For years, e Link has unremittingly stressed that we have a problem: a monetary predicament that has manifested into an exploitative organizational structure.
Our necessary work in holding the administration and student unions at Concordia accountable depends on extractive work conditions and the burnout of our editors and contributors.
For 43 years, the model practiced by e Link expected our sta to work upwards of 25 hours per week, with little to no compensation.
is resulted in our masthead's population comprising solely of those economically privileged and those willing to wear themselves thin by juggling numerous nancial and academic responsibilities.
In the last volume, we launched the contributor freelance fund and started paying our editors a fairer wage—both are temporary pilot projects.
e compensation enabled editors from diverse backgrounds to join our masthead.
e project acknowledges a masthead position at e Link for what it is: a part-time job, a full-time commitment. Editors and contributors could work and pay their bills. Less sacri ce was required to be a part of the student newspaper. is pilot project continued into Volume 45 and will die without external funding.
e Link will be forced to return to an unethical work model should nothing be done.
a precarious political climate, we've been denied our consequential increase.
In the Fall 2023 CSU by-elections, we lost the referendum; in the winter, we lost again, and in the spring (when we proposed to be added as a fee-levy group in the GSA), our fate seemed to be sealed once more. We are conscious of and appreciate the democratic process of a referendum; it re ects public opinion. Now, our fourth attempt at a feelevy increase is undecided.
In loving memory of the student press
announced on their Instagram and website that they had extended the nomination period to Nov. 8, pushing back the campaign period to start on Nov. 11, instead of Nov. 4. is means that, although e Link was rejected from the ballot during the initial nomination phase, we are now unsure if we would have a chance to get on the ballot at the time of publication.
e Fall 2024 CSU by-election phases were initially announced on Oct. 22, 11 days a er the start of the nomination period on Oct. 11. But on Nov. 4, all phases got pushed back by a week.
CSU’s initial announcement on the by-elections goes against the latest available version of the Policy on Elections and Referenda on the CSU website, point 5.1.1. which states that the chief electoral o cer must issue a notice with the dates of the three election phases a er the September regular council meeting (RCM) for the by-elections, held this year on Sept. 18.
e policy for non-CSU groups to modify an existing fee-levy indicates that they must submit all documents by the last Monday in September. We did. We submitted our application to the CSU on Sept. 8, 2024, and it wasn’t until 51 days later ( ve days before the nomination period closed at the time) that we were informed we had submitted an incorrect document in our package.
Our initial rejection did not come from an o cial channel, and as of the time of publication, e Link has yet to receive a formal ofcial explanation as to why we were initially excluded from the ballot. e Link urges the CSU to allow us to be on the ballot.
If not, its decision would be, at best, an undemocratic practice born out of a lack of transparent communication between the CSU and the student publication. At worst, it would be a deliberate attack on an entity that has the power to hold the student union accountable. is targeted attack on student media needs to be taken for what it is: a gross overreach of power and direct tempering in the election’s democratic process.
moved to special council meetings, as was the case with the approval of the CSU’s budget, which was passed without any media present.
A lack of transparency and communication can only lead us to speculate on the reason for our initial rejection. However, blocking those with the power to hold the union accountable from running in an unprecedented political climate that has caused ri s and in ghting within the CSU itself seems like a probable cause for our initial rejection.
In its Policy on Student Media, the CSU states that it “respects the role of student media in maintaining transparency of its actions to its members,” and that it “believes that Student Media plays an essential role in the University community.”
Another probable cause is the assumption that e Link has enough funding to function. is is the type of thinking that leads to our demise and nurtures a breeding ground for unscrupulous labour. Hear us when we say we need your help. e disaster of Volume 43 is a prime example of the environment that underpaying your sta and contributors perpetuates, with seven editors resigning, in part, due to unsustainable working conditions.
was extended—all masthead members were asked if they would be able to do their job with little to no compensation.
e resounding answer is a decisive no.
e freelance fund is single-handedly keeping e Link a oat by ensuring we never revert back to being an exploitative newspaper where both sta and contributors are mistreated. is is not an aggrandizing statement; this is a cry for help.
To all of our readers, thank you. ank you for your continued support and trust for 45 years. Forty- ve is an incredible anniversary milestone, and we would not be celebrating it without the support of the Concordia and Greater Montreal communities.
Our funding is 23 years out of date. e funding inherited per semester from the undergraduate student body re ects the consumer price index of 2001, with our fee-levy currently at $0.19 per credit, per student—not including those who opt out. Our funding is appropriate for costs relevant two decades ago.
We attempted to run for a fee-levy increase four times: thrice in the Concordia Student Union (CSU) elections and once in the Graduate Students' Association (GSA) elections. We pleaded our case and stressed what was at stake, and in the face of austerity and
We were told to submit the correct documents two hours before a fee-levy council meeting, where the committee discussed who could be on the ballot. While we're grateful that this was brought to our attention, why were we rst hearing about this error two hours before the nomination meeting and not in the near two-month window the committee had to review our application?
Following the end of the initial nomination period on Nov. 1 at 6 p.m., we asked the CSU on multiple occasions to con rm whether or not we were included on the ballot. It was vital we knew how much cavalry to prepare for our campaign should we be on the ballot in the coming few days. ese requests fell on deaf ears. It was only in the mid-a ernoon on Nov. 3, the day before the start of the initial campaigning phase, that we were made aware of our predicament.
Let us be very clear: fear of repercussion has never and will never a ect e Link’s editorial decisions. In fact, our decision to advocate for a spot on the ballot is born out of a desire to protect our editorial identity, and is one of the reasons we are publishing our call to the CSU feelevy committee to hear us out.
Since the start of the academic year, some non-voting CSU members have approached masthead members stating their belief and concern that we fail to cover the CSU positively. We’ve also been told through several channels, and have witnessed ourselves in RCMs, how in ghting between councillors at the CSU has rendered it seemingly unable to function smoothly.
We cannot revert back to this exploitive model where—to quote a previous editorial—each masthead member who resigned departed expressing the sentiment, “I am not paid enough for this.” In this perpetuation of a work culture where only the most privileged could participate, e Link became a white-dominated space where racism, ignorance and insensitivity against BIPOC writers and editors festered.
In light of being devastatingly denied from the ballot—as we learned before the nomination phase
e Link is not dead yet. But without the support of our community, it will cease to be an ethical workplace producing ethical, advocacy-centred content. We once again are extending an olive branch to the CSU and pleading to be allowed to run for fee-levy. Democracy can only thrive in the presence of a free press, something those in power have an incentive to let you forget.
e Link has added a donation box to its website to help keep us alive, with all pro ts going to ensuring our continuity and fairly paying our sta and contributors.
A day later, on Nov. 4, the CSU
Both CSU RCM meetings so far this year have run multiple hours without the completion of the agenda, with the last RCM seeing the chairperson resign following hours of repetitive questioning, leading to the second October RCM never being held. ese agenda items either remained unaddressed or were
Concordia campus security under growing scrutiny
Heightened security measures and allegations of targeted surveillance raise questions about student rights and safety
Safa Hachi
@safahachi
In light of escalating student-led protests and the increasingly assertive actions of Concordia’s Campus Safety and Prevention Services (CSPS), some students, particularly those from marginalized communities, report feeling surveilled and at times mistreated by campus security.
Increased demonstrations
In early 2024, activist groups like Students for Palestine’s Honour and Resistance (SPHR) spearheaded demonstrations demanding that Concordia divest from corporations with ties to Israel.
Members of SPHR and other Palestinian solidarity movements have been vocal in urging Concordia to sever ties with companies linked with the ongoing genocide in Palestine.
Large demonstrations showcased students’ commitment to these causes, and highlighted the CSPS’s intensifying security measures, according to some SPHR members.
Groups like SPHR are not the only ones who have voiced their concerns.
Individual students have also felt targeted by security. A former student union executive, who wished to be granted anonymity due to fear of academic repercussions, provided a rsthand account of feeling closely monitored by campus security, particularly during protests.
“You can see the shi ,” they said, “security has become more aggressive with students connected to pro-Palestinian activism.”
e ex-student union executive shared that they and others have been followed by security on multiple occasions, resulting in a hostile atmosphere.
Following their own negative experiences with CSPS, they began gathering testimonies and created a self-made incident report. e report details experiences where students felt targeted or observed by campus security and police.
Accounts include alleged instances of being followed, restricted from movement or monitored during peaceful activities.
One student reported: “ ey told me to remove [my] mask and followed me into [the] washroom, two or three of them interacted with me directly.”
Testimonies also recount alleged physical encounters during protests. In one instance, a non-Concordia student supporting a walkout for Palestine described being physically detained by security without warning: “Four agents restrained my arms and pressed me against a vending machine until police arrived.”
demanded our IDs, accusing us of not being students and video recording us. ey stopped only when we began recording them.”
Concordia University spokesperson Fiona Downey told e Link that she encourages students who feel targeted by security to le a complaint with the O ce of Rights and Responsibilities.
Increase in security
Since the start of the fall semester, students have told e Link they have noticed an increase in CSPS o cers on campus.
