Capilano Courier | Vol 54, Issue 3

Alisha Samnani (she/her) Editor-in-Chief

BC’s Freedom of Information Changes will Disproportionately Impact Student Journalism

The BC NDP is trying to place a $25 fee on Freedom of Information requests (FOIs), something that would challenge the public’s ability to access information at Capilano University (CapU).

At the end of October, Lisa Beare, the minister for citizen services, proposed several changes to the Freedom of Information and Protection of Privacy Act (FIPPA) — the legislation that allows journalists to receive information from public institutions that they won’t release of their own accord. This includes email correspondence, internal documents, data and much more.

Some of these changes have the potential to increase accountability in BC — new penalties for those who deliberately get rid of requested information, for starters. However, the proposed change that upsets the Courier staff, and other journalists, is the $25 fee to file an FOI.

One thing we’ve always loved about the Courier is our ability to write pieces that are important to you, and that affect all of your experiences. Stories like the birth alerts court case and net neutrality may never have been written without our ability to place FOI requests.

Our job as journalists is to help you hold CapU accountable. If this new FOI request fee gets implemented, that makes our ability to access this information harder — $25 per FOI can add up quickly. How can we help hold CapU and other government bodies accountable if we don’t know what they’re doing?

Implementing a $25 fee — one which would be four to five times higher than the fee in most other provinces, at that — means that it’s easier for bodies like the government and CapU to be less transparent with the public. At a time when the public’s faith in institutions is wavering, we think it’s strange that the government would attempt to make themselves less accountable — don’t you?

STAFF

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Alisha Samnani (she/her) @alishawsamnani editor@capilanocourier.com

NEWS EDITOR

Bridget Stringer-Holden (she/her) @bridget_sh news@capilanocourier.com

INDIGENOUS EDITOR

DESIGN DIRECTOR

Valeriya Kim (she/her) @valerochkim design@capilanocourier.com

PRODUCTION ARTIST

Sara Nguyen (she/her) @sarasnnguyen production@capilanocourier.com

STAFF PHOTOGRAPHER

COMMUNITIES EDITOR

BUSINESS MANAGER

Gaby Salas (she/her) business@capilanocourier.com

FEATURES EDITOR

COMMUNICATIONS MANAGER

Andrea Gallardo (she/her) @andreagallardoval communications@capilanocourier.com

CULTURE EDITOR

Emma Mendez (she/her) culture@capilanocourier.com

OPINIONS EDITOR

Jayde Atchison (she/her) opinions@capilanocourier.com

COLUMNS EDITOR

CONTRIBUTING WRITERS

Alexis Zygan, Aayu Pandey, Hassan Merali, Israel Lobo, Kaileigh Bunting, Matt Shipley, Mayumi Izumi, Rain Marie

CONTRIBUTING ILLUSTRATORS

Alina Sandu, C. Palomar Robisco, Ethan Woronko, Janelle Momotani, John Pachkowsky, Karla Monterrosa, Megan Barry, Mikaela Johnson, Michelle Lussier, Sharleen Ramos

FEATURED ARTISTS

Abby Jocson, Amy Asin, Atrin Yazdani-Biuki, Celina Zhong, Sofia Alvarenga, Tina Trinh

COVER ART

Janelle Momotani

INTERESTED IN CONTRIBUTING?

Email editor@capilanocourier.com

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Submit your portfolio or samples of work to design@capilanocourier.com

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THE CAPILANO STUDENTS’ UNION TURNS 50 SERIES #2

Past members of the executive reflect upon their time at the CSU, how it’s changed, and what they hope for its future

Back in 1975-1976, when Duncan Brown was on the Capilano Students’ Union (CSU) executive, the campus looked very different than it does today. The current library building used to be offices and the Cedar Courtyard was full of school portables—where the science classes were held. The current Student Union building, Maple, used to be the cafeteria and the hub of campus. “That's where we had student pubs every Friday night, and it had a big pit too so that people could sit around and watch a lecture there,” said Brown.

Originally, Brown was hired by the CSU through a grant to have a student housing office. He described his job as mainly writing things down on index cards when people phoned in. “We had ads in the North Shore News and people would phone in and say, ‘I have a basement suite’ and whatnot, then students would come in there and look for places to live,” he said. After working in that position for a while, they asked if he’d run for ombudsperson, which is how he got involved in the executive.

As the ombudsperson, a new position at the time, Brown was someone who students could come to for information, help navigating problems with the administration or for support in meetings. He was also an elected member and student representative of the College Council—equivalent to the Board of Governors today, as there weren’t separate Senate and Board.

Through his involvement with the CSU and College Council, he gained confidence. “I'm one of those people who kind of just steps up, you know, if there's something to do, let's just do it, and I think part of that came from my involvement in the CSU,” said Brown, noting that his time on the CSU really helped him become one of those people that aren’t afraid to speak in class, or if they are, they do anyway.

“I was quite active,” he says. “We got quite involved in provincial and federal student politics and I had to drop back my course load during that year, but it was a great year.” Back then, there was an NDP government, “the premier’s name was Dave Barrett, and they significantly expanded the post-secondary education system,” recalled Brown. “They were expanding funding, but then weren't funding education the way we thought that they should, so we got involved with other student unions across BC and started a campaign to pressure the government to increase student post-secondary education funding.” Brown described going to Victoria and meeting the Premier and the opposition leader at 18 years old, as well as organizing a one-day shutdown of the college—not in protest against the college, but against provincial education funding.

Other involvement through the CSU for Brown included advocacy for housing and international student tuition—two issues still very much at the forefront of student advocacy. Housing wasn’t as much of an issue, since many CapU students came from North Van and still lived with their parents. However, there were students who came from elsewhere in Canada, or abroad, for specialized programs, and the CSU was looking into housing options for them.

“I think that the student population is more diverse—both in terms of what they're studying and in terms of where they come from,” he said, noting that some issues remain the same, but some that are different.

The beginning of separate fees for foreign students was happening during Brown’s term. “I recall that the student movement opposed that, and of course, now the government funding model of the post-secondary education system is essentially that foreign students pay differential fees, and it's substantial,” says Brown. Since he’s been on the Board of Governors, the university has kept the same percentage increase for domestic and international students, but obviously there is still a large price difference, and the increase for international student tuition isn’t regulated or capped—something the current CSU is lobbying to change. “That was an issue then, and I know it's an issue for CSU now.”

As the present Board of Governors Chair, Brown had made an effort to invite current CSU board members to share their perspectives on relevant student issues with the Board of Governors. “I respect them because I know it's something that they're taking time out of an otherwise busy schedule in their education to volunteer work on behalf of people,” he says. “The people that I've met are intelligent and articulate, and I'm sure they do a great job of representing the students.”

Brown is still in touch with fellow board members to this day, occasionally running into the VP of External Affairs, who now runs a company that makes sailboat masts.“I'm having dinner tonight with a friend of mine—she was the first full time staff person for the CSU—several years later she ended up marrying the president of the CSU,” he mentioned. “All those people are still around—the guy who was president, I run into him. He was a North Van City Councillor for years and lives near me on Lonsdale.”

Duncan Brown (He/him)

FORMER DAILY HIVE EIC AND CAPU ALUM NOW CEO OF OVERSTORY MEDIA GROUP

Says, “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Cap”

Director

CapU Alum Farhan Mohamed (he/him) found an opportunity to collaborate on a passion project while he was still attending university. The now graduate of the School of Business met the Vancity Buzz team and started working with them in the fall of 2012. He became Editor-in-Chief, helped grow the online publication to 6.5 million monthly subscribers, and later rebranded it as Daily Hive

As a teenager, Mohamed started his own online newsletter and distributed it to about 100 to 200 people of his age and within his ethnic community. He remembers reading local papers like the North Shore News and enjoying his time reading it page by page, and wanted to revitalize local coverage and the love for our neighbours. He’s always had an interest and passion about connecting others together.

Mohamed believes that his passion for community is just something he was born with, “it goes back to my parents, my grandparents, and great grandparents and the way they came to Canada from East Africa— from India before that—and always thinking how to make your community better off than you found it,” he says, “everything in my life has been with that notion, giving back to the community, serving, volunteering, never really expecting anything in return but always just giving.”

Upon leaving Daily Hive, Mohamed started his own company, Overstory Media Group (OMG). “I took some time off to just reflect on life and think about what it is I wanted to do, where I wanted to do it and who I wanted to do it with,” he said. “I was having a real challenge and I was seeing coverage across a number of publications where the same thing, nobody was given the time to be thoughtful and really spend time thinking.”

