Ryerson Folio Issue 9 by Folio Magazine

R Y E R S O N

FOLIO

Issue 9 Issue 9 Issue 9

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-Letter from the EditorIt’s hard to say exactly when we decided on the theme for this magazine. Over multiple meetings and brainstorm sessions, our masthead bounced ideas off of each other and recycled old and new concepts until we finally settled on the theme for Issue Nine: Awakening. It’s perhaps a strange theme (the people of the Internet certainly thought so) until you realize that life is symbolic of all of the things that accompany awakenings: hardships, self-doubt, growth, faith. Our theme for this year isn’t some mystical, far-off concept—it’s present both in the everyday and in the monumental moments that define us. While we were hiring editors for the magazine late last year, we were surprised to find that we had recruited a team of ethnically and racially diverse women, without expressly intending to—we only considered talent and hired the best people for the job. In our first Folio meeting, Asmaa Toor, our managing editor, looked around the room and declared, “The future is female—and diverse.” This too was a moment of awakening—a realization that despite the whiteness of the current media landscape, our small campus magazine that was both diverse and endlessly talented was proof that the status quo could be challenged. The voices in our magazine this year are a sampling of that diversity, and for that, I couldn’t be prouder. In “Colour outside the lines,” Kirti Vyas reflects on personal encounters with racism and sexism as she navigates a journalism program that is predominantly white. As we looked to new and old trends, Aaliyah Dasoo, in “Have we given up our rights to privacy?”, reports on a growing movement to hold the tech industry accountable, and questions whether we’re to blame as well. And Sophie Chong similarly looks at the evolution of the broadcasting industry, in “Will radio die with Generation Z?”. This magazine is nothing if not for the efforts of our team at Folio. Thank you to our wonderful group of online editors, finance and art directors who tolerated our absent-mindedness while we stressed over print production. Thank you also to our talented set of writers for trusting us with your work. And a big thank you to Asmaa Toor, our managing editor, and Nicole Fernandes, our production manager, for all of your efforts on this magazine—I am grateful for your talent and drive and dedication to Folio. This magazine is made better because of your work on it. And finally, thank you to our readers for supporting our work and for valuing student journalism. It is because of your support that Folio continues to exist today. Sincerely, Mariyam Khaja

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

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6 7 8 12 17 18 22 25 28 30 36 38 41 44 52 55

MASTHEAD PLAYLIST WOMEN OF COLOUR HAVE MORE THAN JUST ONE STORY COLOUR OUTSIDE THE LINES SORRY, MY WINDOWS WON'T UNFOG HAVE WE GIVEN UP OUR RIGHTS TO PRIVACY? WILL RADIO DIE WITH GENERATION Z? DREAM YEARS BROKEN BONDS LEARNING HOW TO TALK TO GOD AGAIN TODAY, MY VISION HEALS UNEVENLY DISCOMFORT IN THE COMFORT ZONE MIND OVER MATTER BACK TO THE FUTURE POP CULTURE IS A FORM OF ART SOMETHING TO CHEER FOR ryerson folio // 5

Masthead Editor-In-Chief

Mariyam Khaja, Journalism ‘21

Managing Editor

Asmaa Toor, Journalism ‘21

Production Manager

Nicole Fernandes, Journalism ‘21

Arts Editor

Jemma Dooreleyers, Journalism ‘21

Fashion & Lifestyle Co-Editor Madison Dolman, Journalism ‘22

Fashion & Lifestyle Co-Editor Olivia Johnson, Publishing ‘20

Fiction Editor

C O N T R I B U T O R S

Aaliyah Dasoo Journalism ‘21 Dania Ali Journalism ‘21 Keisha Balatbat Journalism ‘21 Lesley-Jane De Boer Creative Industries ‘21 Nuha Khan Journalism ‘21 Sophie Chong Journalism ‘21 Vanessa Quon Journalism ‘21

Meara Khanna, Journalism ‘22

Ideas Editor

Shayna Nicolay, Journalism ‘21

Photography Editor

Kirti Vyas, Journalism ‘21

Podcast Producer

Mariam Nouser, Journalism ‘23

Art Director

Kaitlyn-Lee Mun, Creative Industries ‘20

Head of Finance

Alexandra Sanchez, Accounting and Finance ‘21

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CONNECT WITH US Website: http://ryersonfolio.com Facebook: Ryerson Folio Twitter: @ryersonfolio Instagram: @ryersonfolio Ryerson Folio is brought to you by funding from the Ryerson Communication and Design Society.

Play my music

It’s a new decade and it’s a new us. Our masthead curated a playlist with songs that we want to define our next 10 years.

mariyam, editor-in-chief Light On

meara, fiction editor Stronger

Maggie Rogers

Raveena

0:49

-3:05

asmaa, managing editor Run the World (Girls)

The Driver Era

-2:00

nicole, production manager Mandy

3:06

-1:26

kirti, head of photography All We Know

Jonas Brothers

The Chainsmokers (feat. Phoebe Ryan)

0:27

-2:21

jemma, arts editor Dancing Queen

madison, fashion & lifestyle co-editor Don’t Lose Me

0:31

-3:08

kaitlyn, art director STUPID

Offset 1:41

-2:01

Shakira

-3:08

0:44

1:13

mariam, podcast producer Hips Don’t Lie

ABBA

Ashnikko (feat. Yung Baby Tate)

-1:39

olivia, fashion & lifestyle co-editor Losing It

1:36

-1:12

alexandra, head of finance Dreaming of You

FISHER 2:20

-1:07

shayna, ideas editor A Kiss

Beyoncé 1:58

3:04

Selena

-0:22

2:07

-3:07

Find our playlist here: http://bit.ly/folio2020 ryerson folio // 7

WOMEN OF COLOUR H AV E M O R E JU S T O NE

THAN STORY

By Nuha Khan

t’s early evening in November and the weather seems to be particularly colder than usual, but on Bathurst Street inside the Centre for Social Innovation – Annex it’s much warmer. Guests carry glasses of red wine as they mingle with one another against the backdrop of slow jazz. Near the front of the room, six women of colour prepare to share their personal stories at an event called Housewarming.

braced the stage to share her journey of body positivity, which was delivered in a comedic manner. Each story was unique and personal: Housewarming is an event where women of colour take control of their narratives and share the many versatile stories they have, in front of a live audience.

The instrumental jazz slowly dies down as the organizers walk up on the stage. Georgette Stubbs is at the right and Veronica Antipolo is on the left and will be the first speaker of the night. Stubbs walks off the stage and Antipolo confidently stares around the room, then takes a deep breath and speaks. She tells a tale honouring her late grandmother, describing specifically her witty personality and habit of singing Nat King Cole’s “Autumn Leaves.” Antipolo waves her arms wildly and crouches down slightly, while singing “the falling leaves, drift by the window,” in a Filipino accent, imitating her grandma.

Stories told about women of colour are often centered around topics of racism, sexism or discrimination, focusing on the negative aspects of their lives. Although these stories are important, they create stigmas that these women only have one type of story to share. Women in View is an organization devoted to strengthening gender representation. In 2019, they did a report funded by the Canadian Media Fund which examined 90 Canadian television shows from 2014 to 2017. The report states that out of 3, 206 contracts issued, only 47 were given to women of colour. Women of colour are rarely given the opportunity to take control of their narratives and so their stories are coming from a perspective that does not represent them.

As the night progressed, a number of women took to the stage, speaking on to other topics. One of the women opened up about how she overcame a loveless marriage. Another female, from South Asian descent,

“In mainstream Canadian media, for the most part, women of colour are ignored or just left out…there aren’t enough women of color working as journalists, columnists, assignment editors or producers,” says

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Camille Dundas, a speaker, reporter and workshop facilitator.

partner to humour about the cultural differences and interactions that can happen day to day.

...

“One of the things that we do try to emphasize is that as a woman of colour, not all of your stories are negative, our lives are not just trouble. We give a space where storytellers can tell whatever story that they choose,” says Stubbs.