According to Downey, the university has indeed increased the number of CSPS o cers on campus since the start of the semester. President Graham Carr also con rmed this in a statement made in anticipation of the anniversary of the start of the Gaza genocide on Oct. 7, a rming the university’s right to call police onto campus if necessary to maintain safety.
“ e increase in how many people surveil the crowd, both cops and security, creates a police state for the students,” said a member of SPHR who was granted anonymity for safety reasons.
against the university, publicly accusing it of police brutality and racial discrimination during a recent press conference on Nov. 1.
In a press release published on the CSU’s Instagram, the union demanded the immediate removal of police o campus and that CSPS o cers stop following students, conducting citizen arrests and coordinating with the SPVM during demonstrations.
“ e university may think this level of security will deter us, but all it’s doing is mobilizing more students,” the SPHR member said, adding that the visibility of student activism has only strengthened solidarity within the campus community.
According to the SPHR member, this is re ective of an environment where cultural expression is perceived as a threat rather than a right, contributing to what they called a “police state” atmosphere.
According to Downey, students are only followed “when the behaviour observed [by CSPS o cers] violates the Code of Rights and Responsibilities.”
According to Downey, CSPS agents always engage in de-escalation.
“We have always and will continue to favour applying the Code of Rights and Responsibilities whenever appropriate,” she said.
e Sept. 25 student walkout for Palestine saw another instance of CSPS being deployed in full force. Four CSPS agents grabbed and detained a 20-year-old Concordia student in Guy-Concordia metro station as he was moving toward street level for allegedly assaulting an o cer. e student was forcibly pushed against an STM ticketing machine as agents twisted his arm to prevent his escape.
Soon a er, police o cers pulled to the ground one 20-year-old and one 22-year-old from the crowd at the station. e police then proceeded to kneel on the two women's backs, while one woman yelled that she couldn’t breathe and both women saying that they weren’t resisting arrest.
“In recent rallies, security [has been] physically interacting—sometimes pushing and shoving students. ey are becoming more aggressive and physical, and most times, it is not necessary,” the SPHR member said. “We’ve seen the videos, you can see that it is excessive.”
Another student described how handing out yers for an upcoming rally allegedly escalated when security intervened: “Four security guards
“It becomes very controlled—you feel surveilled; they know where you are going, where you are coming from, I think it is a breach of privacy,” they added. “It is harassment; you are being harassed by your own university.”
is wasn’t the last instance of student arrests on campus, as two students were arrested at a “Cops o Campus” demonstration on Oct. 31.
is increase in complaints directed at CSPS comes despite the university’s recent e orts to foster a more inclusive atmosphere. In early 2024, Concordia renamed its security services as part of a larger push to build positive relationships between security o cers and students.
However, many student accounts contradict this statement. Ex-SPHR member Zeyad Abisaab, who le the organization in May, has allegedly been followed by security, even on days when he wasn’t participating in any political activities. He also alleged that his wearing a ke yeh—a scarf that has become synonymous with Palestinian resistance—around campus is one of the reasons for CSPS’s pro ling.
E ects on the student body
To Abisaab, this points to the broader implications of these practices.“ e [ke yeh] has become a political symbol,” Abisaab said. “If you look like you would be associated with a certain group, you are followed and targeted.”
Even students who do not partake in activism like Marten Taw k are feeling the e ects of the heightened security measures on campus. Taw k claimed that they are impacting his sense of safety as well as his ability to participate in academic life.
He further explained that he believes these tactics are designed to suppress activism.
“I sometimes miss class because I just don’t feel safe,” Taw k said. “Not every professor understands, but I do my best to avoid security, even though I know I am not doing anything wrong.”
e former student union executive questioned why the university hasn’t openly shared its security budget or the role of di erent security agents on campus if they truly wish to improve their relationship with students.
e impact of racial pro ling adds another layer of distress for Taw k.
“It’s a long-standing repression strategy to pinpoint and make examples out of individuals to deter the larger group from uniting and rising,” Abisaab said. “ e university de ects attention from broader issues by focusing on speci c students.”
According to Downey, trained agents wear a black protective vest. O cers who wear the bright yellow vests do so either for visibility, or because they are nontrained agents who are on a special assignment or in training.
e Concordia Student Union (CSU) has taken an assertive stance
Concordia’s Code of Rights and Responsibilities outlines behaviours like threatening conduct or unauthorized access as reasons for intervention, with point 145 of the code mandating that anyone faced “with an urgent situation involving threatening or violent conduct” must immediately inform CSPS.
“I wanted to wear a ke yeh, but even without it, I already feel targeted,” Taw k said. “I have had security not let me leave the hall building when there are protests despite not being a part of them. I just wanted to go home, and he would not let me."
According to SPHR, despite CSPS’s increased security presence and measures, student activism at Concordia remains steadfast.
Concordia’s austerity measures threaten to take another victim
Students are mobilizing to save the CUCCR amid risks of permanent closure
Geneviève Sylvestre
TheStudents for the Centre for Creative Reuse (SFCUCCR), a new student coalition, has formed at Concordia with the goal of saving the Concordia University Centre for Creative Reuse (CUCCR) from its permanent closure.
e CUCCR is a used material depot that connects students with free materials collected from Concordia’s various waste streams. e depot is fruitful with various materials like wood, fabric, ribbon, binders, kitchen supplies and more that students can use to work on various projects.
SFCUCCR created an appeal form for students to sign “to prove the CUCCR’s importance to the members of Concordia’s community.” According to the appeal, the university has yet to renew the centre’s contract and, if it is not signed by December, the CUCCR will have to close its doors in April.
SFCUCCR member Jonah Doniewski said that the coalition wants to show the university that students believe the CUCCR is worth keeping alive.
“We're not trying to attack the university. We understand it comes
up in a land ll, as it usually comes from departments with limited storage space.
For Doniewski, volunteering at the CUCCR helped make him more aware of the abundance of waste at the university and globally.
from a place of really tight money constraints and funding constraints,” Doniewski said, “but ultimately [Concordia not signing the renewal contract yet] is a choice.”
On top of being a coalition member, Doniewski is also a volunteer at the CUCCR. He said that students are o en ba ed that all of the materials inside the depot are free.
“We live in a world [with] a lot of scarcity and competition, so free stu doesn't really make any sense to a lot of people,” said Doniewski.
A er collecting their supplies, students use the check-out system to weigh their items and assess their value, allowing the CUCCR to keep track of its impact live on the Concordia website.
“It's not like we're getting new stu ,” Doniewski said. “We're just nding the home for the old stu .”
So far this year, the CUCCR has already diverted 6334.42 kg of waste and saved students $43,394.10. Over the 2023-2024 school year, the centre saved students over $100,000.
Arts and Science Federation of Associations (ASFA) nance coordinator Ryan Assaker has been
very active in the movement to save the CUCCR, in part due to ASFA contributing a yearly fee-levy to the centre.
“ e CUCCR has been so vital in helping out the student community,” Assaker said, “and so, for ASFA, we can't just see an organization such as the CUCCR disappear in front of our eyes.”
Reuse programming and sustainability specialist Anna Timm-Bottos is the founder of the CUCCR and the only employee.
According to her, without the CUCCR, most of the waste that the centre currently diverts would end
“Interacting with that abundance has completely changed the way that I sort of see the world and see the community,” he said, explaining that the sense of joy these items bring people gives him a sense of hope.
Assaker added that while he understands that Concordia needs to implement di erent nancial measures, he takes issue with the administration making these decisions unilaterally.
“We've had it happen with the shuttle bus, and now it's happening with the CUCCR and it's concerning [not only] as a student leader, but also
as a student,” Assaker said. “You're making these decisions, you're not consulting the student base and then you're just basically pulling the rug [from] under our feet.”
For Timm-Bottos, the support has been overwhelming.
“It really shows how much of a community project this is,” she said. “I may have been a leader in starting it, but it's really the community that is around us, the students, that make the project what it is.”
Concordia University spokesperson Vannina Maestracci explained that no decision has been made about the future of the CUCCR and that the university values the CUCCR’s service to the community.
Looking forward, the SFCUCCR is looking to host an art fair with work made using material from the depot to fundraise and raise awareness for the CUCCR.
New mutual aid collective serving free meals in NDG
Food Not Bombs NDG creates a space where like-minded people can build community
Macintyre Strudensky @gen.sylvestre
Food Not Bombs NDG is a humanitarian organization devoted to serving free meals every Saturday in the Notre-Dame-de-Grâce (NDG) neighbourhood. e organization rst began its operations last July and has since been active within the community, serving vegetarian meals to roughly 40-50 people weekly.
e collective receives their ingredients primarily from local donations consisting of surplus produce. roughout the summer, one of their suppliers was Concordia University’s People’s Potato.
“ e food is usually vegan, sometimes there will be yogurt on the side. We have some volunteers who do baking, which is fun,” said Hannah Stratford-Kurus, a key organizer of the Food Not Bombs NDG collective. “People are always welcome to bring food too, like you can show up with a plate of brownies and give them out and everyone would nd that really cool.”
e collective was founded on the principle that poverty is a policy issue, and that currently available resources can be used to e ectively combat food insecurity. Ultimately, the collective
aims to a rm that resources shouldn’t be spent on fueling wars but instead on feeding those in need.
