazing back at the viewer. On When Big Man Talk’s program, McLennon is described as displaying “an uncanny ability to intricately render portraits, animals, and landscapes with accuracy and depth.” These skills were showcased masterfully in his painting “Can A Caged Bird Sing?” where a beach landscape forms the background for a row of crows, one of which is perched in a cage. His paintings depicting scenes from everyday life stirred even greater emotion. A piece titled “Just a Regular Day” portrays passengers traveling on a bus, including a Black man in the foreground looking down at his phone with a white “X” across his mouth. In an interview for the Daily, exhibit curator and director of the JAM Arts Centre Pat Dillon Moore said that this painting “speaks to how invisible a visible and audible minority can be.”

Daniel Saintiche’s photography was absolutely mesmerizing; the depth of movement, texture, and colour that he fits inside a single image make the contents jump to life before your very eyes. Saintiche’s didactic described his photographs as a window into “Montreal’s Black Community life in the 70s.” Scenes from Carnival showing music festivals, parades, and joyous celebrations were the main focus of the exhibit. The text in his section noted that “the carnival arts at one time boasted over 150,000 predominantly Black people on St. Catherine Street to Lafontaine Park. This was a huge financial contribution to Montreal’s coffers when every hotel room was booked.” Pat Dillon Moore pointed to one photograph in particular, where two women during Carnival in the 1970s are captured laughing with their arms around each other as they made their way down St. Catherine Street. It was truly amazing to experience how Saintliche’s skills allowed for this joyous occasion to transcend both the boundaries of time and space, pulling the viewer into a single storied moment in history. The exhibition program describes his talents best: Saintliche’s “journey is a tapestry woven with resilience, passion for the arts, and an unwavering dedication to capturing the essence of Montreal’s Black community.”

The other historical photographs in the exhibition were truly special to behold. Momentous instances of Black history in Montreal adorned the walls, tables, and complementary slideshow, detailing the rich contributions of Black visionaries in this city. A photograph of Bob Marley performing in Côtes-de-Neiges captures his first visit to the city, while a still from the 1968 Black Writers Congress – held at McGill University – featured Stokely Carmichael at the front and centre. Another image in the back of the exhibition showed Leroy Butcher and Muhammed Ali walking through Dorval airport. Viewing these photographs alongside the work from the contemporary artists beautifully wove together the threads of the exhibit’s thematic material, creating an impactful, fully fleshed-out experience that upholds Marcus Garvey’s message of lifting up Black excellence worldwide. 

The final piece of this exhibit takes this message to another dimension entirely. Quentin VerCetty centres Garvey’s goal of Black interconnectedness in his virtual exhibition experience Inside Garvey Yard. A free viewing experience for all, www.insidegarveyyard.com allows visitors to interact with a virtual Marcus Garvey museum from anywhere in the world. Viewers can answer questions and collect Black Star Line tokens to “reawaken the spirit of Garvey and hear his special message.” Pat Dillon Moore explained that VerCetty’s work “creates a space that speaks to Marcus Garvey’s time in Canada in a way that an intergenerational family – a grandmother and a grandchild – can both participate in. The grandchild can maneuver the joystick, while the grandparent or parent could speak to them about Garvey’s history.”  

The words of Pat Dillon Moore describe the impact of When Big Man Talk best: “I think the larger purpose behind When Big Man Talk is to put history and context behind our presence. And it’s no accident that we did it during Black History Month. In a sense, we are giving you the history within Black History Month. And there’s a lot of history that is hidden as time goes on. However, it’s about making the ties of yesterday to today. And prior to many of the movers and shakers, both men and women, there was a huge, impactful man by the name of Marcus Garvey, who from 1917 through the late 1930s, was here in Canada to improve the lives of Black people wherever in the world they were. And I think that’s important, to break the narrative that Black people, number one, just migrated here and that we take. No, we build. And the association that Garvey built, the UNIA, where we are now, is alive and thriving – and so is his legacy when it comes to improving the lives of Black people.” 