Antipolo and Stubbs are the creators and co-producers of the Housewarming event. The initiative is bimonthly and its inaugural event took place on Sept. 21, 2019. “The reason it’s women of colour is because we’re always on the defense, always trying to prove ourselves,” says Antipolo. “It’s a space where you can feel safe about being vulnerable.” Antipolo is a stand-up comedian and peer motivator but before she pursued her storytelling side she went through a rough patch. She had been living with her partner and their daughter who was four at the time, when she decided to leave him. At the time, she was presented with a well-paid job and was convinced it was a sign to pack up. “I saw it as a vehicle to buckle down and move up the ladder and leave and be financially self-sufficient. And so, I left him with this job in my back pocket, with my daughter and I got let go,” says Antipolo. She was a single mother, approaching the age of 45 with nowhere to turn. Suddenly, after hitting rock bottom, she came up with the concept of Housewarming in the middle of the night. Fellow co-founder Stubbs had a similar moment of realization. She was an international student from the Bahamas who studied sociology at Western University and now works as a career and business coach. Before she lived in Canada, being labelled as black was unlikely. “90 per cent of the people around me were black. So, when I came to Canada and people had a bunch of assumptions about who I was because I was black, it was mind-boggling,” says Stubbs. She had this awakening and wished for someone to sympathize with, who knew what she was going through. Both creators underline how Housewarming aims to bring all kinds of women of colour together. They want women to take part in a gathering that shares multiple perspectives without being judged. Women of colour have a different perspective, in which most cases people misunderstand. At the last event, the stories ranged from death of a parent to racism from an intimate

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The lack of diverse stories about women of colour are missing in the media, mainly because these women are not the ones behind the stories that are found in the mainstream. The Catalyst is a non-profit global organization that works with CEOs to help build workspaces for women. According to their research, more than one-fifth of Canadians are people of colour and 51.5 per cent of them are women. The Women in View on screen report studies media projects and how many are produced by women of colour. Ontario is noted as one of the largest distributors to have work by women of colour, although the total percentage is a low number of 9.09 per cent. ... Camille Dundas is also the co-founder of the website Byblacks.com, an online magazine created for black stories to be told more accurately by covering stories of black success. The stories featured focus on black entrepreneurs, creators and business owners. “I think it’s more about the stories that we don’t tell. The decision makers often don’t see these stories as newsworthy until a white person is at the centre of it all. Women of colour are less likely to be considered quotable as an ‘expert,’ even when they are actually leading in their fields,” says Dundas. In December 2018, The Discourse conducted a report which found that amongst the merging communities of the new media industries, women and people of colour were underrepresented amongst future journalism projects in Canada. In the Women in View report, it additionally stated that between 2014 and 2017, media companies that included jobs of writing, directing and cinematography were taken up by less than half of women. At Rogers Media, women are at 16.1 per cent and at 17.8 per cent at Corus Entertainment.

Misha Euceph is another journalist in the field and the podcast host and producer of “Tell Them I Am.” This podcast showcases Muslim voices and the defining moments in their lives, moving away from the typical media narratives that frame Muslim men and women. Euceph grew up in Pakistan where her identity was not seen as a big deal, as most people were brown and Muslim. “When me being Muslim was brought up in conversation, it was in relation to things that were not always just negative, but just bizarre … it was a holistic or multidimensional idea of what a Muslim is. Which is just a person who happens to have a religion, that is not Christianity,” says Euceph. She voices how in most situations women of colour are “pigeonholed” into being just people of colour. The goal of the podcast was to not focus on these identity aspects, but rather on comedians, astrophysicists or writers who happen to be Muslim. “If I’m doing a show about earthquakes and I have a lady scientist, I don’t need to talk about her being a lady scientist,” says Euceph. “We can’t shift perception unless we’re controlling it.”

realize how many people feel what you’re feeling no matter what colour they are.” Campbell’s personal story that day described her experiences with imposter syndrome, at her first job interview in the corporate world. She has been to other storytelling events but found representation lacking in terms of women of colour. “At Housewarming, you don’t see the same people telling the same stories. All of our stories are so different. All of us are so different,” she says. One of the reasons she wanted to tell her story was because she found that on most occasions when people think ‘women of colour’ they automatically perceive their lives to be about oppression. She planned to tell her story in a way that could be told from anyone’s perspective, regardless of race. Housewarming opened up her opportunities in terms of writing. She previously wrote stories about brands or companies, but after Housewarming she began telling stories focusing on marginalized communities. “Any story that comes from our perspective is a story that is going to be interesting, because it’s not the norm,” says Campbell. ...

... Brittany Campbell is one of the speakers at the first Housewarming event. She walks up to the stage expecting to see a room full of women, but instead spots a few white men are in the crowd. She looks around nervously, worried about offending anyone, but then reminds herself why she wanted to be a speaker in the first place. A couple of months ago, Campbell and her friends, most of whom are young women of colour, went on a cottage getaway. During the evening, they would gather around the dinner table drinking wine and sharing their frustrations about life. There were tears, hugging and lots of laughter. It was easy to talk about herself with them because they were other women of colour. She was at peace with the idea that so many of them shared her perspective, although they may not have had the same experience. She’s found the same goes for the Housewarming events she attends. "And at the end of the event, everybody claps no matter what,” says Campbell. “It’s really nice too because you

As Antipolo nears the end of sharing the story, her voice cracks and she looks up at the ceiling. She tells the audience the day of her grandmother’s passing and the room grows silent. Her story is in many ways therapeutic, as the audience sits quietly, intently listening. “It’s extremely important to reach out to other women, because I know what storytelling has done for me. I didn’t expect it to be as cathartic as it is,” says Antipolo. Both Antipolo and Stubbs believe that the art of storytelling is satisfying to these women. Although, they stress the importance of how coming together and being public about their concerns is the only way to ignite change. “To be stronger, you have to break it down and be vulnerable first,” says Antipolo. “And then once you’re stronger coming together as a community, that’s a

force to be reckoned with.” ∆

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COL OUTSIDE

THE LINES My experiences with racism became clearer once starting university. By Kirti Vyas

’ve always thought about race, but as strange as it sounds, I never really felt brown before I started university. I was born and raised in one of the most diverse parts of Toronto—Rexdale—in a neighbourhood populated with mostly brown and black folk. As a woman of colour, there was always some awareness of the obstacles I would face as a result of my skin colour and gender. Yet, my privilege as a light-skinned, ablebodied, South Asian girl growing up in a place where everyone looked like me offered a protective shield against the realities of what it means to be brown. In hindsight though, I was naive. I thought that race wasn’t cause for discrimination anymore, and that I

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OUR would flourish in a white-dominated journalism industry considering my academic excellence (and dazzling personality). But I was wrong. Upon reaching university, the influences of race and gender became more pronounced in my life than ever before. And when I started at the Ryerson School of Journalism (RSJ) back in 2017, the reality of being a brown woman hit me like a truck. My experiences have led to a time of reflection on my past, and a clearer understanding of my present. ... After years of considering myself as an equal in society, all it took was walking into a musty old classroom in Kerr Hall East, for my first journalism lecture, and coming face to face with a sea of white kids. At the RSJ, I went from being the majority to the minority real quick. I nervously found a seat in between the white students scattered around me, and listened to them drone on about the stories they wrote for Vice Canada over the summer, their parents’ journalism careers and their past experiences working at their school newspaper. Sitting among them was intimidating— the only writing experience under my belt were the pieces I wrote for my portfolio to apply to the program. With no connections and no previous professional experience, I felt like an outsider from the first day.

My class that day was an accurate sampling of an industry that is both white and male-centric. While numerous Canadian federal agencies are required to report their worker demographics, newspapers and digital publications are legally not required to do so. In November 2019, two professors from the RSJ, Asmaa Malik and Sonya Fatah, released the results of their 21 year long independent study of three major Canadian news outlets (The National Post, Globe and Mail and the Toronto Star). The study looked at the number of white and racialized columnists within newsrooms. According to their study, there was an increase in the number of white columnists in Canada between 1996 to 2016. While the total number of white people in Canada overall has decreased over time, they are heavily overrepresented in Canada’s newsrooms compared to people of colour. In accordance with the pair’s study criteria, they found no publication had any regular contributing Indigenous columnists or black women. Prominent journalist of colour and Toronto Star columnist Shree Paradkar says it best: this lack of representation in newsrooms is an active form of oppression. In her article, she mentions that minorities are barred from holding positions that let them bring forth perspectives that represent the makeup of the Canadian population. Throughout my years of taking

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criminology classes and conducting media analyses, I have found that negative stereotypes about minorities are reinforced and actively upheld, because, again, people who are not us are telling our stories. According to Paradkar, the supposed objective lens that comes with being a white journalist is actually quite biased.

listen to my professor discuss notions of objectivity, my mind started to wander back to these memories that have never left me. Being one of the few brown people in a program of white kids, I was finally given the time to actually think about life in a new lens and see the injustices I faced growing up for what they truly were.

My first day of journalism school is evidence of these harrowing statistics. Although there were many women in my program, the vast majority of them were white. There were only seven black women in my year and no Indigenous women— a stark contrast to the large Indian, Caribbean and Somali population I grew up surrounded by. It was a different ballgame now and for once in that sea of white, I stood out as a brown woman.