“ ere are enough resources to go around, there’s so much food waste that can serve to feed people,” said Mackenzie, another organizer of the collective, who has been granted full name anonymity due to the nature of their occupation.
“Just by making meals out of surplus food, we’re proving that there are resources to feed people. It’s more of an issue of political will.”
CultivAction is a solidarity cooperative of urban farmers who
also supply ingredients to Food Not Bombs NDG.
“Food is being used as a tool in the genocide in Gaza, and there’s been a lot of solidarity between farmers around the world about this,” said CultivAction member Caleb Woolcott.
“Olive groves are being destroyed alongside people’s farms in Palestine. e National Farmers Union, [the] Palestinian Union of Agricultural Work [Committees] and others have expressed their solidarity,” Woolcott said. “It’s really beautiful to see Food Not Bombs
NDG as a political organizing tool to use food in a good way.”
According to Mackenzie, the combination of its anti-war message, community-oriented initiative and foundation of shared values allowed for an interactive space where like-minded people could interact and share meals.
Mackenzie further explained that the collective is one of the rst of its kind in the area.
“ ere wasn’t really anything like this in NDG [before],” Mackenzie said. “ ere’s [an] NDG food depot that serves meals during the week, but there’s not really any kind of food resources during the weekend.”
ey added that Food Not Bombs NDG has a secondary purpose as well.
“We wanted to meet other ac-
QUICKIES
Concordia announces MIGS closure
Concordia announced on its website that it will cease the operations of the Montreal Institute for Genocide and Human Rights Studies (MIGS) because of “budgetary constraints.” The univer-
tivists in NDG, and build up the neighbourhood and community, not just between activists but everyone in need,” Mackenzie said.
Food Not Bombs NDG serves as a space where those who wish to adhere to COVID-19 precautionary measures can safely meet. Volunteers, committed to adhering to COVID-19 preventative measures, have created a space where people can still use masks and respect the safety of others at risk.
With winter right around the corner, the amount of local produce received through donations will diminish, according to Stratford-Kurus and Mackenzie. In this transitionary period, the collective is seeking new donations from local grocery stores as well as help from volunteers.
sity highlighted some of MIGS’s most influential work, including the Will to Intervene project that advanced policies to prevent mass atrocities, and the Digital Mass Atrocity Prevention Lab that sought to fight online hate and harassment.
Montreal ratifies new nightlife policy
A new City of Montreal policy
will look to foster the city’s nightlife by allowing venues to extend their opening hours. Eventually, the policy also aims to enact changes in noise policies to reduce the impact of noise complaints on venues. The policy, first announced in January, was ratified on Oct. 30 and is set to come into e ect on May 1, 2025. The city would invest $5.5 million over three years to fund im-
plementing policy actions, new projects and grants for small venues.
Quebec to mandate doctors to begin practices within public system
Quebec Health Minister Christian Dubé announced his plan to table a bill on the topic of the province’s healthcare system that will be debated next spring,
according to CityNews. The bill would require all new doctors trained in Quebec to work within the province’s public healthcare system for the first few years of their practice. This bill aims to provide a solution to Quebec’s ongoing healthcare crisis, in large part caused by the shifting of doctors from the public to the private sector.
Gaps in preferred name policy leave students frustrated
Concordia’s policy helps gender-diverse students use their chosen name, but technical errors give them the runaround
Manoj Subramaniam
Technicalissues and gaps in Concordia’s preferred name systems have le many trans students to deal with bureaucratic delays.
Noah Roy-Collard, a trans student in the third year of their undergraduate program, was frustrated a er being rejected for a reduced-fare Opus card because Concordia erroneously printed the wrong name on their attestation letter.
According to Concordia’s preferred name policy, a student’s legal name should appear on their letter of attestation and other o cial university documents. However, that is not always the case.
“ e letter of attestation [had] my chosen name and my o cial IDs show my birth name, so they don't match,” Roy-Collard said, “and [Société de transport de Montréal (STM) o cials] think that I'm trying to be someone else.”
Concordia’s preferred name policy has been in place since 2012 and was created to allow students to
use a rst name that di ers from their legal name for day-to-day use in the university.
“[ e policy helps] to avoid having to talk to each professor and it really simpli es things at school,” said Roy-Collard.
A er a student les a request with the university, their preferred names will be used in places like Moodle, class lists and student ID cards.
When Roy-Collard attempted to apply for the Opus card using the online application portal integrated with Concordia’s system, it prompted them to apply for a card in person even if they had already tried it and been declined.
“Concordia will provide the preferred name when we have it on le to the STM,” said Concordia University spokesperson Fiona Downey. “ is was a request of the STM and is in line with the other Montreal institutions who leverage an integration with the STM reduced rate system.”
However, Roy-Collard would
prefer to have their Opus card issued with their legal name in case they are stopped for inspection.
“I'd prefer just having my birth name because I don't want to run into any issues if they check tickets when [I] get out of the metro and they'd ask for my ID,” they said.
In the meantime, students like Roy-Collard are le to deal with a time-consuming process going back and forth between the STM and Concordia’s o ces year a er year. Roy-Collard nally obtained their Opus card when they visited the Birks Student Service Centre in person to change their name on their attestation letter.
“[ e STM’s] way of making it an option on their website but not informing their employees is de nitely something I would consider transphobic, because it feels like it's hard on purpose for people,” Roy-Collard said.
They added that they had originally felt angry about the situation, but were
now mostly confused about the contradicting information they’ve received from the university and the STM.
According to Samantha Blake, the operations coordinator for the Centre for Gender Advocacy, the process for someone to change their name legally in Quebec can take a long time. e centre can assist students in preparing the documents necessary for a legal name change and submitting the application to the Directeur de l’état civil.
“If there's no issues with the documents, it could take six months to a year,” Blake said. “In the best-case scenario.”
Beyond logistical concerns, there are other reasons why it can be a problem for some students if their chosen name appears on their o cial documents, such as safety concerns.
“Having your birth name still on your o cial documents is im-
portant because if you're not taking hormones yet, or if you haven't had operations and you get stopped and if your chosen name is on your IDs, then you could get in trouble because you don't pass,” Roy-Collard said. “It could put you in danger.”
“We are aware of an issue with the system and are working on it,” Downey said. She did not provide additional details or a timeline.
Navigating the reality of ADHD
Highlighting systemic barriers to diagnosis and treatment
Racha Rais and Claudia Beaudoin
@rascha___ @claudiaclx
At the age of 16, Daniel Gonzalez received a diagnosis of attention de cit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), a process made easier thanks to his mother’s discovery that he could still see a pediatrician before turning 18.
Now, at age 22, he’s deeply grateful for that timing, knowing how challenging it can be to secure a diagnosis as an adult. He says that, while everyone’s experience is di erent, he always sensed something was o for him.
“If my mom never got me the diagnosis, I’d be in a way worse place than I’d be right now, but I also feel like [it] would have probably taken until I was, like, 30 to do that kind of thing because it’s a nightmare, especially how the healthcare system is right now,” Gonzalez says. “I could not imagine myself bothering to go through all of that.”
While ADHD is increasingly being recognized, Canada currently lacks formal data on the prevalence of ADHD in adults. Research from IQVIA, a Canadian health data rm, indicates a rise in ADHD medication prescriptions—15 per cent more people sought treatment from 2021 to 2022 alone. eir research also shows that Quebec leads the country in psychostimulant prescriptions.
James-Olivier Jarry, 21, looks back on his childhood and acknowledges that his ADHD diagnosis explains a lot—especially when it comes to the hurdles he faced in the classroom. Back then, it wasn’t so much about feeling di erent; it was about learning to navigate a mind that was always distracted.
“You’ve got to work two times harder to get the job done,” Jarry says. He explains that his parents had their suspicions early on, but remarks that even a decade ago, ADHD was less understood, and few people were tested for it.
e evolving understanding of ADHD re ects broader changes in medical recognition. e National Institute for Health and Care Excellence only o cially acknowledged ADHD in adults 16 years ago. In 1994, ADHD was divided into three subtypes: inattentive, hyperactive/ impulsive and combined. In 2013, instead of strict subtypes, ADHD was recognized as something that can change over time in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.
Gonzalez recalls that information on ADHD diagnoses wasn’t easily accessible, and his mother only
learned about it “through a friend of a friend.” He adds, “Schools could denitely be more integrated with helping undiagnosed kids. I had to struggle my entire high school life being completely undiagnosed.”
His experience highlights a signi cant gap in support for students with ADHD, an issue that healthcare professionals echo. In 2019, several doctors in Quebec signed an open letter to other medical practitioners,
challenging. In Canada, public services are o en short-sta ed, leading to longer wait times for assessments. Meanwhile, private evaluations can cost $2,000 on average. is nancial barrier can prevent many individuals from obtaining the necessary support.
Gonzalez also re ects on the ongoing challenges he faces, even with a formal ADHD diagnosis.