Journalists of daily publications were writing several stories a day and not having enough time to give each one the focus and purposeful intention necessary. Mohamed set out to change this at OMG by giving journalists, writers and content creators what he calls a “ceiling”—usually dictated by the population of the community they are writing about and giving information to.

He hires writers that are from the cities and live in the communities that are covered by the following publications: Tasting Victoria, Capital Daily (Victoria), Vancouver Tech Journal, Burnaby Beacon, Fraser Valley Current, Oak Bay Local, The Westshore, and Calgary Citizen.

“The past year has shown us that people are so disconnected from their communities, where they live, where they work, where they play and we don’t know enough about each other, our neighbours, or the politicians who are representing us and making decisions,” states Mohamed . “So, if we can do a better job of bringing the community together and the community thanks us, that is all I need to keep going.”

Mohamed is grateful to his alma mater, “I always say ‘I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Cap’ everything in my life has been learning from the things I’ve been doing and learning about the people around me.”

If you would like to learn more about Overstory Media Group, visit their website https://www.omgmedia.com/ and their Instagram https://www.instagram.com/ overstorymediagroup/ .

MAYUMI IZUMI (SHE/HER) Contributor VALERIYA KIM (SHE/HER) Design

A SIMPLE SOLUTION TO THE COMPLICATED PROBLEM OF FOOD WASTE

Too Good To Go , an alternative to takeout and groceries, has just launched in Vancouver

Contributor

ISRAEL LOBO (HE/HIM)

KARLA MONTERROSA (SHE/HER) Illustrator

Too Good To Go, a company originally launched in 2016 in

in Vancouver.

This app offers users a new way of getting takeout and groceries—the “surprise bag” provided by local restaurants and grocery stores, with items ranging from baked goods to fully prepared meals. The company has seen success with these bags, due to the simplicity in terms of ordering, but also for the positive impact that it has towards food waste.

Sam Kashani (he/him), Too Good To Go's Canadian Country Manager, was impacted the most by how the organization provided the tools to stop, or at least decrease, food waste. “Too Good To Go provides the tools for all to get involved and feel empowered to be making a difference,” he said, noting that the cause is important to many who have joined to make an impact in the world.

Apart from helping consumers, the app also provides businesses with an alternative to throwing away excess food. Instead, they indicate when they are willing to sell their products. This is for a discounted price, as they are items that would otherwise be thrown away in the next few days anyway.

Unfortunately not everything has been satisfactory according to reviews on both the Google Play and Apple Stores, with reviewers saying that their orders were cancelled just minutes before their arrival. When asked about this, Kashani noted that food waste is unpredictable. “We can’t know for sure what will be available or not,” he said. “We want our users to have the best

food possible, for the best price, and this sometimes involves cancelling orders so we can maintain that standard.”

Another issue that has shown up is the fact that people don’t seem to trust how easy it is to use the app—wondering how it’s possible to get quality food for a better price than if they were to purchase it in store. Kashani gladly explained this saying, “our model is simple, for both users and business, because if the solution was more complex, people and business would not follow it.” The model that Kashani refers to, is the so-called “surprise bag,” which is a bag with a larger amount of food for a cheaper price. “If we were to provide a menu instead of the surprise bag, our solution wouldn’t be as easy and we wouldn’t attract as many people,” explains Kashani.

To this day, Too Good To Go has helped save over 94 million meals, helping hundreds of people get affordable prices for great deals on groceries or prepared meals. The goal is to exceed the 100 million mark this year, and eventually reach a milestone of one billion meals saved in the future. In the meantime, the idea will remain simple—take out your phone, download the app, check the options available in your area, select a pickup time, pay and enjoy your meal.

To sign up for the app, go to toogoodtogo.ca.

Copenhagen, has recently launched

Their first arrival to Canada was earlier this year in July when they launched in Toronto, meaning their operations now span a total of 15 countries.

CYCLE FOR SUICIDE PREVENTION

Anishinaabe cyclist rides across Turtle Island to raise awareness of Tataskweyak Cree Nation mental health crisis

ALISHA SAMNANI (SHE/HER) Editor-in-Chief C.PALOMAR ROBISCO Illustrator

If you're experiencing emotional distress and want to talk, call the Hope for Wellness Help Line toll-free at 1-855-242-3310, or connect online at hopeforwellness.ca.

If you or someone you know is in immediate danger, call 9-1-1 or the number for emergency services in your community.

Rylee Nepinak, a 25-year-old Anishinaabe man from Sagkeeng First Nation in Manitoba, didn’t have much cycling experience when he decided to hop on a bike and ride across Turtle Island in August.

Tataskweyak Cree Nation, located at Split Lake in what is now known as Northern Manitoba, declared a state of emergency in July 2021 after losing 13 community members to suicide – 11 of which were youth. In a July 14 news release, the Tataskweyak noted that they had “reached a breaking point and our community is under crisis with alcohol and drugs contributing to it." In the same release, the nation called for longterm solutions for community members, including immediate mental wellness support systems.

Although Nepinak has never set foot into the community, he decided to start the ride in an effort to raise awareness of the mental health crisis taking place in Tataskweyak Cree Nation and other communities across Turtle Island.

"When I heard about what was happening to our relatives and to Tataskweyak — I'm not from there, but regardless how far you live, you're our relative," he said. "And I think we should take care of each other."

Nepinak started his journey from Vancouver on Aug. 11, ending up on the other side of the country nearly two months later.

In addition to the mental health crisis, Tataskwyak has also been experiencing a clean water crisis since 2017— something Nepinak has been strongly advocating for a solution to.

To date, Nepinak has raised over $30,000 on his gofundme page for the Tataskweyak, doubling his initial goal of $10,000. He plans to turn the money over to Tataskweyak youth, allowing them to decide how the money is used. Nepinak’s hope for the money? That it goes towards the creation of youth councils, where young people can gather and make collective decisions about their community.

Although Nepinak has yet to visit Tataskweyak, he’s built connections with the community since the start of his cycling journey. "They’ve experienced a lot of struggle, and they have been for many years," Nepinak said. "I’ve been hearing how much better they feel that Turtle Island is taking notice of what’s happening."

For more information on the mental health crisis, or to make a donation, visit Nepinak’s gofundme page.

VIOLENT RCMP ARRESTS OF INDIGNEOUS LAND DEFENDERS CONTINUE AT WEDZIN KWA

Tensions escalate on Wet’suwet’en territory over Coastal Gas pipeline

ALISHA SAMNANI (SHE/HER) Editor-in-Chief

Multiple arrests aren’t stopping Wet’suwet’en land and water defenders as they continue to occupy a pipeline worksite on Gidimt’en clan territory in northwest B.C. in an effort to prevent drilling under the Wedzin Kwa (Morice River), raising fears about escalating police actions.

Wet’suwet’en land and water defenders have remained at the territory since early 2020, when RCMP arrested matriarchs and supporters at camps along the Wedzin Kwa Forest Service Road during the enforcement of a court-ordered injunction, triggering an outpouring of country-wide solidarity actions.

On Oct. 17, neighbouring Lihkt’samisyu clan chiefs Dsta’hyl and Tse’besa deactivated a Coastal GasLink (CGL) excavator and claimed it for the Lihkt’samisyu clan government, warning workers they will not stop until all equipment is removed from the territory.

“We want to make sure that you guys know that we mean business,” said Chief Dsta’hyl in one of many videos posted to social media last week, after immobilizing the excavator. He also explained that the equipment was being deactivated in an effort to force CGL into a meeting.

On Oct. 27, Dsta’hyl was arrested and charged with mischief and theft over $5,000 for his part in decommissioning the equipment. He spent one night in jail, after which he was released with restrictions placed on his return to the area.

In a written statement issued on Oct. 27 in response to what the company called "an escalation in unlawful and dangerous activities by opponents," CGL said they are "increasingly concerned about the safety of our workforce and the public,” and that "every reasonable effort is being made by our teams to de-escalate this situation."

The recent conflict at Wedzin Kwa follows shortly after a dispute between LNG Canada and TC Energy. In a project update, LNG Canada CEO Peter Zebedee expressed concerns about the pipeline’s rising costs and schedule delays.

“Progress along the [CGL] pipeline is encouraging; however, we remain concerned that [CGL’s] operator and parent company, TC Energy, has proposed significant increased cost estimates to complete the pipeline, over and above what was agreed to when we took our final investment decision in late 2018,” wrote Zebedee.

The pipeline has been heavily subsidized by the federal government since 2018, including last year’s $500 million loan to support construction of the project. On Oct. 19, a letter from the Gidimt’en Checkpoint was issued to over 35 CGL investors globally, demanding immediate divestment and noting that “financing the project violates Indigenous rights and breaks any investor commitments to racial justice, reconciliation, and social responsibility.”