As a 16-year-old, it became apparent that I would have to be the one to learn how to cook and clean. I would have to be the one to help my dad with the domestic chores while being a full-time student, holding down a part-time job and extracurricular activities. This wasn’t the responsibility of my brother, only a year older than me, who never offered a helping hand until pestered by both my father and I. Despite being the epitome of a ‘perfect daughter,’ there are still restrictions on where and when I can go out. It’s for my ‘safety,’ but I can also sense the underlying sexist attitudes deeply ingrained within my life that have created these norms.

...

“In first year, I struggled with imposter syndrome, feeling like I wasn’t good enough to be in a program I worked my butt off to get into.”

In July 2016, my mother’s doctor withheld from giving her a certain seizure medication, opting instead to keep her on medication that she informed us would cause my mother to experience severe liver damage. As a cancer patient, we learned the drug would cause severe complications.

In first year, I struggled with imposter syndrome, feeling like I wasn’t good enough to be in a program I worked my butt off to get into. From the first day of classes, I began questioning my presence in an industry where there is seemingly no space for people who look like me. Dr. Kamal Al-Solaylee, a tenured journalism professor at Ryerson and author of the book Brown: What it Means to be Brown in the World Today, says that women of colour aren’t represented well in high profile media jobs. “We are producing journalists of different races and genders and backgrounds, but they are not getting their fair shake at the hands of media organizations,” he says.

The doctor, despite knowing of a safer, alternative seizure medication available, chose not to tell us about it. She kept this from us until my cousin, a doctor in the United States, asked why my mother wasn’t being switched over to the safer drug. My mother’s doctor said that she didn’t think our family looked like we could afford such an expensive medication.

That lack of representation is also present among those that teach the next generation of journalists. AlSolaylee is a brown man who recalls being one of two professors of colour when he first started working at the RSJ, only 10 years ago. While things are changing for the better, the fact that the two of us are able to count the number of professors of colour in this program on our hands is telling.

At the time, I was angry, but I never viewed the doctor’s decision as racist. I ignored it, because growing up brown was a culmination of such small microaggressions—I naturally assumed this situation as such.

Throughout my time in my program, I have noticed successful journalists of colour on Twitter pointing out the challenges they face upon entering the field. They fear being ‘pigeonholed’ by their editors, asked only to write about race, gender and ethnicity issues. “These are all important issues but I feel that your generation,

But sitting in my first year reporting class, trying hard to

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Photo by Kirti Vyas. if I may be blunt, or even the generation before you, missed out on the idea of just writing for the pleasure of writing,” AlSolaylee tells me. The latter form of writing is something he says he engaged in while starting out as a journalist in 1996, back when he felt he could write about something because he felt like it, not having to tie it back to himself all the time. For Al-Solaylee, this changed following 9/11, when he started to write more about Muslim communities. ... I’ve become more aware of acts of racism now. For instance, at the company I

currently intern at, one of my white coworkers’ business logo has the ‘Om’ symbol attached to it. This symbol is sacred in Hinduism, and her use of the symbol as a logo is an act of cultural appropriation. At university, I’ve had lab instructors mispronounce my name multiple times, referring to me as ‘curry’ for an entire semester. One such professor described the diverse neighbourhood I come from as “exotic.” And for the first time in my life, someone referred to my lunch of roti and achar as “gross” and “smelling weird.” Sitting

through

journalism

# m w l t

classes ryerson folio // 15

is equally as hard. Professors teach students that objectivity is key, ignoring the personal stakes that journalists, especially journalists of colour, could have in the issues we report on. This includes issues of race or activism that white-presenting journalists may not be involved in. Being in this program showed me the reality of the current journalism industry and what I, along with many students of colour, will have to face. Yet, as angry as I am now that I see the world through a racialized lens, I’m also more appreciative of the strides that women of colour are making in the journalism industry. For instance, Ryerson’s Folio Magazine masthead this year is completely female-led, and largely by women of colour. Even Al-Solaylee has noticed that over the past decade, the media landscape is changing and women of colour are pushing boundaries to have their voices heard. “There are now, more than ever, outlets for people who would be considered marginalized to actually let out their voice and be heard,” he says. Al-Solaylee mentions reading different types of stories in the feature writing class he teaches at the RSJ, that display the realities and challenges women of colour face. “They [students] recognize that there is a problem and that the life of a racialized woman—whether on campus or off campus— has its challenges and they want to use the assignments in class to amplify that,” he says. And he encourages the telling of these stories that have long gone unheard. Even in my personal friend group, I see women of colour actively challenging the norms of the once white, male-dominated fields that have threatened them for so long. In my first semester of university, I banded together with a group of like-minded women who support and encourage each other. One is a brown

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Photo by Asmaa Toor. woman aspiring to break into the sports industry. Another is a Filipino woman hustling her way into the entertainment industry. The third is a Muslim woman who is claiming her space in the world of international affairs and politics. We are more determined than ever to break the barriers of the white, male-dominated journalism industry, which has silenced countless stories and deliberately hidden the voices of the most vulnerable in our society. The future of journalism is uncertain, but the journalists being churned out into the world today are paving a better future for the generations to come. ∆

SORry, mY windows won’t unfog A poem by Lesley-Jane De Boer

Sorry, but my windows won’t unfog. I just can’t turn the car temperature dial the right way for the windshield to clear. Life is filled with missing puzzle pieces and artificial sweeteners. They made me forgo my manners, but only Netflix binges care for my well being anyways. You wore sandals into the snow banks with me once you left me to crystalize, while I watched from overhead. Bath bombs dissolve colourless, the world’s daily cycles remain stagnantly similar; even picture frames appear filled with modelling strangers - high angles gives artificially accepted faces, pasted expressions hide hurt bubbling under surfaces Fiction only offers happily ever after to two-dimensional royalty I am merely human I remain a dancer on autopilot in life’s musical ballroom “tomorrow will be better” and “you’ll get through this phase” are a hollow echo; don’t give me that clichéd idea of improvement. I know we are just a wolf-pack of liars I want to die in my high school sweatshirt. Sorry, lovers and haters, my windows won’t unfog.

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HAVE WE

GIVEN UP OUR RIGHTS TO PRIVACY? Companies might be collecting and selling your data, but you gave them permission to

By Aaliyah Dasoo

ou turn on your phone, eager to watch that video, read that article or share that post. But before you can access the website you want, you’re hit with a pop-up. It might read something like “we’ve updated our privacy policy” or “we’ve changed our terms and conditions.” You can either read more, or just click on “I accept.” You’ve seen terms and conditions pages before—they’re lengthy and oftentimes, full of legal and technical jargon. Who knows how long it would take you to sit and read through the entire terms and conditions page? Would it even be worth it if you couldn’t understand what you just read? You decide to spare yourself the extra work and click “I accept.” And just like that, you’ve legally accepted the collection and distribution of your personal data. In the last few years, the world has seen more online privacy scandals than ever before, from a Panera Bread website flaw leaking customer addresses, credit card digits and birthdays, to Facebook’s Cambridge Analytica scandal influencing the 2018 United States presidential election. In an increasingly digitized world, it’s now more important than ever for users to understand what data they willingly and unwillingly forfeit while online.

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It can be hard to figure out how much of your data is being collected once you’re under a website’s privacy policy and its corresponding terms and conditions of use. Different websites collect different amounts of data, too. Take Instagram for example: their data policy collects user information such as the location and date a photo was taken, the camera and device you’re using, your phone contacts (should you choose to sync them with the app) and information about purchases (like donations, transactions, and billing/shipping data). In comparison, the data collection policy for a gaming website, like Twitch, for example, may seem less intrusive— they collect data such as billing information for contests, the kinds of games you download, and how often you open their emails. But if you allow authorization to another party (for example, you agree to login through Facebook) then you’re subject to the Facebook privacy policy too. According to a 2016 report by the Office of the Privacy Commissioner of Canada, some four in 10 Canadians read the privacy policy for apps before they download them. And even though what’s being done with your information can be hidden under layers of jargon, once you check that box that says “I agree,” you have agreed to whatever is in that clause—regardless of whether or not you’ve actually read the terms. Good privacy policies allow the user to remain in control of their data, which experts say often isn’t the case online. “Privacy is all about personal control over the uses of your personal information to disclose how it’s used,” says Dr. Ann Cavoukian, a privacy expert at the Ryerson Privacy by Design Centre of Excellence. “Only the individual knows the context associated with their data. They are the ones that must make the decisions relating to its release or non-release.” So what exactly are we sharing online then, if we do consent to the release of our data through terms and conditions agreements? According to Professor James Curtis, an assistant professor at Webster University, almost anything we put out publicly about ourselves is up for grabs. When creating an account for a website, for example, you sign up with seemingly arbitrary bits of information: your name, birthday, email address,