“I made this analogy a couple days ago, but it’s like if a deaf person had to
teachers, parents and the government addressing the rise in ADHD medication prescriptions, urging the public to consider the issue beyond the higher rates alone. Prescriptions don’t necessarily equate to diagnoses and it’s unclear how many people receiving ADHD medications are formally diagnosed.
A 2024 survey commissioned by the Ohio State University Wexner Medical Center found that 25 per cent of adults in the U.S. believe they have undiagnosed ADHD. However, navigating the diagnosis process is
call somebody to get deaf accommodations,” he says. “ ese systems are designed by people who are neurotypical, so it just seems 10 times more di cult.”
To change his medication, Gonzalez says he needs to navigate a lengthy process, o en waiting weeks to reach his doctor a er realizing his current prescription isn’t working. He says that this process can be especially frustrating since these medications are meant to be taken daily.
“ ey’re not psychiatrists; they can only prescribe. So as someone with
ADHD, you have to push against your own disability to gure out what might work best for you,” Gonzalez adds.
In academic settings, obtaining accommodations for ADHD can be particularly challenging. Individuals must rst provide proof of their diagnosis. Once this is achieved, Gonzalez highlights that he had to independently seek out the resources available to him.
Concordia University provides workshops for students with learning disabilities, giving them access to resources o ered by the Access Centre for Students with Disabilities.
Registered students with proof of their diagnoses can attend workshops that help them manage their time during studies and exams, develop note-taking strategies in class, and learn how to control their anxiety and focus better. However, these resources can come with limitations. Gonzalez notes that while he was accommodated based on
the support he received in previous school settings, such resources lack transparency on what they o er.
“It’s kind of like a blind game of chess because you have to poke and see, ‘What’s the most accommodation I can get?’” he says.
Some teachers take the initiative to address these challenges themselves. Hisako Noguchi, a professor in the Concordia linguistics department, says that the university provides expert-led workshops for students and faculty.
“I believe I have a better understanding of the challenges students are facing,” Noguchi says, explaining that she applies certain techniques she learned to adapt her teaching methods.
For instance, she incorporates different colours and uses a standard serif font to enhance readability. She also selects images to illustrate concepts, recognizing that visual elements can aid understanding.
However, Gonzalez points out that ADHD is still widely misunderstood, with the term itself feeling like “a blanket statement,” that doesn’t fully capture the diverse ways it a ects people.
“It’s not hyperactivity, it’s dysfunction. It’s getting overwhelmed easily, it’s getting really frustrated very quickly and very easily,” he says. “Emotional dysregulation is a very common thing for people with ADHD.”
Clinical psychologist Dr. omas E. Brown explains in his educational videos on the Understood YouTube channel that ADHD is not simply a behavioural issue. Brown explains that the disorder involves the brain’s executive functions, which manage focus and self-regulation. In people with ADHD, the default mode network— the brain’s active network when the mind is at rest—o en becomes overactive, interfering when concentration is needed.
To counteract that, stimulants are the most commonly prescribed medications for treating ADHD, typically taken daily. However, non-stimulant options are available for those with adverse e ects, though the choice depends heavily on individual health needs.
Gonzalez says treatment has been transformative for him, and he urges others to seek help if they suspect they might have ADHD.
“I seriously did not realize how much ADHD was hindering me in my own functionality,” Gonzalez says. “You might not realize how much it a ects you; I can’t understate how huge it is.”
Designs from discards
MODE Collective is bringing sustainable fashion to campus
Sarah Housley and Jocelyn
In a small, cosy space tucked within Concordia University’s Grey Nuns Residence, old T-shirts, thri ed bed sheets and forgotten fabrics nd new life.
Here, members of Concordia’s MODE Collective are reshaping how fashion looks and feels on campus.
Part sustainability initiative, part creative hub, MODE o ers students a hands-on experience with upcycling, connecting with like-minded people and rede ning their style.
Co-founders Sara Khider and Ethan Muirhead started MODE in 2023 after an unsuccessful search for a fashion-focused club on campus. e club aims to promote sustainability and ethical consumption by encouraging self-expression through environmentally friendly and economically sustainable fashion.
“[It’s about] taking something old and making it new, making it di erent, making it better, continuing the lifespan of something,” said Lucy Alexander, the club’s booking o cer.
e collective hosts upcycling workshops at Concordia University Centre for Creative Reuse (CUCCR) in Grey Nuns to promote their sustainability goals. Beginners are taught how to use di erent tools and are guided through the upcycling process, while non-beginners can use the space, tools and materials for their own projects, sharing personal tips and tricks with others.
MODE’s workshops typically draw ve to 10 attendees.
“What’s great is that it’s a very small space, so we’re really able to have one-on-one experiences with the people who come,” Khider said.
Gardner
CUCCR is donation-based, providing Concordia students access to donated clothes, fabrics and raw materials, as well as craing tools like sewing machines, button makers and book binding machines. is partnership has provided MODE with the tools and materials needed for upcycling, eliminating all costs and resources members would have had to contribute otherwise.
“ ey provide a lot. I've seen brooms, I’ve seen lamps, I’ve seen cups,” Khider said. “[It’s] kind of like a thri store.”
In the wake of Concordia’s tuition hikes, CUCCR’s future is uncertain. e university has yet to renew the centre’s funding for 2025, which could a ect MODE’s operations.
“ e club will still be functioning,” Khider said. “We’ll still be able to do events for sure.”
Khider and the team are considering alternatives, like clothing swaps and donation events, if CUCCR closes, as building a sense of community is central to MODE’s mission.
“ e community aspect is really important to us because I started this club to make friends in the beginning,” Khider said. “We really wanna just meet people.”
Alexander said she also shares the sentiment, initially joining to meet others and have fun.
MODE has a series of events lined up, including a “Stitch and Sip” event with the Fine Arts Student Alliance at Reggies Bar on Wednesday, Nov. 27. At Stitch and Sip, students can bring their own crochet and knitting projects, or @jocelyn.lhg
use provided kits to get started on small projects and learn the ins and outs of crochet. e event is designed as a stress reliever during the busy exam season, where participants can grab a drink and chat with others.
“Our club is very community-based. We just want to have this space for people to talk about fashion in any way, shape or form, and be able to express themselves,” Khider said. “I hope that our impact is really [...] to sensibilize people to how easy it is to just make stu on your own.”
MODE’s rst workshop helped participants learn to sew by making a tote bag. One participant upcycled an old T-shirt to make their tote. Upcycling with unexpected material is a common theme in sustainable fashion. Members have upcycled pants into skirts, while others have thri ed old bed sheets and blankets to use as fabric.
Alexander recognizes working with upcycled materials can be challenging, as nding the exact materials for the design someone envisions can be di cult. However, she noted it o en leads to unique and creative results: a stylish accident.
“In terms of the society we live in, where everything is constantly pushed at us, and consumerism, it's nice to kind of wipe that back and make your own stu that you care about, and not be caught in that cycle,” said Maria Saldana, MODE’s social media coordinator.
For Alexander, asking yourself speci c questions can help change the way you consume.
“What are you doing with that shirt that you never wear?” Alex-
ander asked. “Are you donating it? rowing it out?”
e collective’s sustainability goals go beyond fashion. For events hosted outside of Concordia, MODE considers their ecological footprint. In February, MODE threw a launch party at Bar La Shop, accompanied by DJ sets and drag performances. In preparation, members planned in terms of waste, considering factors like printing posters or how to dispose of used beer cans in an environmentally conscious way.
MODE hopes to continue promoting bre arts in their future initiatives. Plans are underway for a free-roam exhibition with a runway at the end of the year. is event will be open to members and ne
arts students, providing a platform for showcasing wearable and static bre artworks.
“I know that bre arts students have a lot more static pieces that are not meant to be worn, [and] some have pieces that are meant to be worn,” Khider said. “It would be more like an interdisciplinary space where we would have all those different fabrics showcased.”
At its core, MODE is a space for anyone and everyone, whether active in the sustainable fashion community or simply interested in learning more about fashion sustainability.
“Do your own thing and try to nd your own spaces in the community,” Saldana said.
Witches, out of the shadows
Pointe-à-Callière highlights the history and evolution of the witch
Julia Cieri
Once hunted and feared, the witch steps into the light at Pointe-àCallière’s Witches: Out of the Shadows.
Open until Apr. 6, 2025, the exhibition is a retrospect of the unknown
history of witches, tracing its dark roots in medieval persecution to its modern feminist signi cance.
“We chose this subject because, although it has been very much present
Movie Monster
Zevida Germain
in news and popular culture, there has never been a historic exhibition explaining where the gure of the witch comes from,” said Anne Élisabeth ibault, Pointe-à-Callière’s general manager.
e museum gathered over 400 artifacts from more than 30 lenders across Europe and North America, showcasing how women became scapegoats for society’s ills.
“It’s a big part of our history,” said Christine Dufresne, the museum’s director of exhibitions and multimedia technologies. “Hundreds of thousands of women were accused, condemned and executed for sorcery.”
e roots of this persecution trace back to 15th-century Europe, a time marked by its ghastliness, famine, war and social upheaval. e Inquisition, a religious court in all of Christian Europe, seized on this climate of fear to target “heretical” or pagan practices.