THE COURIER IS HIRING AN INDIGENOUS EDITOR

Responsible for assigning and editing news stories on a wide variety of topics from an Indigenous lens. Oversees editing and writing quality of the Indigenous section. Requires editing and writing experience, as well as knowledge and interest in a range of local and current topics. Must have the ability to convey information in a clear, concise and conversational manner. Strong research skills, including the ability to navigate online search engines, are mandatory. Must have the ability to interact professionally and build strong relationships with sources. Strong social media skills/experience is preferred. Required to attend Monday staff meetings, Tuesday pitch meetings and Friday proofreading sessions. Position is paid.

Email editor@capilanocourier.com with your resume, cover letter, and writing samples to apply.

THE COURIER IS HIRING A COMMUNITIES EDITOR

Oversees editing and writing quality of the Communities section. Requires writing and editing experience and an understanding of global issues. Must have the ability to convey information in a clear, concise and conversational manner. Strong research skills, including the ability to navigate online search engines, are mandatory. Must have the ability to interact professionally and build strong relationships with sources. Strong social media skills/experience is preferred. Required to attend Monday staff meetings and Friday proofreading sessions. Position is paid.

Email editor@capilanocourier.com with your resume, cover letter, and writing samples to apply.

“RESOURCEFUL” STUDENT HIKERS RECEIVE COMMUNITY LEADER AWARDS

ALISHA SAMNANI (SHE/HER) Editor-in-Chief VALERIYA KIM (SHE/HER) Design Director

Two CapU students amongst recipients for their role in Oct 11 rescue at Golden Ears Park

Provincial Park earlier this month.

On Oct. 11, two men were hiking along the Lower Falls Trail when they became trapped in a pool — dangerously close to being swept into the rushing waters nearby. Before long, the men were spotted by one of the students.

With no cell service nearby, the group of friends sprung into action. They quickly removed their jackets and turbans, tying them together to create a 10-meter rope. Using a tree trunk as support, the group were able to rescue the trapped hikers — all before the search and rescue team could arrive on scene. Video of the rescue quickly grew viral online.

“I’d never heard anything like that or seen anybody doing anything like that,” stated search manager Rick Laing. “I thought it was quite resourceful – they showed great presence of mind to put something together in such a short time.”

At the Oct. 26 ceremony, Ridge Meadows RCMP Supt. Wendy Mehat praised the quick actions of the five students. “The two young men were in danger of drowning,” he said. “Your quick thinking and your heroic actions undoubtedly saved the lives of the two young men at Golden Ears Park.”

At the award ceremony, CapU student Gurpreet Singh recounted that day. “We saw those guys, they were struggling to get out. He was so cold down there — his hands were numb, I think.”

At the ceremony, Supt. Mehat also recalled the religious importance of the turban, which are typically only allowed to be removed in privacy at home. “In these matters we really don’t care if it’s religious or not. It’s one person's life, we can save it,” said Singh. "We can tie [a turban] again as many times as we want, but that life — we can’t bring it back.”

Five international students, including two Capilano University (CapU) students, have received Community Leader Awards from the Ridge Meadows RCMP for their rescue of two men in Golden Ears

NOW YOU SEE US, NOW YOU DON’T

I came out to the people around me as soon as I realized I was bisexual. Not knowing myself had felt like I was a puzzle with a missing piece, and one word completed something that I wanted to share with the world. I don’t remember the subsequent events in chronological order, but I remember a 14-year-old met with denial, several claims that I’m going through a phase, and that I’ve simply spent too much time on the internet.

Sometimes, people question their queerness for years: finding, exploring, and rejecting labels until they find the one. When I came out, I had none of that. I had only an agenda, furthered by the subtle eye-rolls from straight friends, to make people around me understand that LGBTQ+ people are normal—and prevalent— everywhere.

As an aggressively queer 14-year-old, I purposefully found media that depicts queer folk with normal lives. People around me thought I was too young to know my sexual orientation, and I hoped that TV shows and movies with queer characters would help my family understand some parts of the LGBTQ+ community. While I monitored my family’s Western queer media consumption, I simultaneously ignored a bigger problem: I knew I liked girls, but I didn’t know how to like girls. The Hollywood outreach program did not teach me how to think about girls. Women often became a sport for men in my misogynistic surroundings, and I began impersonating these men—parts of my gender identity wanting to become one.

You must take a step back and comprehend the scoffs and “It’s a phase” accusations that compelled me to overcompensate constantly. In rooms of girls my age, I would stare at them as I had seen men do, somehow believing that my stare was less toxic.

The Indian media my generation was raised on is exclusively heteronormative, and Indian culture does not always accommodate conversations about love and sex, much less queer versions of it. (One of my best friends says, “We talk too much about respect and not enough about love”). I looked for instructions on how to be queer and Indian in Indian media and came up with nothing. Five years later, I am more and more convinced that I was wrong: there is a subculture of queer love in Indian art, books, and other media. But between the criminalization of homosexuality and the cultural taboo that deems queerness disgusting, it feels like this subculture has been buried.

I had no way to access it as a young teenager. Even if there were gay books by brown authors, what would have happened if someone saw me reading them? How would I have ever justified seeking representation about something that people couldn’t even say without crinkling their noses? In trying to differentiate myself from straight men as a queer, nonbinary person but being unable to find culturally similar tales of women who love women, I became more and more unsure of myself and my entire community.

A strange fear would swell in me (sometimes, it still does) that I must choose between being queer and being authentically Indian.

I chose the part which made me feel safer; that is, being unapologetically queer. Being myself. I felt confident that I could take on the world and was happy to be walking in my own shoes. Accepting myself was, still is, the best way for me to feel at peace. It wasn’t difficult, either. I was part of the generation that had Pinterest and Tumblr and Hayley Kiyoko. I knew how to dress gay: I wore my flannels and converses religiously. I cuffed my

I came out to the people around me as soon as I realized I was bisexual. Not knowing myself had felt like I was a puzzle with a missing piece, and one word completed something that I wanted to share with the world. I don’t remember the subsequent events in chronological order, but I remember a 14-year-old met with denial, several claims that I’m going through a phase, and that I’ve simply spent too much time on the internet.

jeans as much as the next bisexual, and it worked. I found solidarity in strangers who included queer cues in their appearances—it’s funny how eye contact and silent nods could be enough to make me feel seen.

Often, I would sift through clues in my peers’ jokes and memes to find the queer ones, I’d spend hours on Instagram pages trying to find rainbow emojis that can be easily explained by simply liking the colours. There is a language of the closeted community and we’ve all learned it; we speak it openly and are only heard by those who speak it too.

As I started sniffing out gay friends, I realized the importance of my rainbow network. Straight and cis people can unwittingly play the devil’s advocate. (I did not, and still do not, have the heart to explain that the sentences “I don’t like it when he says things against gay people,” and “Well, maybe he doesn’t like that you are gay,” are not equal in their hurt). My gay friends, of course, are immune to such fallacies. In matters of homophobia, we know what the other person feels without explaining it, and we can defend queer rights more aggressively in others’ houses to change each other’s parents’ perspectives.

By the time the COVID-19 pandemic hit, I was already out to my parents. My friends were not so lucky. Most nights, after our family members get tired of each other and go to bed, a cult of the queer kids assembles on Zoom. We talk for hours, sometimes paint and draw in silence, and sometimes just watch as one of us tunes their ukulele and fails.

During this pandemic, I felt less alone than I ever have felt in my entire life. For the first time, I had a normal friend circle made of “abnormal” people, and I fit right in. The gaydar I had developed and polished helped me, not in finding a girlfriend as Bollywood men had promised, but in finding a chosen family. I’m unashamedly proud of this family of gay stereotypes, too (I mean it: out of over 15 people I regularly talk to, not one of us can sit straight), and I do declare that my queer-identifying skills are something others envy. Eyecontacts in grocery stores are a testament to my incredible gaydar; it simply always works, right?

Wrong. It works right until the point I have to wear Indian clothing for a wedding, push myself into lehengas, and feel ecstatically beautiful with only a tinge of gender dysphoria and a lot of invisibility. I am no longer the queer whisperer when I’m at weddings. Instead, I’m masked with heteronormativity; I can’t find anyone else to sit next to, anyone who feels a bit more like family and safety. Nor

can I bring myself to ask, between the pulsating beats of Bollywood music, “Hey, do you listen to girl in red?”