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location. But Curtis says these bits of data are collected to gain a bigger picture understanding of consumers. “They’re profiling you,” says Curtis. “They’re basically tracking your preferences, they’re tracking your interests.” Everything from GPS photo data to the last website you visited can potentially be picked up by the first party website you visit and, chances are, that data will likely be sold to a third-party: advertisers. ... Most free websites use advertising as their primary source of funding. In order to let you watch your YouTube video or read your Vogue article for free, websites use advertisements to pay the bills. It’s not an outright sale of your information for money but rather the sale of access to you as a potential customer. Once companies have an idea of who you are and what you like, they can target you more specifically for demographic marketing. And that’s really where the profile on the individual begins. However, Dr. Cavoukian says that it’s unnecessary to collect such a high level of information on an individual. “They want to exceed, in my view, their ability to use the information for the primary purpose intended,” he said. “They’re going way beyond that by marketing and selling products to you without your consent. If you consent to that, that’s fine, but this generally happens without your consent.” ... Not all countries have taken a back seat to the abuse of privacy by larger conglomerates. The General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR), is a regulation on European Union laws surrounding data protection and personal privacy. Article 25 of the GDPR includes Dr. Cavoukian’s policy framework from Privacy by Design and according to her, the law “provides the strongest privacy protection possible”. “It states that privacy should be the default setting,” says Cavoukian. This means the website or app can only

use your information for their main purposes of data collection (administrative use typically) and you, as the user, shouldn’t have to provide additional consent. “The company would say to the consumer that you don’t have to ask for privacy, we give it to you automatically,” she says. “We are only permitted to use your personal information for the purpose intended for stock.” But privacy enshrined in federal public policy is unique only to the European Union— Canada has no such legislation in the works. Daniel Therrien, Canada’s privacy commissioner, has urged Justin Trudeau’s federal government to update privacy laws. As reported in the Globe and Mail, Therrien has said that there is an “urgent need” to call for privacy to be a human right under Canadian law. Cavoukian says that Therrien has asked for legislation to be updated to “the essence of the GDPR” and that her Privacy by Design framework be included in it. “It was created by one of ours, a Canadian, and it should also appear in our law,” said Cavoukian. South of the border, in the United States, certain states have also begun to enact privacy legislation. In June of 2018, California passed the California Consumer Privacy Act, which is similar to the GDPR in the way that it protects the privacy of the individual and that companies can be fined for not doing so. But Curtis raised an important point— this is a state law, not a federal one. Just because California introduced user protection, that doesn’t mean all 50 states have to abide by its online safety regulations. That being said, he says he is hopeful that other states will follow California’s lead. “I’m somewhat optimistic that we are going steadily move toward the European model with the GDPR, of starting to have legal and economic ramifications for using individual privacy data that we don’t say they can use,” said Curtis. He believes that enforcing policy will drive action away from companies profiting off of user privacy. “When you start putting massive fines on a company like Google for every single internet where they don’t comply with policy and law, that makes them change,” says Curtis. “That’s the only way they’ll change.”

And while it’s true that the onus should be on websites to protect your privacy, this isn’t usually the case. Curtis suggests taking matters into your own hands and being more vigilant when it comes to protecting your own data. For starters, he suggests having a sort of burner email. This disposable email, perhaps used to sign up for online promotions or store other junk mail, would be separate from the email address he calls your “core” email. The core email has connections to information like your address or banking details and should be shared only with those you trust: friends, families and work colleagues. He also suggests being wary of password keychains, systems that save your passwords for easy access. The problem with key chains is that they also store your user profile and any information kept in your passwordprotected applications. “I wish [password keychains] didn’t exist,” he said. While convenient, the tradeoff to storing all your passwords in one place on a device is that it’s done in plain text. If your device was compromised, your passwords would be easy for hackers to locate, giving them access to all of your accounts. A quick fix to this, he says, is to use a professional password manager which is legitimate, free and protected. “We strongly urge people to use password managers because they are encrypted,” said Curtis. Lastly, he says to keep a lookout for websites that don’t include the “s” in the “https” that appears at the top of your search bar. That “s” stands for secure, and without it, the website you’re using may be unencrypted and is probably insecure. When it comes down to it, privacy isn’t something we should let go of for convenience. It’s central to our individuality and is absolutely a right. “Privacy is essential to frame democratic societies privacy forms the foundation of our freedom,” says Dr. Cavoukian. “If you value freedom, then you value privacy. Let’s make sure we protect it.” ∆

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WILL

o i d a R

DIE WITH

G E N E R AT I O N Z ? In the face of newer technological innovations, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s hard to say if radio will continue to be popular among younger generations

By Sophie Chong

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ood ol’ radio: as a constant source of music, entertainment and news, it was one of the revolutionary inventions of the 1900s. During the first world war, radio was used alongside with morse code to contact ships at sea. After the war, civilians began buying radios for personal use and by 1932, the first public broadcast systems were created.

traditional radio is not as popular with generation Z (those born after 1995) in a way that it was for older generations. The study found that from 2005 to 2016, the number of teens aged 13 years and older listening to radio had declined by almost 50 per cent. The study projects that those in generation Z will account for 40 per cent of all consumers in the United States by 2020.

With the emergence of new English and French radio stations, public broadcasts altered the way Canadians consumed news and entertainment. Wanted to tune into a Maple Leafs game? Switch to 1400 kHz, sit back and relax to the sounds of Canadian sports broadcast Foster Hewitt (also the previous host of Hockey Night in Canada) give you the latest play by play from the 1930s. Or need to know what’s making headlines globally? Listen to the coverage by CBC/Radio Canada about Princess Elizabeth and the Duke of Edinburgh’s visit to Canada in 1951.

The study also cites new technological platforms are to blame for the growing apathy towards radio— consumers have instead moved to platforms like YouTube, Spotify and Pandora to stream and discover new music. By 2020, 75 per cent of new cars are expected to be able to connect to digital devices and smartphones, rendering the car’s AM and FM features inessential to listening to favourite tunes or podcasts. Smart speakers, like the Amazon Echo and home entertainment systems now have no need to include broadcast radio. And this poses the question: can radio can avoid the risk of irrelevancy in a new digital age?

Over the course of the 20th century, radio has been known to broadcast the latest to its listeners. “Radio is the most important communication and innovation that there’s ever been,” said Dr. Peter Johnston, an instructor at Ryerson University who hosts his own podcast series. “Everything else since then has been a version of that, even the internet because it’s recorded and it can be beamed all around the world and in real time.” With a PhD in ethnomusicology, which is the study of the cultural and social contexts of music, Johnston believes that the ability to share music locally and nationally has been one of the defining features of radio.

Radio has always been a medium that develops with its audience. Following the first world war, American radio audiences were predominantly white—80 per cent of rural white families owned radios nationwide. According to the Digital Public Library of American (DPLA), racism was prevalent within the broadcasting industry during this time, where African-American men and women were limited to the jobs in the radio broadcast industry. It wasn’t until the 1950s and 1960s that more localized programming helped create opportunities for AfricanAmericans to have radio presence, that catered to a more diverse audience.

But with the rise of online streaming platforms, radio may outlive this function too. A study published in 2017 by Larry Miller, the head of New York University’s Steinhardt Music Business Program, found that

But historically, conventional radio has been slow to adapt to its changing audiences in the way that newer platforms, like podcasts, have been able to. The growing popularity of podcasts in the past 20 years have drawn

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listeners away from broadcasting, towards listening to chunks of audio put together on conversations about business, politics, sex, you name it. You could be listening to podcasts on dating advice at home and then on your commute to work, switch to a fictional story narrated by a soft, beautiful voice. Not only do podcasts cater to different interests but also better represent its diverse audiences. Asian Boss Girl, for example, is a podcast that creates a space in the mediasphere for Asian American women to share their stories and experiences on life, career aspirations, relationships and more. The allure of podcasts has people tuned in for a more diverse and intimate listening experience tailored to their interests. Dr. Peter Johnston, a part-time musician, also has a podcast mini-series called Northern Static, where he interviews Canadian composers and investigates their music and creative processes. “I wanted to have the kinds of conversations that I wasn’t hearing on any other podcast for a very small audience,” said Johnston. “For me it was very much about sharing and distributing knowledge that wasn’t out there otherwise. I wanted to document those conversations so that other people can learn from the people who I was learning from.” According to Business Insider, major advertisers are turning away from traditional media and instead turning to digital media that attracts younger audiences. Miller forecasts the revenue generated from podcasts to grow to $659 million in 2020. As smart phones are the mode of podcast consumption, they introduce accessibility, portability and an endless variety of shows. And larger companies have taken notice, with Spotify buying podcast networks Gimlet and Anchor for a reported $340 million. One of the most popular podcasts to date is The Joe Rogan Experience, hosted by comedian and sports commentator Joe Rogan who has recently become the one of the top earning podcasters, making $30 million in 2019 and boasting some 190 million listeners every month. But others say radio isn’t going anywhere. Dennis Wharton, executive vice-president of the National Association of Broadcasters, responded to Miller’s report that seemed to predict the demise of radio broadcasting. In an article published by Variety, Wharton called the report “silly,” arguing that radio is still popular with the younger generation. A 2017 report by iHeart Radio claimed “radio is hugely popular with teens, with 81 per cent saying it will always be a part of their lives.” More interestingly, they stated that “three-