“ ey were in search of a scapegoat,” said Élisabeth Côté, project manager for exhibitions and multimedia technologies at the museum. “Women [became] perfect targets, because, looking back at religious his-
Naturally—If I did not grow hair on my chest, I would eat boys. boys the boys around you.
You. you.. .. pretty pink nails… bright red lipstick
Myoglobin dripping down my medium rare steak I despise so I would only eat
Torsos and limbs
Clutching on to each rib cage and tearing until I get
Explosion of blood and ripping of tendons
Rubbery intestines slurped like spaghetti noodles
Legs like chicken wings and I would not even mind the veins
You know they usually make me vomit
yet
I think boys’ lungs could be chewed like bubblegum
Peeled off, skin layers like fruit roll ups
Separating flesh from membrane so intimate
Naturally–eating is about desire
So after I am done, I am so fucking hungry I give
My last little bit of humanity to dig through your garbage
The animal I am, tearing apart pads and tampons
Fresh cotton snow white on your bathroom floor
As I suck out blood and the only blood
I want you I want youYOUyou I want you so close so
Quells blood dripping off the chin razor sharp teeth feminine hunger ʻtil
I can get my starving, manicured nails into my next meal
But between my breasts, hair grows
tory, who is it that committed the rst sin and ate the apple? A woman.”
Women were seen as morally weak and inferior, believed to be more susceptible to the devil's in uence and easily drawn into practicing evil.
Accusations turned deadly in 1486 with the publication of Dominican friar Heinrich Kramer’s Malleus Male carum, a deeply misogynistic inquisition manual that fuelled witch hunts.
“It’s a manual on how to nd these dangerous women, accuse them, push them to denounce other witches and, nally, execute them,” Côté said.
“ is book is one of the most important objects we have,” ibault added. “It shows how it was an extremely organized system.”
By the mid-16th century, this system led to widespread panic and false accusations. In less than a century, it is estimated that around 100,000 people in Europe, primarily women, were accused. Reasons for condemnation became utterly ridiculous and insigni cant. For instance, knowledge of traditional medicines and the use of herbs were highly suspect—skills that most
women of the time possessed.
“ ey succeeded in deviating a woman's wisdom towards evil purposes and rendering her responsible for all of society’s ills,” ibault said.
Otherwise, just being elderly, single, widowed or marginalized in any way su ced to lead to accusations.
e Age of Enlightenment brought skepticism. As witch trials died down in the late 18th century, the gure of the witch re-emerged in pop culture.
Today, the witch is seen as a symbol of resistance, intuition and autonomy. is can be seen in TV shows like Hocus Pocus, Bewitched and Sabrina the Teenage Witch. e witch is also a gure in feminist movements like the Women’s International Terrorist Conspiracy from Hell (W.I.T.C.H.), a collective of feminist groups in New York City.
“As soon as we stopped putting [witches] to death, divination begins again. Women retake their power and restart practices of healing and midwifery,” ibault said. “ e gure of the witch was truly reappropriated by women as a positive entity.”
WOMAN ON PYRE BY KIKI SMITH, SCULPTURE, 2001. PHOTO JULIA CIERI
e cultural mosaic of jazz A microscopic view of the evolving jazz scene of Montreal
Gabriella Meyer @gabbymeyer1
Every Wednesday evening on
Montreal’s St. Denis St., local music venue Turbo Haüs is completely transformed.
Outside, a large congregation of young people are smoking, laughing and chatting. As you step inside, a uorescent-lit space greets you, and it's a total immersion of the senses. Tonight is Growve Jam Night.
Musicians le on and o the stage. You look up and the person you’d just shared a quick laugh with outside is suddenly on stage, ripping a saxophone solo.
“ is is a jam!” a voice exclaims through the speakers.
e musicians pull stank faces as they lock into a groove—something they’ve collaboratively been working toward, nodding and gesturing, communicating in an unspoken language.
“ ere's like a vocabulary; there's a language to jazz and improvisation, and the solos are de nitely connected musically to that vocabulary,” explains Joshua Rager, pianist, music professor and chair of Concordia’s jazz studies program.
At the heart of Montreal's local music scene today is “the jam,” where musicians are invited to bring their instruments to venues and join the musical conversation.
Historically rooted in Montreal’s rich jazz culture, jams are inherently democratic, o ering live, improvisational performances. ey provide a unique opportunity for those interested in music to try something new, jump on stage and actively participate.
“ e parallel that I sort of tell people is that playing music is a
little bit like hanging out with your friends at a party,” Rager says, explaining how everybody contributes their own unique ideas and style.
It's this exchange, he says, that makes it such an exciting experience for the audience.
In the local scene, Growve was the rst place where guitar player Mim Al began learning the art of improvisation—how to jam.
“Going into the jam world was completely surreal, ‘cause you're kind of just having a conversation amongst all these other instrumentalists,” Mim Al says. “When you're jamming, you're trying to talk some deep shit, you know, like, ‘Yeah, man, what is life?’”
Baron Tymas—a jazz guitarist, jazz professor and coordinator of the jazz studies program at Concordia—explains that the structure of jam sessions is exible and open to interpretation, o ering room for creative freedom rather than following rigid rules.
“You come up with ideas as a group that probably no one would have thought of on their own,” Tymas says.
ere is something deeply interactive about watching improvisation unfold—it pulls the audience into the experience, owing and grooving along with the musicians. It o ers a glimpse into how earlier generations might have felt at their favourite jazz supper clubs.
e jazz scene once thrived with over 100 clubs in Montreal in the 1940s and ‘50s. However, live music has been in decline for the past 20 years, according to Rager. During its heyday, live performances were
a primary source of entertainment, with countless supper clubs and dance venues at the centre of the nightlife scene.
Now, Rager says, “all of that kind of social structure around music has declined,” leaving only two remaining jazz clubs in the city: Diese Onze and Upstairs Jazz Bar & Grill.
Despite this shi , Montreal’s passion for jazz endures. Since its inception in 1980, Montreal’s International Jazz Festival has showcased a mix of renowned names, jazz legends and local artists for two music-packed weekends each year. As the festival’s tagline—“Jazz, the Montreal Way!”—suggests, the city has its own take on the genre.
“Montreal has a really strong respect for the cultures and the arts,” says Shayne Assouline, known also by his stage name, Shayne on Drums. Assouline played the festival for his third consecutive year this summer, an opportunity he says is a lifetime goal for many musicians from Montreal like himself.
Making ends meet as a jazz musician in the city may not be as feasible as it once was. Assouline is among the few who are able to still make a living from performing music. ough he says it's not really functional to make a living o just playing jazz these days, more possibility is available to those willing to expand beyond the genre into what he calls “jazz-adjacent genres,” like funk and hip hop.
“ e sound of jazz in Quebec, you know it's kind of modern, it's a much freer approach to playing jazz and improvising. It's less traditional,” Rager says. According to him,
modern Quebec jazz has a “much younger sound,” due in part to the high concentration of students from jazz programs at Concordia, McGill University and Université de Montréal.
Assouline is a former student of Rager. He now runs Growve, one of Canada’s most participated in weekly jam sessions, that draws from hip hop in uences while embracing its origins.
“Sometimes we play popular songs [...] and then we improvise on that popular music and then we come back to the form of the song,” Assouline says. “It's entirely just about expression over these existing ideas.”
ough the roots of jazz run deep in Montreal, with renowned jazz pianists Oscar Peterson and Oliver Jones hailing from the city, the genre’s beginnings are rooted in the early Black culture of New Orleans, Louisiana, USA.
Jazz found its o cial expression by the 1800s, as enslaved people in New Orleans sought ways to preserve their African traditions in a marketplace that became known as Congo Square, Rager explains.
e American Civil War then led to
what Rager describes as “this huge amalgamation of cultures and music all in New Orleans.”
e origins of jazz in deep su ering are no coincidence, Rager explains, adding, “It's really about freedom and transforming su ering. Jazz is very much about democracy, with musicians playing equal roles in music creation.”
Tymas performs weekly with his students at the Upstairs Jazz Bar & Grill. Walking down the narrow steps into one of Montreal’s last jazz clubs is a very di erent experience than what you might get at a jam like Growve. e candle-lit underground bar, ironically named “Upstairs,” is a place to sit quietly with a drink—occasionally getting shushed if you’re speaking too loud—and listen to the smooth, collaborative conversation of jazz as local voices come together.
ough jazz in Montreal is di erent today than in the past, blending tradition with innovation, Assouline believes this evolution is essential.
“Art should push forward,” Assouline says, “drawing from the past and present to create something new.”
BARON TYMAS, JAZZ GUITARIST AND PROFESSOR, JAMMING WITH HIS STUDENTS. PHOTO ARIANA ORREGO
A captain’s commitment
Caroline Moquin-Joubert hopes to keep the Stingers women’s hockey team a perennial winner
Anthony Maruca
@_maruca27
Caroline Moquin-Joubert has entered her fourth year in the program, and her journey to being named team captain has had its share of highs and lows.
e Stingers’ newest captain did not play with the team in her rst season. e global pandemic in 2020-21 caused seniors to opt in for another year of student-athlete eligibility. For newcomers like Moquin-Joubert, this meant less opportunity to earn ice time due to the volume of more experienced players already on the roster.