Weddings are one of the places in India where people from metropolitan cities abandon their daily connections to the Western world and embrace a different version of themselves. Feeling invisible at weddings brings me back to the question that holds me together and pulls me apart: where is Indian queerness?

In countries like mine, homophobia is simpler to track. Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code was introduced by the British in 1861 and resulted in widespread, societal homophobia. It took the Indian queer community over 70 years after the British had left to decriminalize homosexuality. The British Raj also classified the Kinnar community (though there is no direct English translation of this gender, the community can be thought of as comprised of trans people, intersex people, and eunuchs—and also known as the Hijra community) as a “criminal tribe,” leading to a still-prevalent stereotype of Kinnar folk being filthy and immoral.

Anti-LGBTQ+ laws due to colonization are not India’s problem alone. Variants of Section 377 still exist in Bangladesh, Singapore, Jamaica, Pakistan, and Myanmar. Every time cis and straight people around me argue that being gay is a Western influence, leading more and more Indian youth to believe that they aren’t straight, I bring up how India’s societal homophobia and disgust is a repercussion of the British Raj or conservative people benefitting from the patriarchy. As soon as I do, the topic either changes abruptly, or I’m dismissed as one of those feminist kids who are too assimilated into the Western civilization to know what real Indian roots are.

Ancient queer culture can be tracked easily too. Babur, the founder of the Mughal Empire in India, had a crush on a boy so sweet that he would shy away from talking to him. Hindu mythology has several gods who don’t abide by the gender binary, change their genders, and have same-sex relationships. The Kinnar community has been around since ancient India, and the community has very much been a prominent and vibrant part of our society. Somewhere along the way, queer history was overlooked due to colonization and conservative people benefiting from patriarchal constructs that suppress queer people.

The more I think about the present queer culture, the more I’m aware of the bubbles Indians occupy. It seems to me that the majority of the cisgender heterosexual population

The gaydar I had developed and polished helped me, not in finding a girlfriend as Bollywood men had promised, but in finding a chosen family.

believes they do not know any queer people. Often, I meet people who’d gleefully tell me that I’m the first queer person they’re meeting. My openly gay friends and I notice how straight parents try to shield their children from us.

Queer people like me live in a bubble where we acknowledge queerness and form communities where we are safe but often slip away from our heritage. My privilege allows me to connect with queer people everywhere: I’ve made queer friends at UofT by spotting their political interests and by noticing the sliver of blue in the pansexual flag in their dorm room visible over Zoom. I perhaps even chose Vic— allegedly, the queerest college—because the atmosphere of openness appealed to me. It was only after coming to Vic that I realized that it was known as the queer college; queer people seem to unwittingly attract each other.

I quickly find communities wherever I go, yet the one I was born into perplexes me. Repeatedly, I mould and break what it is to be a queer Indian.

This past year, UofT allowed me to observe different cultures, trying to detect everything from microaggressions to subtle hints in social cues (the words gay and lesbian, for example, cannot be said in India in front of children without people glaring at you or kicking you out of the room—apparently, this does not happen everywhere). While queer populations in each place creates warmth, Indian expectations of our personal lives are different from our Western counterparts.

What we want out of our families is still very much Indian. I still see myself with a family that observes informality and brotherhood in a way our parents’ families did. While community-style living in India has had its patriarchal roots, my queer friends and I find that we can handpick what we want our families to look like. Often, our parents, grandparents, and other victims of patriarchy followed a regime that Indian families often do: like being there for each other unduly and partaking in raising of their siblings’ children. While they often do it as a duty, we can choose to do it out of love. Same conclusion, same heritage, different intentions.

Reflecting on what goes wrong for LGBTQ+ Indians who are estranged from themselves and the people around them, I believe I’ve come up with a cure to reverse the alienation. What hurt us is the way others perceived and interacted with us. However, within the safe space of a queer Indian circle, we can choose to reverse the gears and rediscover our roots—which, as all things that are already a part of you,

comes naturally. Not one Indian I know has the ability to return empty Tupperware; not one of us will refuse the teatime in lawns while we talk about everything there is to talk about. When we truly get a chance to be ourselves, we are the same people as straight Indians.

That said, I’ve also realized that Gen-Z as I know it, with all the access to Western civilization we need, is not the face of this revolution. Parts of this re-acceptance of queer people in India comes from those who are more detached from the Western world and grew up in more Desi cultures than me. And then, they make their own culture, their own chosen families. They reinvent parts of being Indian in a way that retains their queer identities when the dust of resistance dies down and they’re left with their home.

India is a complex place, with much history, and many distinct roots attempting to coexist. After Section 377 was shot down, India has seen a surge in acceptance queer people, including a sparkle of gay representation in Bollywood. However, since queer acceptance in India must go beyond legal rights and all the way to change in perception about queer people, it is not entirely parallel to the growth of LGBTQ+ rights in other places.

Every year, I learn something more about where I stand in this gay revolution. My position is not to educate my parents on Western queer representation, and my purpose as a queer person keeps changing. These are tectonic plates of hundreds of years of oppression and change: subcultures in different geographical and religious communities of India combined with the remnants of the British Rule are amalgamating and forming something functional. Thus, it becomes critical for all of us to take a step back to consider where we each stand in this revolution.

The 14-year-old who started their journey inside a perpetually never-ending closet that encompasses all of India tried hard to look for directions on how to be queer. I tried fighting for a place within the already existing society. I was wrong. We are supposed to make our own space; create our own instructions on how to be a modern queer Indian rather than seeking it elsewhere.

TINA TRINH

@staticcolour

WHAT HAPPENS TO THE HOMELESS COMMUNITY IN THE WINTER?

Take a Walk Through Vancouver’s Hidden 2SLGBTQQIA+ History

ALEXIS ZYGAN (SHE/HER) Contributor ETHAN WORONKO (HE/HIM) Illustrator

The Downtown Eastside (DTES) is a neighbourhood renowned worldwide for high rates of substance abuse, poverty and HIV/AIDS. The same streets that harbour people on the margins of society are where social activists congregate to demand adequate mental health and addiction resources. Indigenous peoples protest modern systems of colonization by demanding their land back, which they never legally signed away, by occupying public parks. I spoke with Tanya Fader, Director of Housing at PHS Community Services Society, about what has led to Metro Vancouver's population of 3,634 homeless people and how the nonprofit sector supports and advocates for vulnerable community members. In addition to how students can foster empathy for those on the streets. The history of PHS remains closely entrenched in grassroots activism for vulnerable populations.

PHS is a low-barrier shelter, which implies that minimal restrictions are imposed as a means of harmreduction. "People who have been banned or kicked out of every other shelter in the city can access our spaces," says Fader. They were the first of their kind to offer a bed to people struggling with chronic addiction. Because of the low-barrier model, PHS was one of the only shelters to remain at maximum capacity throughout the previous winter season. Unfortunately, they had to turn away people seeking shelter, even after repurposing the Army and Navy building into a temporary housing space. As a result, crowded shelters are unable to meet the demands of the ever-growing homeless community.

Over the years, Vancouver has become a dumping ground for homeless people across Canada due to its temperate climate. Population growth within homeless communities was accelerated when

the government removed funding from social services that serve marginalized communities. As a consequence, there are not enough resources in the DTES to meet the complex needs of people seeking shelter. Permanent solutions for systemic homeless require adequate funding and support.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, to maintain safety, PHS worked alongside provincial health to reduce risks of contagion while also providing a warm space to shelter from wind and rain. The Strathcona and Crab Park encampment provided a much-needed community-driven solution to the housing crisis. Residents of these communities experienced a sense of togetherness, living alongside family and friends.

Indigenous people account for one-third of people experiencing homelessness. Therefore, occupying public parks is a way to fight for their land back. "We are on unceded Indigenous territory and it's completely understandable and justified that the Indigeous community would be fighting to exist on their own lands," says Fader. There are many reasons why a person would choose to stay in a tent instead of a shelter. And ideally, they should be able to do so with dignity. "For some people, their complex trauma is such that they really can't handle the environment of a shelter," says Fader. Shelters can be chaotic and many are gender-specific and refuse couples—which PHS tries their best to accommodate.

Many of the community members staying at park encampments have a justifiable distrust of authority. As a housing provider, the team at PHS works to gain the trust of individuals to have a conversation about their needs and offer solutions. Supporting Indigenous peoples' access to adequate, stable housing is a critical aspect of reconciliation that is

swept under the rug by the Canadian Government who enact state power to forcefully remove people from parks. Then, newspapers publish articles about the exorbitant cost required to refurbish the parks which further contributes to a stigma against the homeless community.