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quarters of Generation Zers use the radio to find new music and two-quarters rely on radio to uncover new products, movies, and events.” Not all young people have abandoned the idea of listening to the radio. Graeme Thomson, a fourthyear student and radio show host at Ryerson’s campus radio station, The Scope, believes radio is what brings communities together. Growing up in the countryside of Guelph, Ont., Thomson often listened to the local radio. Living in a small town of 10,000 people, he would hear radio hosts asking questions to members of his community or the station giving away gifts to locals. “Getting your voice on air in a community where you know that everyone else is listening,” said Thomson. “I think those little moments build a connection between the listener and the station.” In 2019, Roz and Mocha, the hosts of radio broadcast network KISS 92.5, held a contest to give away a free house. On live radio, nine people were selected and given keys to a house. The person whose key fit into the lock on the house being given away would win the new home. Jordan Heath-Rawlings is the director of digital radio and podcasts at Rogers Media where he hosts The Big Story and The Gravy Train and also oversees the livestream of all Rogers radio stations across the country. He was tuned into the live broadcast as someone became the lucky winner of the house. “I was listening to that with my earphones in, by myself on the streetcar on my way to work,” said Heath-Rawlings. “It was crazy and funny. I was smiling and laughing...it was a really exciting moment when that young woman won and it was very touching.” He says he believes radio has a way of connecting people together communally, in a way that podcasting is not able to. “For the most part, podcasts are an intimate experience and radio is a communal experience,” said Heath-Rawlings. “Part of the fun of listening to the radio is you know that hundreds and thousands of people are also listening to the exact same thing.” It’s perhaps our need to feel connected with others that’s brought popularity to platforms like radio. Over the course of its lifespan, radio has evolved into a creative and expressive landscape for personal and economic profit— it’s also given way to newer audio mediums like podcasts, now in their prime. Will radio be able to keep its own place? ∆

A short story by Jemma Dooreleyers

a e m r D Ye

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woke up this morning to her toenails running up and down my leg.

One had peeled back in her restless sleep and it tickled the back of my knee with such an unpleasant sensation that chills went up my spine and my palms went clammy. But if I turned my head towards the window, everything was perfect. It was early morning and the light peeking through the gossamer curtains was the kind of yellow that convinced me that yellow was my favourite colour. I was on my first vacation in a year and had had such a deep sleep that I was unsure if I had moved all night (although judging from how much room I had left on the bed, I’m not sure how much of that was my choice). A slight draft entered through the French doors of our room and the slight sway of the curtains matched the steady rhythm of the rising and lowering of my chest. There were piles of snow falling from the roof onto the ground, making soft thuds every now and then. I find the steady rhythm and stillness of the world in the morning hours peaceful—I close my eyes and smile at the fact that I don’t have to open my eyes and rush out the door. But with another great snore from beside me, I immediately want to. I sigh deeply and turn to face her, and what I couldn’t ignore any longer. Kay had thrown off all of the blankets in the night but tried to retrieve them back in her sleep— the end result was a messy pile of sheets gathered at her feet. Her legs and arms were strewn about as though she had fallen out of a 10-story building and splattered on the sidewalk.

at all. ... We met at a party, in the first year of university. Halloween fell on a Wednesday that year and there were costume parties everyday leading up to it. I was dressed as Spiderman but only had the mask on – neck down, I was just regular Peter Parker. Someone handed me a brownie laced with THC without telling me how much to eat and so I ate it all—it was the first drug I had ever done. Suddenly, it became very apparent how dark and narrow the hallway was. The distance stretched before me and my feet became planted to the floor. Too much feeling was coming into my face. I needed to take my mask off, but my hands weren’t working properly. Just when I thought I was going to die there, with my feet immobile and my Spiderman mask peeled up to my cheeks, someone who was dressed as Harley-Quinn came storming down the hall. She whipped my mask off and forced her tongue into my very dry mouth. I can still only pick up glimpses from that night, like a projector casting silent images. After the kiss, we didn’t leave right away. Instead, she ushered me around by the elbow as she giggled and giggled about how funny it was that Spiderman and Harley-Quinn had kissed. We ended up back on my mattress on the floor of the next rooming house over. I didn’t learn her name until the next morning. “My name is Kay,” she said as she poked me in the middle of my forehead to wake me up. “Let’s do this again sometime.” “Kay.” I said faintly, still slightly high.

Last night, she cried and told me that she couldn’t help it. In between tears, she insisted that she loved me no matter what. We tried to have sex but I pushed her away when I realized she was slurring her words. I didn’t judge her, I just felt bad for her. I wanted to help. But she had already fallen asleep, mouth agape, snoring. When I tried to sleep that night, I saw the ever-present billboard that lives behind my eyelids. “You don’t love her anymore,” it screams at me. Her hack job bangs were plastered to her forehead with sweat and with every twitch and murmur she made, I wished she was someone else, or better yet, not there

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It started innocently enough. After class she would run up to me and produce a joint from behind my ear like a cheap street magician produces a dollar. Then, when all of my homework was done and I decided that I could relax a little bit, we would walk to the park where I was convinced no one would find us. Getting high with Kay was better than almost anything, and I quickly became complacent. With my homework, with my friends and with my self control. I’m not sure what came first. My addiction to Kay or my addiction to drugs. But I became dependent on both

pretty quickly. ... We never did any of the “hard stuff”—opioids, crystal meth— but anything becomes hard stuff when you use it the way we did. I never had to pay for any of it, as long as I told Kay that I would always love her no matter what and have sex with her right at the peak of her high. We convinced ourselves that we weren’t addicted to any one drug because we were doing all of them. We swallowed, smoked and snorted anything we could get our hands on. Sometimes it would make us laugh and laugh. Other times, it would turn us into children, grasping onto each other and crying until we each fell asleep, unable to say exactly what was wrong. But most of the time, she would fall asleep with her mouth wide open, taking up the whole bed and snoring obnoxiously loud. Sometimes, I wished that she would stop breathing so that I could get some sleep too. On nights like these, I would lie paralyzed, running through everything I had forgotten to do in the day, lips pursed, disgust mixed in with the burning taste of hash. Watching movement behind my eyes all I could do was focus on my breathing and convince myself that if I could just fall asleep, it would all be over soon. ... The first time I refused to smoke with her, Kay furrowed her brow and asked what was up. Was there another woman? We had so much to celebrate. Was she not fun anymore? Had I found someone else to have fun with? I don’t need to worry about the money. I told her that it was nothing, I just didn’t want to smoke. She said fine, curled up on the armchair in our living room and picked at her toenails for the rest of the night. The second night I refused, she stopped talking to me and drank so much Nyquil that she had to crawl to bed. In the support group that I started going to secretly at the end of this year, others would often discuss a traumatic event that prompted them to get help— they realized that they had used all the money in their child’s university fund on drugs or they survived their fifth overdose and their mother told them that she wouldn’t call the ambulance the next time it happened. But for me, it was waking up one day and realizing that my

whole college experience was traumatic and not for the same reasons as everyone else. 19 missed calls from my mother because I had been asleep for three days and my sister had her baby. The few friends I had, telling me that I wasn’t invited to their study group because I would probably be high anyways. Kay trying to use my SD card, that stored the film project I had been spending all semester making, as a blade to grind up some pill or other and breaking it in half. Fed up one day, I woke up silently and slipped out of the apartment we were barely affording, sustained by our minimum wage jobs and our parent’s generosity and hopped on a train to my mother’s house. I slept for three days and three nights, no snoring to be heard. I left on the promise of therapy and an ultimatum that if I didn’t find a job in my field in a year, I would move back home under the watchful eye of my mother. I don’t think she ever knew the extent of what I was going through but she could probably tell. I probably looked like hell. My therapist and I took to labelling these years of my life as “dream years.” They were six long years that consisted of moments in which I slipped in and out of, not managing to accomplish anything except graduating a year late and finally realizing that Kay was a leech and a host all at once, keeping me dependent to feel validated. ... Kay is still snoring. It’s clear that I’m not going to be able to fall back asleep. I get up, throw on the clothes from last night and put on my winter boots. The door is wide open and I hesitate for a moment. The first thing I notice is how quiet it is. The birds have migrated south and the trees muffle any noise from civilization. The sky is bright blue and the air is so cold that as soon as it hits my nostrils, I feel my pulse quicken. Before I leave, I poke her in the middle of her forehead with my index finger. “Wake up,” I yell, as I slam the door behind me. I certainly have. ∆

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BROKEN BONDS Cutting ties with loved ones is sometimes a necessary evil By Mariam Nouser

y parents divorced in 2003 when I was eight years old. My father soon remarried and while we remained close after his second marriage, my seemingly picturesque relationship with him was anything but.

hikes together and chat for hours.”