Moquin-Joubert said, “owning your role, giving your best e ort, and staying positive,” were some of the pillars that kept her motivated as she awaited her opportunity.
Despite the limited opportunities, Moquin-Joubert’s consistent effort captivated the attention of head coach Julie Chu.
“What I saw with her early on was the commitment to getting better,” Chu said. “She didn't need to be a di erent style of player to shine on our team. She could utilize her tools to be successful.”
Moquin-Joubert maintained a stoic approach to her work, keeping a positive mindset as she awaited her opportunities.
“You have to take it one day at a time,” she said. “We’ll all have our moments, none of us are perfect.”
She seized the opportunity to show her ability on the ice in her third year, last season. Chu explained how
her skillset helped the team.
“She’s a really physical player, someone that’s intense and takes away time and space very well from opposing players. She has a great shot too,” Chu said. “ e energy she brings and her ability as a player is what motivates her teammates on the ice.”
Moquin-Joubert’s season was cut short due to a serious lower-body injury that she su ered in the nal playo game before the U Sports Championships.
“I was really, really, really mad,” she said about the injury.
She had su ered a broken bula and ligament damage in the ankle area while trying to recover a puck in the o ensive zone.
Despite a broken bone, she didn’t want to stay down.
“Even through the pain, she wanted to be there for the rest of the game,” said Léonie Philbert, hyear veteran and longtime teammate of Moquin-Joubert. e injury kept her o the ice when the Stingers took home the national championship.
“Not being able to play at nationals was tough, but I was so proud of the team, they were so dominant on the ice,” Moquin-Joubert said. e recovery process brought out Moquin-Joubert’s competitive nature, as the rehabilitation was frustrating.
Despite the adversity she faced throughout her recovery process, she used it as fuel heading into the
upcoming season.
“I’m even more hungry for this year,” she said.
Moquin-Joubert’s o -ice work earned her the “C” on her jersey. When told she was being named captain, her reaction came with mixed emotions. e position came with a lot of pressure, and she worried initially about the big shoes she would have to ll.
“I won’t be able to be as great as they were,” Moquin-Joubert said, referring to the past leadership group, including former captain Emmy Fecteau.
e Stingers captain felt better once Chu reassured her she was right for the job.
“ rough a consistent commitment to our culture, giving her best, and being a good teammate, she was recognized as the team’s captain,” Chu said.
Although the coaches have an important say in who gets awarded the captaincy, they also give the players’ perspectives some inuence. Leah Kosowski, another veteran and longtime teammate of Moquin-Joubert, said players recommended a teammate by answering questions on Google Forms.
“ e coaches have the nal say, but the fact that she was named captain shows that she was a respected candidate by her teammates,” Kosowski said.
Moquin-Joubert’s journey from a rst-year player on a loaded roster to a seasoned veteran is what helped
her develop the skills necessary for the position of captaincy. Her peers o en praise her work ethic, authenticity and humility when asked about her leadership qualities.
She also handles the burden of being a dual-sport athlete.
“She always works hard in everything she does,” Philbert said.
Moquin-Joubert recently helped the Concordia ag football team to the Réseau du sport étudiant du Québec (RSEQ) Championship.
“Despite all that she has going on, she doesn’t complain,” Kosowski added.
Kosowski appreciates Moquin-Joubert’s unique character and authenticity.
“She’s not afraid to say what’s on her mind,” Kosowski said. “ ere’s not a lot of people that are like that, and she’s respected because of that.” e team has a stu ed bumblebee, named “Da Bee.” It is given out in the locker room postgame to the player of the game, decided by the previous winner.
“[Moquin-Joubert] broke the rules by giving it to two di erent players for the same game, just because she felt they deserved it,” Kosowski said.
Moquin-Joubert embraces a team- rst approach, even when discussing the team’s success. She credits her coaches for this quality.
“It’s not a winning culture, it’s a team- rst culture. It ends up in wins, but yes, it’s primarily a team- rst
culture,” Moquin-Joubert chuckled when asked about her role in maintaining winning ways. “We embrace what Chu and [associate coach] Caro[line Ouellette] want us to bring to be successful.”
e team relies on three main premises based on this culture.
“Everything is earned, owning your role and controlling what can be controlled,” the captain explained.
Moquin-Joubert understands it may be tough to get on board with the team’s culture as a newcomer.
“At rst, you don’t really get it,” she said. “But, as time passes, you start to feel it yourself.”
Moquin-Joubert talked about the structure of the leadership group as a means to maintain a strong culture.
“It’s good to have a strong leadership group like we do,” she said. “We have younger girls in it, too, I can see myself in the newcomers.”
She later emphasized that those younger girls will have the experience necessary to keep the culture beyond this season.
Her rst season as team captain has gone as planned, as the team remains undefeated with a record of 4-0 as of Oct. 31. Moquin-Joubert is con dent her team is prepared for any adversity they will face as they attempt to win back-to-back national championships.
“It’s a process. We’re starting hot this year, but it’s going to be a battle the rest of the way,” Moquin-Joubert said. “We’re ready for it.”
CAROLINE MOQUIN-JOUBERT WAS NAMED CAPTAIN OF THE STINGERS WOMEN'S HOCKEY TEAM FOR THE 2024-25 SEASON. PHOTO CAROLINE MARSH
Concordia ag football soars to historic victory
The team discusses first provincial championship in program history
Conor Tomalty @conor_tomalty
The Concordia ag football team
nally reached the highest honour in the Réseau du sport étudiant du Québec (RSEQ) competition, capturing the program’s rst provincial championship.
Concordia defeated Université de Montréal (UdeM) 20-0 at the Université Laval PEPS sports com-
plex in Quebec City on Oct. 26, securing the title.
Not only is this Concordia’s rst provincial championship in the league’s four-year existence, but it also capped o a brilliant season.
e team went 8-1-1 on the campaign, good enough for rst place in the overall standings.
New season, new court
“I think it’s a lot about resilience and consistently working hard,” said Léanne Majeau, a third-year defensive player, when asked about the program’s strength. “[Head coach Alexis Labonté] said to all the girls that went through the program and graduated, ‘ is victory is also because of you guys [and] because of you guys building this team to where it is now.’”
is relentlessness was displayed on both sides of the ball. O ensively, the team scored 288 points this year, which tops the RSEQ rankings. While Concordia does have two national-level players on this side of the ball—quarterback Sara Parker and receiver Caroline Moquin-Joubert—the success, according to third-year receiver Isabella Virgona-McGovern, is tied to two key factors: depth and execution.
“We don’t have anyone [on the team] who the coach doesn’t trust or the quarterback doesn’t trust to get the ball in our hands. We’re very precise,” Virgona-McGovern said. “[Of-
fensive coordinator] Lovinski [Gelin] makes sure that we know exactly what we’re doing, the spacing, how to see what the defence is doing.”
e defence deserves its owers as well. Concordia placed third in points allowed with 193, just ve o of leaders the Université du Québec à Montréal. Additionally, the shutout performance in the nal was the sole of the season, but obviously, it couldn’t have come at a better time.
“Leaving no points is really hard,” Majeau said. “It’s normal to leave points, but the fact that we didn’t shows our resilience and mindset going into that game that we’re not losing.”
e culmination of this mindset and determination manifested itself with a resounding championship win. Being crowned champs is the ultimate goal for every athlete, yet when the nal whistle blew, and despite all the hard work and visualizing the win, both Majeau and Virgona-McGovern were le in disbelief.
Concordia’s John Dore Court completing major renovations
Malcom David
@malcomd12
John Dore Court, home of the Stingers men's and women’s basketball teams, will see major changes slated to nish on Nov. 6.
e upgrades, which began in April, are set to nish by the start of the new season and will improve the experience for fans and players alike.
“ e gymnasium, other than a couple of paint jobs here and there, has not been renovated since its construction. So it was long overdue,” said D’Arcy Ryan, Concordia’s director of Recreation and Athletics.
e renovations will feature complete overhauls of the court, sound system, lighting and air conditioning, along with more accessible bleachers for fans.
“We’ve moved the court over and removed the seating on what was traditionally the team side. So all of the seating is now going to be on the entrance side,” Ryan said. “It'll be easier for the fans [and] safer for students because we won't have fans circulating along the baselines to get to the other side.”
John Dore Court holds a deep
legacy. e gymnasium rst opened in 1967 as a part of the school’s rst athletics complex. It is one of the oldest and smallest basketball gyms among the RSEQ (Réseau du sport étudiant du Québec) teams and at the national level.
Former men’s basketball head coach John Dore spearheaded the Stingers for 26 seasons, starting in 1989-90. He led them to a national championship in 1990 and numerous national tournament appearances. e Stingers re-named the court in his honour in 2016.
e upgrades re ect a trend of increased investment in sports facilities across Canadian universities, enabling Concordia to stay competitive in the rapidly evolving collegiate sports scene.