You can see an abbreviated version of When Big Man Talk on 24 February at the Oscar Peterson Concert Hall. To support the four featured artists – Garfield Morgan, Anthony McLennon, Daniel Saintiche, and Quentin Vercetty – you can keep up with their work at www.garfieldmorgan.org, @tony_mendez_3219 and @keepgrowingq on Instagram.

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Students are hoping that the strike will foster a powerful sense of collective solidarity. Students from different backgrounds come together, united by a common cause, to draw on strength that lies in numbers. This unity can create a powerful force for change that can echo far beyond the strike’s immediate goals.

The strategic shift towards the strategy of departmental strikes is gaining traction, evidenced by the growing wave of student associations joining the movement. At Concordia, many departments have already held general assemblies and signed onto a strike floor of five participants, with one faculty association, the Fine Arts Student Association (FASA) also voting to strike. McGill, too, is witnessing a groundswell of departmental action, with the Religious Studies Undergraduate Society, the McGill Undergraduate Geography Society, and the Student Association of Sustainability, Science, and Society all voting to go on a three-day strike from January 31 to February 2.

Rising tuition fees at McGill and Concordia threaten to upend Quebec’s long-held reputation as a haven of affordable higher education, potentially rippling far beyond financial impact and into the very fabric of the province’s social identity. As Gaither pointed out to the Daily, “The stakes are incredibly high. This isn’t just about tuition prices; it’s about whether Quebec can maintain its commitment to accessible education for all.” 

These increases, far from being mere financial adjustments, are indicative of a deeper transformation in the province’s approach to funding higher education. For the student body, these hikes are not just an additional financial burden but are perceived as an encroachment upon the fundamental principles of accessibility and inclusiveness in their academic environments. This apprehension is rooted in the fear that higher tuition fees could deter potential students from diverse socioeconomic backgrounds, thereby diminishing the rich tapestry of experiences and perspectives that form the core of a vibrant university community. The hikes, therefore, pose a threat not only to the financial wellbeing of students but also to the very ethos of inclusiveness and diversity that these institutions strive to uphold.

As of now, out-of-province students already pay three times more in tuition than Quebec residents. With the Quebec government raising tuition fees for out-of-province undergraduate students from $8,992 to $17,000  per year, McGill is set to lose about 60 per cent of its out-of-province students. Soaring tuition fees would force students to rely heavily on loans, potentially saddling them with years of financial constraints and impacting their ability to pursue careers, start families, and contribute to the economy. This debt chain perpetuates inequalities and underlines the urgency of the student movement’s demands. Their fight goes beyond the issue of  immediate financial relief; it’s about safeguarding educational access, preventing debt-driven limitations, and ensuring economic mobility and social justice for future generations. Low-income out-of-province and international students will face a disproportionate burden, their dreams of higher education in Quebec potentially crushed under the weight of increased costs.

Lower-income students, already grappling with financial challenges, face a dire situation. The tuition hike threatens to exacerbate this existing struggle, jeopardizing their access to education and perpetuating the cycle of economic disadvantage. The impact of these disparities extends beyond individuals. The fight for affordable education, therefore, is not just about individual financial relief; it’s about safeguarding access to education as a fundamental right for all, regardless of background or financial standing. It’s about fostering a diverse and inclusive learning environment that reflects the richness of Quebec society. In essence, it’s a fight for a future where education empowers, not excludes, and where talent has the space to flourish regardless of postal code or family income.

Gaither compares departmental strikes to “screwing up the plumbing system,” strategically causing controlled disruptions to force a reckoning with the existing infrastructure. This targeted approach, while not as visually unified as a large-scale strike, still holds the potential to be enormously effective. 

“We are clogging up the pipes of an entire plumbing system, we’re coming from all angles and just screwing it up,” Gaither explained. “I think that gives us a lot more control in terms of like, where we want to strike, when we want to strike, and how long we want to strike for.” This flexibility and control empower students to target specific classes, and more effectively enforce the strike. 