While my dad showered me with love in some ways, I always felt the need to impress him. I would speak a certain way and be interested in things he liked. When he would come to visit me from British Columbia, I was always on my best behaviour. I would talk about school whenever I had the chance and was hesitant to form my own opinions in front of him. As I grew into an adult, I eventually learned to set goals based on my needs and wants.

“I remember always feeling confused and down about myself when I would go home after seeing her,” said Richards. “She constantly criticized me.”

As we grow older and navigate platonic and romantic relationships, we learn what emotionally healthy and unhealthy relationships look and feel like. Yet spotting that difference can be hard, and as was the case with my dad, both painful and traumatic.

For other people going through similar situations, Richards says, “Take time to think through your reasons on what to end communication.” It is important to process situations rather than making irrational decisions.

...

But for some, creating boundaries and sticking to them isn’t an option. Tara Molson, senior director of community programs at the Young Women’s Christian Association (YWCA) Regina, a centre for women and children escaping trauma and violence, says there are many reasons why a person might have to maintain communication with a toxic friend or family member.

Alana Richards*, a Ryerson University alumnus, was on the receiving end of constant criticism from a close loved one. Richards’ parents divorced in 2014 and after her father remarried and had kids, he decided to reach back out to her. Her father introduced her to her two older halfsisters and Richards quickly grew close to one of her half-sisters, Sara*, who was ten years her senior. “I was going through a life-changing period in my life with school and dating,” she recalls. “We would go on

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In early 2017, two years after they became close, Richards says she started noticing how much worse she felt after being around Sara.

She wanted to stop talking to her half-sister for a few months but held back—she wanted to avoid the confrontation and didn’t want to disappoint her dad. Eventually, her half-sister distanced herself from Richards.

“Some barriers that people might face when cutting ties include needing help with finances, housing or losing social circles. Each person and situation is different,” said Molson. “What we do know is that if we can teach children and youth what a healthy relationship should look like, then we are giving them the tools to navigate

relationships throughout their lives.” To evaluate whether or not your relationships are healthy, Molson says it is great to ‘quiz’ yourself or your friend/relative. “Ask yourself: does this relationship have open, honest and safe communication? Do you respect each other’s wishes and feelings? Do you have healthy boundaries? If you are questioning or wanting support, reach out to a local counselling agency,” urged Molson. ... In February 2017, I suffered a severe mental health crisis and was admitted to the hospital for almost three weeks. After months of little to no sleep and trying to prove to my dad that I could balance my studies work and extracurricular activities, the pressure grew to be too much. It was my then-fiancé who told my dad about what I was experiencing. “Asalamu alaikum amo, hope you’re okay,” he said, speaking in hushed tones from my hospital room. “I have to update you about Mimi.” My dad fell silent. After a pause, he said words about me which solidified my dad’s passive-aggressiveness towards me. I felt numb, betrayed and frankly misunderstood, as I realized that my dad was not there to support me when I needed him most. I wanted to feel like a priority for my dad, but I wasn’t. For many years after that incident, I tried to hold our relationship together for the sake of my younger brothers—after all, he is still my father. I gave him so many chances but ultimately, I realized my mental illnesses were triggered partly by the trauma I faced with my dad from years of emotional abuse directed towards me. I couldn’t live that life anymore.

many people and so, when the popular jock, Jason*, showed interest in her, she was beyond happy. Soon after, the pair started dating. At the time, her relationship felt healthy and normal but in hindsight, says Gaztambide, things were rocky from the start. Gaztambide realized that she wasn’t included in many of his plans. His unhealthy obsession with the gym, exclusion of her from his friend and family gatherings and his constant need of having her to do his assignments took a toll on her emotionally. But she never addressed the concerns, feeling that she could not do or find better than him. When the pair went to universities in different cities in fall 2018, their physical distance took its toll on Gaztambide. She would spend so much time going to see Jason that it affected her grades and relationships. Her effort to make her romantic relationship work took a toll on her relationship with her own family. Despite the signs of toxic behaviour, Gaztambide was adamant about working on the relationship. Even when Jason cheated on her, she gave him a second chance. She describes her return to him as a result of their unhealthy power dynamic, in which she was submissive and he was dominant. But their relationship didn’t last long after that, and at the end of her first year, she decided to break up with him. “I did not see what my closest friends and family saw,” explained Gaztambide. “It was easier to reject than to hear.” Reflecting on her past relationship, Gaztambide says “Everyone should learn to love themselves first, before they love anyone else.”

...

For so long, I didn’t know how to love myself—I saw myself through my father’s eyes and I despised the way I acted and looked. It was imperative to stop speaking with my father, in order to find my own identity, stand up for myself and help my heart heal from the hurt he caused me. Cutting off relationships with people who were once close is hard but sometimes very necessary. I decided to live my life to please myself rather than my father—and that’s the way it should be. ∆

Second-year journalism student Mercedes Gaztambide was the nerdy girl in high school. She wasn’t friends with

*Names have been altered to protect characters’ anonymity.

Since the deterioration of our relationship, I have grown so much without the suffocating grasp he held over every move in my life. I have become the person I needed to become. But that does not change the fact that somehow, I still miss him.

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Learning hOW

tALK TO GOD A GAIN How do we reconcile belief in God in the face of trauma?

By Dania Ali

hen I used to get upset as a child, my mom would always have the same response. She used to fold my small hands into hers, look me in my eyes and say, “I want you to remember that when you have God in your corner, you don’t need anyone else. Having faith and trust in Him means you will never feel alone.” As a child, this advice was easy to follow. When I felt scared of sleeping in the dark, I would close my eyes and recite a verse from the Qur’an. When I got a bad grade, I would pray for a better one. When I felt angry, my mom would calmly place her hand on mine, asking me to breathe deeply and recite bismillah three times after each exhale. Finding comfort in faith became harder when I moved halfway across the world to attend university. I no longer had my mom’s soft, unwavering hands interlaced with my own, guiding me. This time, I had to truly believe for myself in what she had been telling me along: to trust and have faith in God. But faith can be like fire: it can be tenacious and powerful in one moment, and in the other, a flickering flame, just barely there. No matter how quick it spreads inside of your soul, making you feel alive, it can also fade just as easily with grief and heartbreak. Some things, you just never see coming.

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After 10 long hours of labour, my mama gave birth to me in the early morning hours of Oct. 8, 1998, in a small country called Qatar. When a baby is born in a Muslim family like mine, it is customary to recite the call to prayer, the Adhan, into the child’s ear. And so, my baba held me in his arms and softly whispered into my tiny ear the first words that I would ever hear. Shortly after, a sort of welcoming ceremony for the child, called an Aqiqah, was put together by my family. My dad handed out Pakistani sweets and the meat of two goats amongst the poorer communities in the city. Both Islamic rituals were carried out within the first week of me entering this world, marking my righteous entrance into the faith.

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Everything else I learned about my faith came from imitation. As a child, I would watch mama getting ready to pray and when she put on her own headscarf, I would grab the closest piece of clothing and wrap it tightly around my own head. Mama would then lay out a prayer mat on the ground and I would lay down mine too, slightly overlapping hers. She would close her eyes and hold her hands together in supplication, close to her face. In that moment, it

seemed as if the whole world fell away for her and no one else, myself included, existed while she prayed.

“Wow. Your English is amazing—how is that possible? Aren’t you from the Middle East?”

Within the Islamic faith, it is considered mandatory to pray five times a day. Prayer to many is much more than routine: my mother used her faith as a therapy that helped her relieve the day’s stresses. As I grew into my early teens, I started to perform daily prayers too, convinced that it was key to a healthier spiritual lifestyle. That’s the thing with children: teaching them faith is easy because they choose to see the good in life. It became harder to focus on religion as I entered adulthood and watched the complexities of daily life get in the way. Eventually, I found myself outgrowing that young girl, nestled next to her mama on her own prayer mat. I had to get up to walk my own path.