“It was much needed. It's great from a recruiting standpoint as well,” said Tenicha Gittens, women’s basketball head coach. “We can now talk about maybe building a bigger facility at some point because we've committed to making these renovations.”
Before renovations, the John
Dore Court had no air conditioning system, creating a challenging environment for fans and players during the season. Despite the gym’s shortcomings, Stingers players found that the tight-knit atmosphere of the gymnasium created a unique home advantage.
“In the summer, it was hot. In the winter, it was freezing. So we
go to other gyms [and] it was like a luxury,” guard Sami Jahan said. “Sometimes it was harder for other teams to come and play in our gym because it was such an adjustment.”
For players and coaches, the renovations represent more than just aesthetic changes; they align with the program’s ambitions to be among the best.
“I didn’t want to let myself believe that it was nally happening,” Virgona-McGovern said. “[In] 2022, we lost in the semi nal, then last year we lost in the nal [...] and then when the [ nal whistle blew], I was like, ‘Woah, it happened.’”
“I felt a big feeling of peace,” said Majeau, who was on the eld when the game ended. “I was like, ‘Finally.’ I’ve been wanting it so bad and [it] broke my heart every time we didn’t get it, [...] kind of like, mission accomplished, we did it, what’s next?”
Next is the Canadian Collegiate Flag Football Championship, set for May 2025. Concordia is no stranger to the Canada-wide last dance, having placed third two years in a row. e tournament has been around for three years and has seen three consecutive Quebec-based institutions crowned: UdeM in 2022 and 2023, and Collège Montmorency in 2024. Concordia is looking to be the rst English-speaking institution to capture the coveted title of National Champions.
“We have to take pride in what we do have, and I think this is really now something that we can all take pride in,” Gittens said. “ e way that the gym looks, it's going to feel different. It's a better experience for our fans and our supporters”
e Stingers open their season with a doubleheader against Bishop’s University on Nov. 7, a day a er the renovations are set to complete.
CONCORDIA DEFEATED UNIVERSITÉ DE MONTRÉAL 20-0 IN THE FINAL TO CAPTURE THE CHAMPIONSHIP. COURTESY CÉLINE RAYMOND
Julie Healy's imprint on Concordia women's hockey
The hard work and dedication of the former Stingers assistant coach have not been forgotten
Brendan Schwartz
Concordia inducted former women’s hockey assistant coach
Julie Healy into the Concordia Sports Hall of Fame on Oct. 20. Healy, 67, has dedicated her entire life to women’s hockey, collecting many accolades throughout her coaching career. She was an assistant coach for the Stingers
@brendan.schwartz358
from 1985 to 1999 and won ve gold medals for Canada in various competitions.
Current Stingers head coach Julie Chu considers Healy an inspiration in women’s hockey.
“It’s incredible because [Healy] has a huge impact on Concordia and [is] just a leader in so many
capacities,” she said. “I’m very lucky because I’m standing on the foundation that she was able to build.”
Healy assisted Les Lawton, former Stingers head coach, in winning 11 conference championships and two national championships in her 15 seasons with the team.
“I feel that she’s a huge builder for
Chess is a sport
Exercising the brain burns calories, too
The belief that chess should be considered a sport is subjective.
For instance, the International Olympic Committee recognizes chess as a sport, and over 100 countries see it as one. However, the United Kingdom, for example, does not believe it to be a sport.
e Oxford English Dictionary de nes sport as “an activity involving physical exertion and skill.” According to the American National Library of Medicine, physical exertion is the expenditure of energy during physical activity, which means burning calories.
A 2008 study evaluating the physiological e ects of playing chess showed that the average chess player would burn just under 1,000 calories over an eighthour chess game. However, many grandmaster chess players tend to burn more than the average calories when playing long matches. According to American academic and neuroscientist Robert Sapolsky, grandmaster chess play-
ers may burn up to 6,000 calories on tournament days due to their high-stress levels.
e di erence in calories that one burns in a chess game compared to a baseball game is rather large. Baseball players burn roughly 340 calories per hour, signicantly more than the 125 calories an hour that a chess player would.
“ e main argument against including chess and mental sports as sports is that it isn’t physical and does not exert any energy, which is not true because chess players at the highest level would play games of six or seven hours, which would take a toll on their body and health,” said Hamed Alhamed, co-president of Concordia’s chess club.
Regardless, chess is extremely demanding on the body, as players must be attentive without breaks for lengthy periods of time.
Chess meets the two criteria needed for it to be considered a sport. It involves skill, and players burn calories due to an elevated heart rate.
Some players believe that it should be considered a sport, but should not be placed in the same category as more physically demanding sports like hockey, basketball and football.
our hockey team and for women’s hockey in general. We’re super lucky for what we have now,” Stingers goalie Jordyn Verbeek said. “When she was coaching here, they didn’t have much. But now to be playing on this ice, I feel so lucky.”
Healy kept inspiring others across North America when she went to work for the Professional Women’s Hockey League (PWHL) as a project manager in 2024.
She only stayed at the PWHL for four months, having found another opportunity. She doesn't believe in spending too much time in one job, and urges everyone to look outside the box for opportunities.
She still maintains that helping the PWHL get o the ground was “an opportunity of a lifetime.”
Women’s hockey has been growing exponentially, from the creation of the PWHL in 2023. e National Hockey League (NHL) also brought the rst woman behind a bench this season.
It was no surprise to Healy when Jessica Campbell got a job as an assistant coach for the NHL’s Seattle Kraken. e newly-inducted hall of
famer was Hockey Canada’s director of female hockey while Campbell captained the 2010 under-18 Canadian team to a gold medal.
Although Healy has had many positive experiences working in women’s hockey her whole life, she had to overcome many obstacles during her time coaching a male-dominated sport.
“For most of my life, I was a volunteer coach. I didn’t get paid a lot,” she said, “but putting myself in these situations to be challenged, to learn and to grow, was great because I got to develop di erent skills to change the game in a way.”
Healy hopes her inauguration into Concordia’s Sports Hall of Fame can inspire youth and grow women’s hockey. However, she said that what will really inspire a young girl is the expansion of women’s sports across the globe.
“With the PWHL being so front and centre, I think that young girls can now aspire to be something that wasn’t there before,” Healy said. “I think that’s the biggest impact we’re going to have at growing the game at all levels because you have something to shoot for.”
Concordia possesses numerous sports-adjacent clubs, such as the chess club, the game development club and the board game club.
“I think there are three categories [of sport]: you have esports, the
physical sports and then you have mental sports, which includes chess and poker,” Alhamed said.
Chess proves that sport isn’t just a matter of speed and strength; it’s a test of brain power, patience and skill.
@louispaill
Louis Paillier
THE STINGERS WOMEN'S
e media is distorting global perspectives on Gaza
Legacy media spoon-feeds us bias and it is unsettling
Sidra Mughal
Families are being torn apart, children being starved and nearly the entire population of Gaza is uprooted. In a region gripped by turmoil, the human su ering in Gaza is profound.
su ering, it generates international outcry, pressuring governments to prioritize aid.
Oct. 7, 2024, marked one year of the ongoing genocide in Gaza.
e United Nations reports approximately 42,000 Palestinian fatalities; 496,000 Palestinians who face catastrophic levels of food insecurity; and 1.9 million internally displaced persons, amounting to 90 per cent of Gaza.
Despite evidence from journalists on the ground, Western media coverage has o en been biased and incomplete.
London in early November. e language used in this sentence emphasizes that Israel “marked a month since Hamas killed 1,400 people.”
In contrast, it describes Palestinian casualties passively with, “said to have died.” is subtle bias can make Israeli losses seem more intentional and Palestinians as less certain and direct.
e media has shown its partiality on multiple occasions. Between Oct. 7 and Nov. 25, a period during which Israeli forces killed 6,000 children in Gaza, only two articles out of over 1,100 published in the three major U.S. newspapers mentioned the mur-
Early in the genocide, the increased media focus on Israel’s airstrikes temporarily heightened international awareness and mobilized humanitarian aid. However, as the narrative shi ed and became selective, the call for urgent aid was reduced.
nalism has reshaped reporting, o ering diverse viewpoints that the traditional media o en overlooks. Social media has allowed Palestinians to share their lived experiences, exposing the harsh realities they face.
e humanitarian situation in Gaza is worsening, with extreme shortages of food, medicine and electricity, causing the su ering of millions. A report by the Integrated Food Security Phase Classi cation estimated that over 90 per cent of the population is
Platforms like Instagram, Tikok and X have become lifelines for Palestinians, documenting their experiences in the immediate a ermath of airstrikes.
Viral hashtags such as #GazaUnderAttack and #FreePalestine trended internationally, raising awareness that
crucial ders.