Unfortunately, according to Western Investor, housing prices across the Greater Vancouver area are only expected to continue rising in 2021. The finite amount of land results in lack of supply for rental housing. Meanwhile, the appeal of Vancouver to real estate investors means that housing has evolved into an asset rather than a basic need. Many people misjudge vulnerable communities with complex struggles they don't fully understand. People who have never had a conversation with someone experiencing homelessness may have unfound preconceived beliefs, like that someone loses their home due to a personal failing. When in reality, the challenges that homeless people face are fourfold, and the reasoning is never straightforward or a sign of moral failure. Permanent housing requires robust solutions. "Until we get to the point where they have housing for everyone, sheltering plays a very important component," says Fader.

Anyone without a support system is more likely to become homeless after failing to pay rent or having a shady landlord who enacts a rental increase during a pandemic. Middle and low-class dwellers are stuck accepting overpriced rentals that often cost more

than 30% of their paycheck due to the 2.6% vacancy rate. Fader points out that back in the day, Vancouver provided an affordable lifestyle for the middle-class. Now, "a lot of people who are working but just not earning enough are becoming homeless," says Fader. Then there are community members who struggle with complex mental illness, trauma and substance abuse, who may have been displaced from supportive facilities during budget cuts and forced to reside on the streets. Unfortunately, the chance for these people to solidify stable housing remains low.

When PHS opened Insite in 2003, North America's first legal supervised injection site, there was plenty of backlash from community members. However, PHS acknowledged the presence of an AIDS epidemic and recognized how a needle exchange would curb the spread of the disease. The opening of Insite required an exception from Health Canada and resulted in a Supreme Court Case. Now the site is supported by Vancouver Coastal Health. Many others similar to Insite have opened up across Canada. Currently, PHS advocates for a safe supply during a province-wide overdose crisis, working alongside community members and medical director Dr. Christy Sutherland to push forward with a safe supply of drugs.

Fader emphasizes that no one chooses to be homeless. Many challenges arise when living on the streets. "Generally most homeless people actually sleep during the day because it's safer," says Fader. These people are struggling to meet their basic needs. When interacting with homeless people, treat them with compassion, dignity and empathy. Try not to judge when someone who sleeps on the streets or uses drugs in public space. Historically, student-led activism can drive change by demanding more resources be allocated to support vulnerable communities. Donations of clean socks and shoes are beneficial for keeping community members warm and preventing infections.

The act storytelling, particularly the telling of Queer stories, is hugely important to Tkatch as it is “To understand, in specific terms, what is the tradition that I belong to? What is my heritage? What is my legacy? To be able to understand your own identity in the context of a tradition, of an ongoing story that you are part of, is really important to understanding yourself.”

THE COURIER IS HIRING A FEATURES EDITOR

Responsible for assigning and editing long-form feature and special feature stories on a wide variety of topics that are of interest to Capilano Courier readers. Oversees editing and writing quality of the Features section. Requires editing and writing experience, as well as knowledge and interest in a range of local and current topics. Must have the ability to convey information in a clear, concise and conversational manner. Strong research skills, including the ability to navigate online search engines, are mandatory. Must have the ability to interact professionally and build strong relationships with sources. Strong social media skills/experience is preferred. Required to attend Monday staff meetings, Tuesday pitch meetings and Friday proofreading sessions. Position is paid.

Email editor@capilanocourier.com with your resume, cover letter, and writing samples to apply.

CANADIAN ACTIVISTS

THEY DON'T MENTION IN TEXTBOOKS 2SLGBTQIA+ AND INDIGENOUS EDITION

While attending high school, I learned about Terry Fox's stride across stolen land to raise money for cancer research, but when it came to acquiring knowledge about queer and Indigenous changemakers, I was on my own. These people’s stories are part of our history and their impact lives on today through activists, abolitionists and those brave enough to mobilize their rage to work towards dismantling the structures of oppression. Maybe by the time these people pass away, our history books will be rewritten to include their stories.

The Brunswick Four

Let me introduce you to Adrienne Potts, Pat Murphy, Sue Wells and Heather Elizabeth. Four lesbians whose performance at an open-mic night on a winter night in 1974 at The Brunswick House resulted in a police altercation. After being rebuffed and taunted by the men at the bar, the women decided to take the stage for a queer rendition of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s track "I Enjoy Being a Girl." They changed the lyrics to, "When I see a man who's sexist/and does something that I don't like/I just tell him that he can fuck off/I enjoy being a dyke! I've always been an uppity woman/I refuse to run—I stand and strike/'Cause I'm gay and I'm proud and I'm angry/And I enjoy being a dyke!” Even though, in 1969, Canada decriminalized homosexuality, the queer community eschewed visibility to avoid discrimination

from the general public, who still condemned queer conduct. Despite a round of applause and cheer from the bar crowd following the performance, the owner asked the women to leave, likely to protect the bar’s image. When they resisted, he called the police. The women’s refusal to comply with the officers led to five hours of physical and verbal abuse while in police custody.

The incident of police harassment directed at the queer community received widespread media coverage and visibility, likely because they were white women. The queer community was understandably outraged by the attack and mobilized to demand reform. An interview with Susan Wells is available on Youtube for Egale’s #HearOurStory project.

ALEXIS ZYGAN (SHE/HER) Contributor JANELLE MOMOTANI (SHE/HER) Illustrator

Spotlight on four activists who aren't afraid to shake the status quo and whose brave actions inspire others to follow in their footsteps

Autumn Peltier

During the 2015 election, Justin Trudeau promised that the Liberal Government would end the First Nations boil-water advisories within five years. However, according to The Council of Canadians, 73% of First Nations’ water systems are still at high or medium risk of contamination in 2021. Autumn Peltier is a fourteenyear-old Ojibway/Odawa water defender and member of the Wiikwemkoong First Nations. She has been advocating for justice from the age of eight because of her belief that no one residing in a freshwater-rich country should lack access to clean drinking water. Peltier takes after her aunt Josephine Mandamin, who has advocated for universal access to water for years.

Doug Stewart

Larissa Crawford

Growing up in Alberta, Larissa Crawford faced racism due to her Afro-Caribbean heritage and hid her Métis roots from peers to avoid further discrimination. The experience of racial discrimination in her youth sparked a drive for activism. As Crawford points out, racism and climate change are rooted in colonialism and tackling these issues requires a decolonized lens. Later in life, her connections with Black and Indigenous mentors and peers gave her confidence to become a leading voice for anti-racism and anti-oppression. While studying at York University, she led several anti-racism and Indigenous research initiatives, and presented her findings to Ontario’s Ministry of Energy and Ontario’s AntiRacism Directorate. After graduating and having her daughter in 2020, Crawford founded Future Ancestors, an Indigenous and Black-owned youth-led professional services social enterprise that offers training, consulting and public speaking services.

In 1984, Doug Stewart founded Zami, the first Black queer collective in Toronto. The moniker derives from the East Caribbean word for lesbian sex. Stewart spoke publicly about exclusion faced by queer people of colour and criticized The Body Politic, a magazine run by white gay men, after they published a classified ad from a white gay man seeing a black houseboy. Stewart responded by writing a letter to The Body Politic stating that "Black gay activists define themselves first and foremost as Black, and as gay second." His fervent commitment to exposing racism within the queer community is what makes him an inspiration to others. The issue of white male gay privilege is relevant to this day and maintained by systems of oppression. The gay hookup app, Grindr only removed their ethnicity filter in 2020 after receiving backlash for years from users who complained of being fetishized. Stewart continues to advocate for queer rights as the Executive Director of the Black Coalition for AIDS Prevention.

@craboozled

HOW THE PANDEMIC HAS CHANGED OUR RELATIONSHIPS CULTURE

Nothing is the same with COVID-19, that includes our relationships

MATT SHIPLEY (HE/HIM) Contributor ALINA SANDU Illustrator

I look back on my middle-school self with a mixture of derisive amusement and pity. The kid who was so out of the loop, he didn’t even try to fit in, the kid who thought playing Minecraft at lunch and breaking the school beep test record twice in two days would do anything but alienate me from the general population. I had friends, but I couldn’t really be myself around them. The primal human instinct to gravitate towards other people was completely lost on me.

Over the next six years, I put as much distance between myself and that kid as possible. I joined clubs, dove headfirst into the music program, and forced myself to be as sociable as my despicably introverted brain would let me. After three increasingly social years in high school, living across the pond for a year and a successful first year in university, I never expected to feel like I’m back at square one, and yet here I am.

I’ve always found it really hard to reconnect with people I haven’t seen in a while, especially if they live in a different country.