“See I appreciate people like you. You move here and you take that headscarf off, you learn our way of life here. Tell me then, why is it so hard for other women who come to Canada?”

... I moved to Toronto three years ago to pursue a journalism degree, convinced I was ready to live on my own. I met new friends and fellow student journalists who shared the same passions as me and even though I was far from home, I felt like I belonged. I always knew I wanted to pursue this career path but struggled to find like-minded people who also wanted to tell stories that would challenge stereotypes of Muslims in the media. Being the first person in my family to pursue a creative degree was not going to be easy to do and it was seen as an odd career choice. As I settled into university life, I found friends who supported me. But at the same time, university came with partying and alcohol, forcing me to face situations that inevitably challenged aspects of my religious identity. According to research by the State Adolescent Health Resource Centre, questions relating to our identities start to emerge at a younger age when our sense of self is still developing. And I was no stranger to this. I don’t drink for religious reasons and being the only sober one at a party was more difficult than I thought it would be. Being the only person who passed on smoking weed and being asked, “Why not?”, was more difficult than I anticipated. Being unsure of whether or not I should just quickly take a shot to not have to explain why I was different was the worst. When people learned of my Muslim and Middle Eastern background, I often faced uncomfortable and ignorant questions I didn’t know how to answer.

“I’m surprised to see your stance on women’s rights, although aren’t you a Muslim?” All these questions insinuated that I could not be both one thing and another at the same time. I could not be a Muslim woman and not wear a headscarf. I could not possibly be from Qatar yet speak “amazing” English. Being expected to explain away my existence was frustrating, to say the least. Our brains are hardwired to categorize different types of objects, which cause stimulation in different parts of our brain. Similar to objects, we tend to place people into neat boxes because it makes it somewhat easier to understand them. It’s funny how we allow these preexisting perceptions to paint a picture of someone we’ve just met, even before they’ve had a chance to put in a few brushstrokes themselves first. Being unable to fit myself into any one box took a toll on my religious identity in particular. In my more religious social circles, I was often judged for the clothing that I wore and the words that I spoke. But I was often judged for the same clothing and the same words among university friends. So, I found myself wedged, uncomfortably, in the middle. Even though I was constantly questioning how I lived as a Muslim day to day, I tried my best to embrace my new life. One night my friends convinced me to join them at the Ram in the Rye for a Halloween party. It was dark and loud, and we were dancing to a 2010 classic and singing at the top of our lungs—despite my reservations, I found myself having fun. Suddenly, I felt someone grope me from behind, laugh loudly and then scurry away. I turned around, but I saw no one there. I felt a deep, spiraling anxiety start to grow in the pit of my stomach. My chest was tight, and I started trembling. This had happened before, once, as a child— but I hadn’t thought about it for years now, and I wasn’t ready to face it. I apologized to my friends and ran back to my room. ryerson folio // 33

re w uoy renroc y n v e n lli ru eb reve

n lliw o .en e h enola ol W . lliw uoy renroc ruoy ni uo y do y ven G b re

ve n

y uo

I never told anyone about him, not even my mama, who taught me never to lie to her about anything. On the hardwood floor of my friend’s apartment that night, all of this came back to me in pieces and I sat there feeling empty. How could someone who is meant to teach principles of kindness and compassion in Islam violate a child like that? If my God was watching then and was watching me now, why wasn’t He helping me? I heard my mama’s words echo in my ears: “When you have God in your corner, you won’t ever feel alone.” They didn’t seem to hold much meaning anymore. eb o la h u hW a ne v oy u

e liw uo evah eb uoy ola neh .en W

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r hu a

When I was around nine or 10 years old, mama got me and my sister a tutor who would come to our house during the week to teach us how to read the Qur’an. He wore a white thobe, always clean and freshly ironed, with a black kufi that sat on top of his head and goldrimmed glasses. The stiff coat he wore on top couldn’t contain his protruding stomach: the black buttons in the front always seemed like they were about to pop off.

vah uoy ne Ge do c ruoy ni doG e hW ni enrooy nehW .enola eb re vah .e

He taught me and my sister for over three years.

...

I would read with him first and then my younger sister would have her turn—we never read together. He explained to mama that we would distract each other. When I began reciting, he would inch closer to me and spread his legs wider. The pants under his clean, white thobe were a little too transparent. His stare would linger on parts of my body, always long enough to make me look away immediately and focus on my reading. He would then start to move the Qur’an closer to him insisting that he could not see what I was reading. His hand would slither from across the Qur’an towards me. I froze. I would stare at the carpet: red with hints of blue woven in here and there. I knew what he was doing to me felt wrong, but I didn’t fully grasp what was happening.

evah uoy nehW ni doG oy ruoy ni doG evah uoy nehW eb reven lli c la hW .enola e w uoy r e oc r ro en lliw uoy renroc ruoy ni doG evah uoy nehW reve noy ne renroc ruoy ni db n l n r y re v oG

Months later, I was watching a comedy show with a few friends when the comedian started to joke about rape. He kept saying it, like a broken tape recorder: “Rape, rape, rape, what’s the big deal about it these days?” I froze, and saw vivid flashbacks of that night at the pub. Before anyone noticed what was happening, I dragged myself to an empty room and tried to breathe. I was shaking, again. I felt the same gnawing feeling lodge itself in my chest, tightening quickly. I breathed slowly, trying to recite verses from the Qur’an to focus my mind on something, anything else but I couldn’t think of anything. I sat there, with my back against the wall, legs locked in front of me, and closed my eyes, remembering moments I had tried to forget long ago.

He would come in the afternoon, just as mama came home from work and went to nap after a tiring day. We would sit opposite each other on the deep crimson carpet in our living room, the Qur’an resting on a pillow in between us.

n c ruo y n i do .en i do G G o ev e ah

I stopped praying altogether, ignoring my spiritual needs because I didn’t think that faith could heal me. I would think of praying and then talk myself out of it. Praying required talking to God and that meant I had to be vulnerable, coming to terms with painful memories that I tried so hard to suppress.

He always talked in an abrupt manner, as if each word was spat out of his mouth, not spoken. What I remember distinctly is his temper. Anytime I acted up, his face would wash over with fury. If I read too fast, too slow or took a breath for two seconds too long, his angry voice would blare in my ears: “Are you not learning anything? Do you not understand how to read?”

ruoy ni d oG reven lliw uoyevah uo renro y n c ru eh enola eb reven lliw W oy uoy ren ro

For the next year I pretended like nothing had happened. I focused on school and building my writing portfolio. I still felt that loneliness at times, when I was at a party with people I hardly knew or when I was sitting in the library on a Friday night instead of going out to a movie. It seeped into everything I did. I started to argue with my little sister. I had some problems with my roommates but tried to keep those feelings at bay. I got my first “C” in a course but told myself it was a one off and made an appointment with the professor to fix it. I tried calling home as much as I could but there were bigger things to worry about – I didn’t have the time. I wasn’t the happiest I could be but I wasn’t the saddest either. I thought I hadn’t hit rock bottom but what I didn’t realize was that I was already there; I just didn’t know it.

There is evidence to show that more people, especially a younger demographic, are leaving behind organized religion as a whole. Most do not believe in a higher power but perhaps surprisingly, I still do. After relieving these moments, I didn’t understand what the purpose of believing and having faith was. But

For a long time, I felt ashamed because of the things I had endured earlier in life—now I try to wear my experiences as my armour. The time has come for me to start thinking more critically about how I practice Islam and for me and that means living my truth. I now have a line in the Qur’an that I think of when facing the darkness that I had locked away: “Verily, with every hardship comes ease.” The next time something seemingly insurmountable comes by, I will pause, take a deep breath and know that this is all a part of a plan that God has carefully carved out for me. ∆

ne. yo W hen

When you have God in

Wh u h en av yo u

e av h

r d in you ave Guowill never ou h yo n y orner alone he ur c u will never be W n yo r corner yo e. d i in you on Goe God

er b

yo God

n ll

er you will ne e r corn v ur ill never be alone. W en y. yo u win your corner you will nev h lone

u have G n yo he od in your c od W ve G alone. When y orne in ou e. u ha ever be ha r

yo When you have God in your l never be al co r co u wil o in your corner you w ill ne r r r yo be alone. When n ve er you n ell neverGod in your corner y yo ou be al wi u have w o

When I was at my worst in the past year, I knew that even though I was avoiding God, He knew I was still here, trying to get through each day. Faith isn’t just about having God in my corner—I have to actively practice being someone who is charitable, humble and patient in order to lead a better spiritual life and strengthen my connection to God. My mama had taught me how to pray, how to fast during Ramadan, how to read the Qur’an—but I was living my faith as set of rules, blindly

following the rituals that she taught me and that her mama taught her. Instead, I needed to learn how to feel closer to my faith by buying the kind homeless man outside of Tim Horton's a coffee, by being more patient when I had arguments with my sister, but most importantly, by understanding that I had to live my faith to make it stronger.