Another analysis of U.S. cable news coverage in the rst month of the genocide showed that, iron-
ically, the spokesperson for the Is-
Factual reporting is crucial for shaping global awareness, inuencing international response and ensuring e ective humanitarian aid during crises. Since media outlets serve as the predominant bridge between global crises and local understanding, the narratives we consume can signi cantly warp our perspective on reality, including the genocide in Gaza.
rael Defense Forces appeared 44 times on CNN, MSNBC and Fox News. Additionally, Israelis were mentioned four times more than Palestinians, despite Palestinian deaths outnumbering Israeli ones.
experiencing crisis levels of food insecurity. Gaza’s healthcare system is also collapsing due to ongoing Israeli attacks. ese platforms have become foundations
e emergence of citizen jour-
for civilians, press journalists and activists to share live footage, evading the gatekeeping nature of traditional media.
Western networks such as the BBC o en emphasize Israeli security, while networks like Al Jazeera focus on Palestinian plight. is disparity results in a pro-Israel bias in U.S. coverage, as shown in an analysis of major U.S. newspapers conducted by Adam Johnson and Othman Ali for e Intercept. e results of the quantitative analysis showed that references to Israel outnumbered those of Palestinian victims in the rst six weeks of the Gaza genocide.
When the media fails to present balanced coverage, the distinction between what is true and false blurs, further dividing and distorting public perception.
e media’s choice of language re-
ects deep systemic biases.
Media coverage plays a pivotal role in shaping governmental and organizational responses to crises. When the media displays
e analysis also found that “Israeli” or “Israel” appeared more frequently than “Palestinian” in print media outlets like e New York Times, e Washington Post and the Los Angeles Times In addition, language such as “slaughter,” “massacre” and “horri c” were reserved for describing attacks on Israeli civilians, while the deaths of Palestinian children were framed passively with terms like “le to die.” is framing downplays the perpetrator's role, implying no responsibility for the killings. e dehumanizing language is particularly evident in the way that deaths are reported.
e gruesome images shared on social media have directly impacted international calls for a cease re and humanitarian aid, revolutionizing how con icts are reported.
e media holds substantial power in shaping global understanding and responses to humanitarian crises.
In Gaza, biased and limited reported has a ected awareness of the ongoing genocide.
We must evaluate the media and call for thorough, accurate coverage to upli silenced voices and drive global action.
“Israel marked a month since Hamas killed 1,400 people and kidnapped 240, starting a war in which 10,300 Palestinians are said to have died,” stated e Times of
THE MEDIA FAILS TO PRESENT UNBIASED COVERAGE. GRAPHIC MYRIAM OUAZZANI
Dirty history, dirty water
Indigenous communities still pay the price of colonialism
Sept. 30 marked the fourth National Day for Truth and Reconciliation honouring Indigenous Survivors of Canada’s residential schools.
Over seven generations, more than 150,000 children were forcibly taken from their families and placed in these institutions. e schools were tools in a cultural genocide that aimed to erase Indigenous culture and assimilate Indigenous youth into white Canadian society.
Yet Canada’s colonial government continues to exploit Indigenous lands and resources while disregarding the well-being and rights of Indigenous Peoples. is country’s haunting colonialist legacy endures and Indigenous communities continue to face dire inequalities in public services and infrastructure, such as the lack of clean drinking water.
Despite some of the Liberal government’s notable successes on Indigenous issues—such as li ing 145 long-term drinking water advisories, providing funding to revitalize endangered Indigenous languages, and settling long-standing legal disputes over child welfare reform—Canada has made minimal progress in meeting
its obligations to provide reserves with services equivalent to those available in non-Indigenous communities.
First Nations disproportionately su er from water mismanagement, with conditions that would unequivocally be denounced as unacceptable by people living o reserves, were they a ected by them. First Nations communities are con ned to poor-quality land due to treaties that displaced their communities onto reserves. In contrast, Canadians living o reserves bene t from strong water governance and management systems that ensure their access to clean water is protected. ere are currently 32 long-term drinking water advisories in e ect in 30 First Nations communities, some of them in place for over 25 years. is situation is unacceptable. Indigenous communities deserve access to safe, clean drinking water. It is fundamental to life.
e United Nations recognizes the right to safe water and sanitation as a fundamental human right, yet Canada fails to ensure this for First Nations. According to e Council of Canadians, “the lack of clean, safe drinking water in First Nations is one of the greatest
Skinny at all costs
Beauty
violations of the UN-recognized human rights to water and sanitation.”
is water crisis in First Nations poses a signi cant risk to health and safety. Many communities face health issues like skin problems due to the absence of safe drinking water. Decades of drinking water advisories force communities to rely on bottled water, severely limiting their economic growth and opportunities. For Indigenous Peoples, water o en carries a profound cultural and spiritual signi cance. Unsafe water deeply affects their relationship with this vital resource, as many avoid using tap water and lakes for ceremonies.
But, access to clean drinking water is only the tip of the iceberg. Deeply rooted inequalities impact all facets of life for Indigenous communities.
First Nations lack access to quality healthcare leading to lower life expectancy, and they are disproportionately represented in Canada's homeless population and prison systems. Indigenous women, in particular, face a heightened risk of violent victimization, drawing attention to the tragic reality of many Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls. And
recently, six Indigenous people lost their lives within two weeks of interactions with police across Canada.
It is evident that colonialism remains prevalent in Canada.
For true reconciliation with Indigenous Peoples, the government must take meaningful action to address these long-standing inequities.
Elfie Lach-Aidelbaum
is cannot be achieved through empty promises and apologies; it requires tangible steps forward. Ensuring that all Canadians, both Indigenous and non-Indigenous, have access to the same rights is essential.
Reconciliation cannot occur without providing the same quality of public services for everyone.
isn’t found in a syringe or under a knife
Are we willing to do anything to be skinny?
e supermodel physique dominated the ‘90s and early 2000s.
Supermodels such as Kate Moss were revered and positively nicknamed “the waif,” a term used to describe being so thin that one appears
homeless.
A Common Sense Media study conducted on body image and the media found that, between 1999 and 2006, hospitalization for eating disorders in the U.S. went up 119 per cent in children under 12. Kids under the age of 12 were making themselves violently ill because they felt they could not reach the ideal Western standard of beauty.
e media creates and popularizes beauty standards. In the 2010s, the Kardashians put curvaceous bodies at the forefront, claiming ownership of an aesthetic portrayed by women of colour for decades prior. Various women from around the world travel to countries like Turkey and Brazil to get cosmetic surgeries. For example, the American Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgery found that, between 2015 and 2019, the number of butt augmentation surgeries rose by 90.3 per cent.
Despite the emergence of the body positivity movement, the obsession with being skinny o en overpowers self love.
From Ozempic to Wegovy to
Mounjaro, weightloss drugs are appearing everywhere, promising a skinnier frame and “better health.”
Kelly Clarkson, Rebel Wilson and Tori Spelling have all admitted to using one of these drugs, which just a few years ago would have been taboo to use.
In 2024, why has this rush to be skinny become so fervent?
Following the pandemic, there was a shi in the way we perceived bodies. Fitness challenges on TikTok made the rounds and people were looking towards a thinner, tter ideal. Post-pandemic, the Kardashians's bums seemed to slowly disappear, and other celebrities were coming back thinner than ever before. Celebrities started raving about Ozempic as a tool for weight loss. Most “regular” people look towards Hollywood as a template for beauty, which has increased the public’s interest in these tools.
Ozempic is a semaglutide injection that is used to treat diabetes. Semaglutide assists the pancreas in releasing insulin that is needed when blood sugar levels are too high. A side e ect of this type of medication is weight loss.
Selina Martelli
However, there can be risks involved when using Ozempic, with gastrointestinal issues, fatigue and thyroid tumours being among them.
Despite the risks associated with such drugs, the demand for them created a shortage at one point. is presented a challenge for individuals who needed Ozempic for medical reasons, raising ethical questions about its use for weight loss. ese drastic measures taken to achieve thinness stem not only from intense beauty standards but also from systemic fatphobia and pervasive body shaming. From the moment we are able to consume media, the thin body type is pushed onto the masses. In turn, this tells us that bigger bodies are not as desirable, leading many to strive for an ideal that may not be healthy or achievable for them.
e rise of such weight loss drugs is a reminder that the skinny ideal is back.
And as the tiny ideal continues to dominate, it's crucial to remember that true beauty isn’t found in a syringe.
Volume 45, Issue5
Tuesday, November 5, 2024
Concordia University
Library Building, Room LB-717
1400 de Maisonneuve Blvd. W. Montreal, Quebec H3G 2V8
Editor: 514-848-2424 x. 7407
Arts: 514-848-2424 x. 5813
News: 514-848-2424 x. 8682
Business: 514-848-7406
Advertising: 514-848-7406
TheLinkis published twelve times during the academic year by TheLinkPublication Society Inc. Content is independent of the university and student associations (ECA, CASA, ASFA, FASA, CSU). Editorial policy is set by an elected board as provided for in TheLink's constitution. Any student is welcome to work on TheLinkand become a voting staff member. Material appearing in TheLinkmay not be reproduced without prior written permision from TheLink.Letters to the editor are welcome. All letters 400 words or less will be printed, space permitting. The letters deadine is Friday at 4:00 p.m. TheLinkreserves the right to edit letters for clarity and length and refuse those deemed racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, libellous or otherwise contrary to TheLink's statement of principles.