I always start by texting them every few days, then it becomes once a week, then a couple times a month, then it just fizzles out. Any rekindling of conversation after the initial dropoff just feels forced, even with a wonderful friend I made in France— one of the people I swore to myself I would do my utmost to keep close to my heart. There’s always that exciting catch-up phase, then… nothing.

I’ve always been careful with COVID, and I will continue to do so. In the first year or so of the pandemic, that meant barely ever

seeing my friends, staying distanced and masked, and constantly checking in on my own personal health. What I didn’t expect, though, was for my repressed, introverted self to make a vengeful comeback. Not seeing my friends because of the pandemic turned into not seeing them because I didn’t want to. These days, even with the vaccine rollout, and most of my friends and I having both doses, I find myself grasping for excuses to avoid nights out. My problem with my overseas friends ballooned to include pretty much everybody I knew, over the time I couldn’t see anybody. I avoid conversations with them, fearing that they would be awkward, or worse, different. While I’ve begun to repair a few of the strongest connections I had before the pandemic started, I have a long way to go before I’m anywhere near where I was back in first year.

In complete contrast to that, a few of my relationships have been hugely strengthened because of the pandemic. Online courses meant more time to go on adventures, and the friends I’ve made through those adventures are now the closest friends I have. The pandemic turned an Instagram acquaintance, whom I thought was orders of magnitude cooler than me, into a lifelong friend with whom I get into questionable backcountry situations with at least once a month.

“It’s like a really tight sieve,” said one person I interviewed. “It forced us to tunnel our focus onto the most vital things in our lives, the things we can’t bear to lose. We no longer had the capacity to keep a smorgasbord of random hobbies and interests, so we discarded them. I know I want them all back, but it’s a long process.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself. I hate to think that my distant relationship with my friends stems from a subconscious filter, but I think that’s right on the money. Maybe, when the time is right, reconnection will feel natural. Maybe it won’t happen at all. Either way, we’ll all come out of this pandemic as changed people, and I think that’s a good thing.

POPE FRANCIS CAN’T STOP TALKING ABOUT US

One would think the debate on same gender marriage would be over

EMMA MENDEZ (SHE/HER) Culture Editor JOHN PACHKOWSKY (HE/THEY) Illustrator

The Pope has made it clear what he thinks about the LGBTQ2SIA+ community, but what do we think?

Almost a year ago, I wrote an article for the opinions section of the Courier on Pope Francis’s 2019 statement on queer, same gender marriage. In footage from 2019, he had made a statement endorsing “samesex” civil unions which many took to mean he was is support of same gender marriage. As soon as the interview clip leaked in 2020, there wasn’t anywhere one could go media-wise, where the Catholic Church and the Pope’s statement wasn’t a hot topic. Eventually, the discussion died down and the news cycle moved on to the next thing, as they always do.

But as reported by the Associated Press, on Sept.15, 2021, when asked by European media if he approves of legislation in Europe to support same gender marriage, he stated, “I have spoken clearly about this, no? Marriage is a sacrament...The Church doesn’t have the power to change sacraments. It’s as our Lord established. There are laws that try to help the situation for many people of different sexual orientation. It is important that this helps people but without imposing things that by nature do not function in The Church. But if they want to spend their lives together, a homosexual couple, nations have the possibility civilly to support them, to give them safety with regards to inheritance and health.”

Upon hearing this, I was shocked that outside of the Associated Press, I only saw one other news outlet report on this story, when almost a year ago his statements on same gender marriage could not be escaped.

Of course, I have my own feelings and opinions on the Pope, his most recent statement, and the Catholic Church. But I thought it would be much more valuable this time around if I talked to some members of the CapU 2SLGBTQQIA+ community on their perspectives and how they may have changed over time. Although those interviewed chose to remain

anonymous as they are not fully out yet, in talking to them, I was surprised at the broad difference in attitudes and reactions.

In speaking to a CapU student and CapU queer community member they shared, “I know it may be controversial to say, but he’s changed a lot for us within the Catholic Church, and the Christian world. He’s not by any means perfect but there’s been at least some improvement.” When I shared Pope Francis’s most recent statement and asked him for his thoughts, he replied, “F***k, I honestly don’t know. I feel stupid saying what I said before now. I don’t want to justify him or anything like that — because what he said is not okay — but back to my point before. He has brought a lot of good change and that does make me feel hopeful in a way as weird as it probably sounds.”

On the other end of the spectrum, another queer CapU community member confided their previously supportive sentiments and current unfavourable feelings they held towards the Church and the Pope. “You know, I used to believe that the Church was changing. I really for a second bought their whole thing. And even though I didn’t grow up Catholic or anything, it’s still something that’s important to me because they do have a big influence, even if I don’t like to admit it.” They continued, “hearing that statement, I’m honestly not surprised at all. I just wish they would stop giving people false hope because our lives are impacted by his words. And I think it’s unfair that he can just play on both sides of the issue depending on what’s convenient for him.”

Talking to CapU queer community members reminded me that at the end of the day, we’re just trying to survive, to thrive. And hopefully one day, we won’t have to think about whether institutions want to uplift our community. They simply just will.

DIDN’T VOTE DOESN’T MEAN DIDN’T CARE

Instead of passing the blame onto people, it’s time we look at the system itself

MATT SHIPLEY (HE/HIM) Contributor MICHELLE LUSSIER (SHE/THEY) Illustrator

I’m a major proponent of democracy. Voting is a right, and while it’s not necessarily our duty to exercise that right, it’s the surest way of electing a government that represents us as a people. But, as I continue to learn more about our system and the people within it, I’ve found that sometimes the people who care the most about the future of the country either refuse to vote, or aren’t even given the option.

If I didn’t vote, it’s not because I didn’t care – I could have any number of extraneous motivators. As someone who has been continually frustrated by our current system, every election is a painful reminder that we’re still hopelessly far from a future that I truly believe in. I vote because I hope to play a small part in uplifting the system into something my children will be proud of – a system where the fight for basic human rights is but a memory, and where humans and the nature we depend on can coexist.

An important question to ask yourself, no matter the situation is, why? Stop jumping to conclusions, and try to see where a nonvoter is coming from. Are they just not well enough acquainted with the political parties? Are they uninterested, or do they not care who comes into power? Did they have easy access to a polling station? There are endless valid reasons not to vote, and while many believe it’s important to vote, it’s also imperative to understand the people who don’t.

Voting has become an increasingly stressful exercise for the everyday person. Whether you vote or not, people are going to lay down their judgment on you. If someone were to vote for the PPC, they’ll face backlash from their less conservative social circles. If someone were to vote for the NDP, people will claim a wasted vote. No matter which route you walk, it won’t be easy, and that’s keeping a lot of people these days from voting. If your vote will change your relationship with your friends, will you vote at all?

In the same vein, all of Canada’s major parties are more or less centrist. Sure, the Conservatives toe towards the right, and the NDP shuffles to the left, but they all stand for very similar things. Someone exasperated with the current oil-fueled, capitalist system will find themselves with nobody to vote for. If they want justice for Indigenous peoples, a carbon-free or even carbon-neutral economy, or protection for all remaining old-growth forest, they’re out of luck.

I’ve kept a close eye on the Fairy Creek defense situation, and it’s made two things abundantly clear: the forest suffers no matter who we vote for, and politicians lie if it suits their goals. If I were a forest defender, sacrificing a normal life on a seemingly hopeless mission to protect the last few dregs of true nature in BC, I would be incurably pissed at the NDP. But, as the NDP presents itself as the furthest left of the conventional Canadian parties, and the Liberals have already shown how little they care about their environmental promises, who would I vote for?

I understand the people who don’t vote. If I weren’t as much of a die-hard voter, I would probably join them. Because, as it is becoming increasingly evident in the North American geopolitical landscape, none of the parties in power will jump at the opportunity for systemic change, because the system in place is what brought said party to power in the first place. Nonvoters deserve just as much respect as the voting population, because while voters are advocating for a change in leadership, many nonvoters are fighting for a change in the system itself.

“Whether you vote or not, people are going to lay down their judgment on you."

YELL ALL YOU WANT, JUST DO IT SOMEWHERE ELSE

When protesting turns into arrogance, it’s time to go home

KAILEIGH BUNTING (SHE/HER) Contributor

MEGAN BARRY (SHE/HER) Illustrator

I’ve always prided myself in being a good mediator—someone who could always find the middle ground and come to a compromise in any situation. Until recently, I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d felt truly angry towards someone or something. In September, however, as I witnessed hospital entrances and emergency vehicle routes blocked by anti-vaccination protesters, I felt a knot of anger in my stomach that left me shaking.