Quebec’s rich history of student activism, dating back to the 1960s and 70s, is crucial in understanding the context of the current unrest at McGill and Concordia. The province has been a historical epicenter for student-led movements, with the 2012 “Maple Spring” protests standing as a landmark event in this legacy. These protests, which garnered international attention, were not solely focused on opposing tuition fee increases. They represented a broader struggle for student rights, educational reform, and societal change. The Maple Spring mobilized thousands of students in a display of solidarity and collective action, setting a precedent for how student activism could influence government policies and public opinion. The movement’s success was partly attributed to its ability to unite diverse student bodies under a common cause, transcending language barriers and institutional boundaries. This historical milestone in Quebec’s student activism highlights the potential impact that concerted student efforts can have on policy and governance.

The McGill and Concordia strike over tuition hikes is set to spark diverse reactions across campus communities. The departments most vocal about striking, as highlighted in the interview with Gaither, include those from the faculties of humanities and social sciences at both universities. Driven by a deep commitment to social justice and educational equity, RSUS is taking a firm stand against the tuition hikes by joining the effort and going on strike. Their stance is that affordable education is a cornerstone of a thriving society and that every student, regardless of background or financial means, deserves access to quality higher education. This perspective aligns with the traditional ethos of student activism in Quebec, where education is not just viewed as a commodity but as a right. However, there has been tension between those who prioritize the university’s image and reputation, and those who believe in the power of collective action for achieving broader benefits.

“We kindly refer to that as like clutching their pearls… that sentiment is always going to exist, particularly in the guild. But we want to always work around that and show that the collective interest does benefit everyone and that we can get wins this way” said Gaither.

The role of media and public discourse has been a critical component in the evolution and impact of student activism in Quebec, a fact that is particularly pertinent in the context of the potential strikes at McGill and Concordia Universities. Historically, media portrayal has played a dual role in student movements – both as a megaphone for acting activism causes and a lens through which public opinion is shaped and, at times, contested. As Gaither reminded us, the 2012 student movement resonated powerfully because it “tapped into a deep, collective yearning for change amidst a global backdrop of socio-economic and environmental crises, offering a narrative of transformation and renewal that was both appealing and mobilizing.”

The student strike isn’t merely a closed-door battle within the university walls; it’s a carefully orchestrated performance to spark public discourse. This understanding of the power of public discourse shapes the current movement’s strategy as well. Social media serves as a critical tool amplifying voices, mobilizing supporters, and generating real-time updates. 

“The overall strike tactic is like, rather than begging or lobbying or asking for something, we are directly negotiating and using our power,” Gaither explained. “Someone described this to me as a staring contest, either with the administration or with the government, and it’s to see who blinks first.” The aim, as Gaither emphasizes, is not simply to garner attention, but to spark crucial conversations about the affordability and accessibility of education. The movement seeks to shift the public narrative, challenging dominant assumptions about the value of higher education and its role in a just society. By framing the strike as a fight for everyone’s future, not just a select few, they hope to build a broader constituency and garner public support for their demands.

The strike, therefore, is not just about demanding change from the Quebec government. it’s about mobilizing a public conversation about the future of education in Quebec. By harnessing the power of media, social platforms, and open dialogue, students aim to shift the public narrative, garner support, and hold the government and university institutions accountable.  

The student strike represents a fraction of a wider struggle, a single cause which shares interests with many others. The movement gains strength from organizations like the Coalition of Resistance for a United Student Movement (CRUES), which brings together various student associations to enable collaboration and collective action. Gaither emphasized CRUES’s potential role in enhancing communication, strategizing, and amplifying the collective student voice. While not having a part in organizing the strike, CRUES could still contribute significantly to the movement. This collective spirit not only strengthens the movement but also creates a legacy of collaboration and mutual support. Students learn to advocate not just for their own concerns, but for the broader well-being of their peers, building a culture of empathy and shared responsibility.

Reflecting the spirit of unity and the resolve to make a significant impact, the potential strikes at McGill and Concordia serve as both a testament to and a catalyst for this evolving tradition of student activism. By standing together in these departmental strikes, students are not merely protesting tuition hikes; they are actively participating in a broader, historical movement towards creating a more inclusive, accessible educational system. As these students mobilize, they are setting the stage for a dynamic and transformative chapter in the pursuit of equitable education, signaling that the struggle for affordability and accessibility in higher education remains a vibrant and urgent cause.

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