For B.C. residents, this September marked the 19th month since the COVID-19 pandemic flipped our communities upside down. What first started as whispers of a virus from across the globe quickly turned into something larger than any one country or government could control. At that time, aside from the hardship that came from locking down the economy, there was no debate on the lethality of the virus that to date, has killed over 4.7 million people. In the early months of the pandemic, I remember the whole world praying collectively for a vaccine that would stop the spread of the disease and allow us to return back to some feeling of normalcy. It seems now, a year and a half later, some people have forgotten the initial horrors of the pandemic and are protesting the implementations that have the power to keep our communities safe, and return us to a place resembling a pre-covid world.

I do not think it is wrong to protest. Regardless of what your beliefs are, as long as the protesting doesn’t harm any other individual or group of people, you have a right, a duty even, to protest. Unfortunately, that is not what these anti-vaccination passport and anti-mask protests seem to be. For one, their message of “our body our choice” is wildly contradicted as we’ve seen these protesters threatening passersby for their choice to mask up. Even more infuriating has been the verbal and physical harassment that healthcare workers have had to endure from these protests. These incidents selfishly interrupt frontline workers as they struggle to work in a system that is already bleeding from a worldwide pandemic.

On Sept. 1, protesters took to the streets surrounding St. Paul’s and Vancouver General Hospital in Vancouver, blocking emergency vehicles and staff from entering the area. Horribly, as a result of this transport delay, a Vancouver paramedic stated she watched as her patient bled out in front of her from life-threatening, timesensitive trauma. Their transport time was doubled due to the protest. Seeing this unfold not only made me angry—it made me feel sick, disgusted and embarrassed to be a Canadian. The lack of compassion expressed by these citizens had serious implications for patients needing access to emergency healthcare, and for many workers was the emotional breaking point as they tried to carry out their jobs. The malicious actions of protesters in this extreme display of “freedom of speech” was wrong, and should not be allowed to happen again.

While I can see how polarizing this issue has become, I don’t have a compromise; I cannot find the middle ground. I think protests like these should be stopped before they start, and that people who are involved in the harassment of bystanders and healthcare workers should be removed before the situation gets worse. I believe everyone is entitled to their opinion and their beliefs, but you forfeit that right as soon as you jeopardize the life of someone else.

$7000 IS THE NEW FREE

Are dating app algorithms being replaced by self proclaiming matchmakers?

JAYDE ATCHISON (SHE/HER) Opinions Editor

SHARLEEN RAMOS (SHE/HER) Illustrator

As the notoriously single friend in my social circle, I can understand Hawkins’ exhaustion with modern dating means. I have downloaded and deleted the big three apps more times than I’ve circled the sun. Even with how bleak the apps may make me feel, I don’t think I am willing to drop a pretty penny on finding the one. Heck, I can’t even be bothered to pay $7.99 for an upgrade on an app. Call me frugal, but if my perfect partner does exist, they will understand that I wanted to wait until fate stepped in— for free.

Hawkins kicked Tinder to the curb and put his dating chances up to the world at large. He created a form for potential matchmakers to fill out so they may claim their prizes if the relationship is a match. This seems to be a long-run game that makes me wonder what those prizes could be and will they be relevant by the time the couple has wed? Hawkins stipulated that in his search for a wife, he would not pay the matchmaker until after the wedding. Some relationships are a slow burn—so will an air fryer still be cool in 10 years if it takes that long to get to marriage? At the very least, the warranty will be long since expired.

Waiting until after the ceremony is a good idea, because $7000 can take some people a long way and I can’t help but imagine a 2003 rom-com plotline of a scam, turned romance, turned disaster. I guess a $7000 payout doesn’t seem worth the effort or commitment required to fake an entire relationship and wedding though. Hopefully

Hawkins is holding out his prize purchases until closer to the inevitable wedding, and hopefully he puts them on his registry so other people buy them for him—because it’s all about working smart, not hard.

Just because I would rather spend my hardearned cash on some new flooring or a vacation to Spain, doesn’t mean that other people aren’t willing to throw their dough away for a significant other. According to Hawkins, people have been reaching out to him about his approach to love, and he has been encouraging them to follow his lead. It doesn’t seem so far-fetched—just take a look at shows like 90-Day Fiancé, The Bachelor, Love is Blind or any of the other 40 shows dedicated to finding love in odd circumstances. People are willing to go above and beyond to feel something other than loneliness and utter despair.

Broadcasting to the world that you have a reward for finding your spouse is probably not going to become the norm. It might briefly be a trending sound on TikTok, but that might be as far as it goes. Dating apps are not going anywhere, because they offer an instant gratification that being set up on blind dates does not. I don’t know about Hawkins and the rest of the single population, but every time that I have been set up on a date it has been incredibly awkward or horribly matched. I trust my friends to keep my secrets and to be there for me when I’m down, but I wouldn’t stake my life or my money on their abilities to find me a good date.

Back in September, CBC News published an article about Dan Hawkins’s journey from deleting dating apps to offering prizes of up to $7000 to the person that can find his soulmate.

IT’S TIME TO CHANGE HOW WE INITIATE CONVERSATIONS

The words we use are crucial for a good first impression

ISRAEL LOBO (HE/HIM) Contributor

The way we initiate conversations often has to do with the person that we engage with or our intentions with them. While our body language is an important way of showing what we are trying to accomplish, whether it is getting a phone number or the chair beside them, there is something that is more important than body language— the words that we use when we first present ourselves.

According to research conducted by Microsoft Corp in 2020, the average attention span for humans has decreased from twelve seconds in 2000, to an astonishing eight seconds in 2020. This means that we have eight seconds to catch the attention of the other person with whom we are trying to connect. Now, those eight seconds are not only for attention, but it’s also the timeframe given for first impressions. Unfortunately, this is where some people tend to act differently when they are interacting with people who look or sound different due to their accents. As someone not born and raised in Canada, I have fallen victim to this more often than not.

During my first year of university, I had a public speaking class and, as always, we had to introduce ourselves and say a fun fact about ourselves. I chose the fact that I am Mexican and that it was my first year in Canada. Afterwards, I was put into a group with one of my classmates, who started doing the assignment given to us, to be done in pairs. He never introduced himself, he just did the assignment. I didn’t say anything due to being shy, but after the class ended, I approached him and asked why he did it all by himself, to which he replied, “I know you don’t know English so I just didn’t want to give you a headache.”

I remember feeling confused that night, I felt that his intentions were good, but the execution was wrong. Why did he think that? Was it because I said I was from Mexico? After that first class, I avoided him as a partner

for any other project. I didn’t want to be with someone who thought I wasn’t capable just because of where I was from and more importantly, I didn’t want to be partners with someone who judged me without even getting to know me. I eventually ended up having a great relationship with that classmate, but everything would have been so much better if he had taken some time to get to know me and my capabilities.

First impressions mean a lot, especially in university. You can meet people from all around the world and

from different paths in life, but it all depends how you approach them. Instead of making assumptions, without even talking to them, we should approach new people with questions related to things they like and perhaps things could be better for both parties.

Whenever trying to start a conversation, first look at what the other person has with them; perhaps the newest release of a best-selling author that you know about, or the Nintendo Switch sticking out of their backpack. Of course, you don’t have to be that specific, but, diving

deeper instead of the generic, “hey, how about that weather, huh?” creates a positive impact as well as sparks an immediate connection with the other person.

At the end of the day, we are here to be happy and connect with others. It doesn’t matter where they are from, what matters is the connection that you can have with them.

COLUMNS

THE UNBEATEN PATH

Whitewater Wisdom

MATT SHIPLEY (HE/HIM) Columnist

You open your eyes slowly, dew frosting your eyelashes. You shake the sand off of your hands, then use them to rub the sleep out of your eyes. The river whispers against the beach, shushing an unseen chorus of songbirds. Your senses begin to wander. You catch the faint scent of pancakes, cooking on an open flame in the middle of a collapsible aluminum kitchen. Mountains split the sky in all directions, towering steeply above the river canyon like huge stone guardians. Far above you, the sky glistens a rose-tinted gold, the eastern peaks’ shadows dappling the western mountains with little kisses of early-morning sunlight. There’s still so much to see, but you drop your gaze and wrap your arms around your own chest. It’s freezing.

Heraclitus once said “a man never steps in the same river twice, for it is not the same river, and he is not the same man.” I agree. Idaho’s Salmon River is a magical place, one that entrances me every time I return. In my life, I’ve spent a total of nearly two months deep within that canyon, hiking, kayaking and rafting with my friends. As soon as you set off from the put-in, you’re on your own—you would have to hike at least fifty miles from any point on the river to find yourself in cell service. The whitewater is tricky, but not dangerous, the hikes are nothing short of epic, and the beaches are pristine. You can spend up to six nights floating the 92-mile stretch of whitewater, and every night is spent on spacious, natural beaches that look like the hand of Mother Nature crafted them perfectly to be camped on.

Back to you: the sun has finally overtaken the beach. You stuff your sleeping equipment in a sturdy rubber dry bag, hearing shouts and laughter from the shore where the majority of the crew is busy loading the rafts. You seal the bag and drag it over to Steve’s Red Rocket, by far the fastest raft in your flotilla, and he clips it into a complicated series

of straps that you can’t begin to understand. At least on this boat, you can pass it off as rocket science. The other boats— Randy’s, Matt’s, Mark’s and April’s, along with a colourful gaggle of kayaks, are already setting off. Hurriedly, you leap into Mark’s eighteen-foot gear raft, trying not to get your feet wet in the process and shivering violently when you fail. It’s still cold out, but not for much longer.

Throughout the day, you drop into numerous rapids, some more fear-inspiring than others. While at first you shy away from the spray, within an hour the temperature has risen nearly thirty degrees and you can’t keep yourself out of the water. You visit a hot spring, its pool carefully balanced atop a poison-ivy-infested scree slope. The shade is welcome, but not as much as the hot water. Even though it’s at least thirty-five degrees out, the silty minerals in the sulfur-rich water have a way of soothing even the most stubborn skin. When you leap hungrily into the river after your soak, you feel like you’re experiencing the cold water with a whole new array of senses.

It’s not the whitewater that draws me back to Idaho’s Salmon River every year. It’s that subliminal, mystical delight that stems from being as far away from normalcy as I can be. My phone becomes a distant memory by the end of the trip. The closest thing to a shower is the river itself, in which you’re not allowed to dump soap for obvious reasons. Video games become campfire games. Learning is suddenly fun—learning to read the water, to operate a raft, to tie knots. Normal life tends to break down exploratory spirits, forcing us into a life governed by money and rules. To let that go and bring back my childish penchant for adventure, just for a week, is the best thing I have ever done for myself.

Try being a child sometime. You’ll never want to go back.

Being the Queer-Coded Villain

RAIN MARIE (SHE/THEY) Columnist

I’ve always considered myself a very proud and vocal member of the 2SLGBTQQIA+ community. Despite the fact that coming to understand my gender and sexuality has been a constant journey that I still am on today, I feel like I have overcome a lot of internal and external biases towards my identity. But, some biases have dug themselves too deep under my own skin to be able to simply overcome them.

The idea of Queer thoughts, actions, or behaviours being perceived as predatory, specifically the idea of the “Predatory Lesbian” was cemented into my mind at a very young age. Most of my first introductions to Queer characters in media came from queer-coded villains, such as HIM from Powerpuff Girls, Ursula from The Little Mermaid, or Trunchbull from Matilda, and characters whose queer behaviour was framed as predatory such as, Janis’s alleged crush on Regina in Mean Girls, Cynthia Rose’s entire characterization in Pitch Perfect, or Kurt’s feelings for Finn in the first season of Glee In my mind, there were two ways that the world perceived lesbians. Either as predatory or as a category of porn. All these images of what being Queer meant infected my own feelings towards my sexuality and grew into a heavy knot of internalized homophobia. One that I could not pull out of me no matter how hard I tried.

Although I have been very lucky in having a supportive community around me as I grew—and for many of my friends, me coming out didn’t change our relationship at all—the people where my relationship changed unfortunately had a deeper impact. Girls who were very physical people often stopped touching me and as a response, I learned to take a step back as well. I became a lot more physical with my male-identifying friends and was only physical with female friends my brain decided were “safe” friends.

Other than these few safe friends, the idea of touching other women was terrifying. What if it made them uncomfortable? What if they thought I had feelings for them? These kinds of questions dug their heavy claws in the back of my shoulders and had me pulling back from many people.

There’s an unspoken list of rules that developed in my mind to avoid being perceived as predatory. They are as follows: don’t let your touches linger, always keep your eyes on the ground in a changeroom, don’t tease or flirt unless with anyone who has not initiated it, and always keep your compliments casual and friendly.

The overthinking and fear only spiralled and worsened in me as I began to grow older and develop crushes. I started seeing myself as dirty and wrong from having something as simple as casual feelings for a girl.

Not all crushes are mutual, in fact, most are not. Especially, as I was, attending a high school with so few people, experiencing mutual feelings is truly more of a once in a blue moon sort of thing. Logically, in my head, I knew this and I knew that when on the other side of this situation, learning about someone else’s unrequited feelings for me would not change my perspective of them at all. In fact, it generally resulted in my own guilt for not being able to feel the same way about them. Still, though, the fear continued.

In Grade 12, as I entered my first ever Queer relationship, I remembered thinking, “hey, this is it, this is when the fear stops.” And it did lessen—whether that was through a lot of mental retraining, or if it was the knowledge that someone I liked was both not uncomfortable with my feelings towards them and actually returned them is still a mystery to me. But unfortunately, a fear that is built that deep into you doesn’t just slip away like that.

Being able to slip into the routine of showing or initiating affection didn't come naturally to me. The constant fear of doing something wrong or making her uncomfortable still held tight to me and slowed me down.

Leaving high school brought a whole slate of different problems. By this time, I was single again, living in Lethbridge (which had an even smaller Queer community than Calgary had), and incredibly tired of feeling like this. Romance was hard, scary and painful, and sex and casual relationships just seemed a hell of a lot easier. If I could see myself and someone who only existed in the fun and casual party scene of university, I didn’t have to worry about caring about or whether they cared for me. And it worked for a while, but emotions are not made to be controlled and contained like that.

As time goes on, I make connections and develop feelings— sometimes they work out and sometimes they don’t. I met more Queer people, and although no one’s experience is exactly the same, learning the similarities in the things we’ve all experienced is a truly comforting and vindicating experience. The fear still sits there. It’s smaller now and easier to understand. Maybe it will never truly leave. Maybe I’m just meant to grow around it.

Check your sun (the sign everyone knows, identity, ego), moon (emotional), & rising (how you come off to others).

Dates for sun sign:

VIRGO

(Aug. 23 – Sep. 22)

Sometimes retreating into yourself is a call to alchemize your creativity for the future. This is one of those times.

LIBRA

(Sep. 23 – Oct. 22)

Libra, you’re in your home element this month. Justice, renewal, and reflecting on these themes from the previous mercury retrograde in your sign are prevalent. Know that you made the right decision to move on.

SCORPIO

(Oct. 23 – Nov. 21)

Your body is asking you to pause and rest, but you insist on going forward. Why? Take this month as a sabbatical from the business of life to think, reflect, and simply be.

CAPRICORN

(Dec. 22 – Jan. 19)

There is a need to let go of something this month, a desire that your heart has been carrying for a while. Stop and smell the roses, commune with the trees. You may find that the answers come to you easily and effortlessly when you do.

PISCES

(Feb. 19 – Mar. 20)

This month may be heavier for you, you may feel as if your mind is hurting your heart more and more. Although it may feel like it, you are not alone, support is all around you, but only if you let it in.

TAURUS

(Apr. 20 – May 20)

Now is not the time to neglect yourself, in fact, it never is. This month, take a look at how you may be overgiving and burning yourself out.

CANCER

(Jun. 21 – Jul. 22)

Divine opportunities don’t always come in shiny clear packages. Sometimes the blessing is disguised in the loss of an opportunity, don’t forget that rejection is divine protection.

SAGITTARIUS

(Nov. 22 – Dec. 21)

Lovely human, this month is YOUR month! This month is ripe with opportunities for rest, abundance, and self-love, enjoy it and receive!

AQUARIUS

(Jan. 20 – Feb. 18)

If this month feels a little extra slow and tender, that is okay. Let your mind rest and your heart be nourished with creative expression to ease your soul.

ARIES

(Mar. 21 – Apr. 19)

The seeds you planted long ago are still in hibernation, but do not despair, the right moment is coming. Take this time to pause and reflect whether this is what you really want.

GEMINI

(May 21 – Jun. 20)

Dear Gemini, please have some compassion for yourself, healing is not linear, and neither is your journey. The universe has you here for a reason, you’re exactly where you need to be right now in order for divine knowledge to come.

LEO (Jul. 23 – Aug 22)

Everything's coming together for you, Leo! Although life may not be perfect, you have taken the necessary steps to level up your life. Enjoy and receive.