When you have God

when I woke up the next day, I felt light. My mind wasn’t cluttered. Was this how I was supposed to be feeling? Where was that resentment from last night? There was no anxiety spiraling from my stomach upwards, and I realized in that moment that healing from trauma is not an overnight journey. There are moments of laughter and tears and a fear that comes and goes. But this time, I was the one in control—my trauma could no longer hold me hostage. I had to re-learn how to use my faith to help me cope. I had to learn how to talk to God again.

Illustration by Dania Ali.

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36 // ryerson folio

today, my vision heals unevenly A poem by Lesley-Jane De Boer

Today, my vision heals unevenly. I just realized that cracking a window breaks brittle barriers. Caramel-cinnamon churros. The sweetness reminds of my county fair - a realm of possibilities, Your bad karaoke in the car creases laugh lines on my once passive face You got a bad diagnosis of frost bite once I found you in a baptized state of warmth, vowing to visit sunflowers. Sunday newspaper comics seep colour, toothpaste equals a daily new beginning; even mundane grocery trips sparks possible concoctions - skinny dipping bananas in chocolate ponds, cookies and cream lasagna Friction gives me a home intertwined with the flawed. We are freakinâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; invincible We remain bridge builders hammering a harmony that magnetic pull of daring to dream inevitable. I know we are a fiery furnace meant to flourish I want to live forever in American denim. Today, heroes and villains, my vision heals unevenly. Still, healing bring clarity.

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DISCOMFORT IN THE COMFORT ZONE Why growth doesn’t need to happen when we’re uncomfortable By Vanessa Quon

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lurry vision, words stuttered out of a desertdry mouth, a swirling stomach and a heart that beat like a nightclub on a Friday night: this was my anxiety. When I was younger, I always needed someone to be physically beside me to curb these anxious thoughts and feelings, even if I was just waiting for my take-out order or walking down the hall at school. While I had an idea that something wasn’t “normal” about the way I felt in social settings, I didn’t know what social anxiety was and I didn’t know anybody else who experienced it—I had no way of coping. I thought of myself as weird for internally panicking in public for no apparent reason. I would feel even worse when people would tell me to stop being scared and to “step out of my comfort zone” so that I could do normal tasks without needing others to help suppress my anxiety. The stigma attached to the concept of the comfort zone pressured me to put myself into stressful situations that caused me further anxiety, such as talking to people I didn’t want to talk to or being places I didn’t want to be. It was like a double-edged sword: on the one hand, I wanted to become more independent and extroverted, but I was taught that was only possible by stepping out of my comfort zone. And so, I continued to avoid situations because I didn’t want to deal with the accompanying anxiety I knew they would bring. I wasn’t comfortable going out with people I didn’t fully

know, I didn’t like to share my ideas in class discussions and I would avoid networking events at all costs (which is admittedly, not the best course of action for a communications-based career). I started to view my comfort zone, a place where I felt safe, as “the stagnancy zone.” If I wasn’t pushing myself to be more “normal” in situations that were anxietyinducing, then I was wasting my time. There was a constant internal struggle between taking care of my anxiety or testing its limits, seeing how far I could go without falling off the brink. The idea of the comfort zone was pulled from the 1908 Yerkes-Dodson law, popularized in managerial studies to improve worker performance. The law suggests there is a relationship between performance and stress: the best performance happens when there is some stress present, but performance worsens when stress is either too high or too low. The comfort zone is based on the belief that when we are placed in a stressful situation, we respond by overcoming our fears and therefore grow as an individual, according to a 2008 study by the University of Waikato.

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However, Martin Corbett in the Journal of Managerial Psychology found the law lacked factual evidence and shouldn’t be applied to the act of increasing stress to enhance performance. Despite this debunk, the law has been used to legitimize “stepping out of your comfort zone” by supposedly proving that we work best at higher stress levels, which isn’t necessarily true. Corbett also cites research that shows how increasing levels of stress correlate strongly with decreased mental health. Despite a lack of supporting evidence, popular culture still portrays the comfort zone as how I used to view it: a place of rest. Beyond it exist life experiences and skills needed for people to become better versions of themselves. A quick google search about stepping out of your comfort zone will bring up article after article, listing reasons why you should push yourself out of it and “why the magic happens when you do.” Yet while “stepping out of the comfort zone” might be a helpful concept for some, it can have adverse results for people who experience anxiety. For Adia*, a business management student at Ryerson University, her anxiety largely stemmed from a fear of the unknown. “The idea of putting myself out there, and people around me expecting me to do that all the time, was exhausting mentally and physically,” she says, adding that she feels it can almost reverse any progress made. Adia is South Asian—a cultural community in which she says there is a greater stigma surrounding mental health. When there were certain situations she chose to avoid, such as meeting new people or even meeting with family members, she says people saw it as her not putting any effort into her recovery from an anxiety disorder and clinical depression. It left her feeling extremely misunderstood. “I formed a bubble around myself,” she says. “I forced myself to stay in my comfort zone and avoided everything that caused me to go out of it.” Nuha Khan, a third-year journalism student at Ryerson, was often told as a kid that she was too quiet or shy, which she says are widely seen as negative qualities. “Teachers would say, ‘Okay! Everyone’s going to share with the class,’ and before my turn would come, my legs would start shaking and my heart would beat really fast,” she says. “I’d just be smiling on the outside, but I was trying to hide how I was feeling because I didn’t want to look like a loser who’s shy.”

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According to the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health, people with anxiety disorders overestimate danger and tend to avoid situations that might expose them to what they fear. But researchers say this avoidance may be reduced when the person is able to experience what they fear, allowing them to see that it’s not as dangerous as they believed. While this may be true when applied to “stepping out of the comfort zone” to overcome fears, it adds to the already strong narrative that if you’re not pushing yourself to experience discomfort, then you’re not growing. Khan used to think it was important to be social in order to get a job or make friends but as she’s gotten older, she’s reached a point where she doesn’t think that’s true. “There’s too much pressure to be out of your comfort zone, but in reality, your comfort zone is just how you feel comfortable,” she says. Khan argues her comfort zone doesn’t have to conform to what others view as acceptable. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to get out of the comfort zone to challenge oneself, take risks or face fears. But it’s not a bad thing to not want to be uncomfortable in order to grow as a person either. Growth can happen in safe environments that don’t strain your mental health. Once Adia’s parents were able to see things from her perspective, it helped her feel better about setting new boundaries she felt comfortable with. “Once you’re able to get to a certain level where you feel that you’re ready to push yourself further, I think that doing so can help with anxiety,” she says. “You’re better able to challenge your thoughts and thinking patterns.” But it can also take time to get there — it took me a while to learn that my supposed comfort zone wasn’t actually a bad place to be. It’s where I felt mentally, emotionally and physically safe. While I no longer experience the same level of anxiety that I once did, I’ve learned that I don’t always need to be stressed or uncomfortable to gain new life experiences or skills, nor do I need to conform to others’ expectations of what personal growth should look like. When I do choose to step out of my comfort zone, it’s on my own terms. ∆

*Names have been altered to protect character’s anonymity.

mind over MATTER

The maze-like feeling that is navigating Ontario’s mental health care system. By Meara Khanna

hat can’t be seen becomes open for speculation in our world—we’ve seen this debate regarding ghosts or of who “the man upstairs” really is. If you can’t see it, then we don’t know for sure if it’s real. In the same way, it can be especially frustrating and exhausting to be told that what you are “feeling” as a result of your mental health is just a fabric of your imagination or fault. As a result, mental health services are not given the same priority as other healthcare needs. Long wait times for mental health services in Ontario mirror this sentiment. One-Link, for example, is a single point of access to 10 different addiction and mental health service providers. Your doctor or physician can refer you to them or you can call their phone line privately. Because One-Link services a vast number of cities like Mississauga, Oakville, Georgetown and Milton, hearing back after in-take assessments or for a patient’s next steps can be timely with the large volume of callers. Even getting a spot with someone on the phone to schedule an appointment with psychiatrists in the public sector can have its own waitlist of callers. If you’re lucky, you’ll move from the waiting room of your house, break room at your job or maybe even the hallway just outside of your class waiting for the line to cut with a voice, while turned over to the wall to hide the true intent of your conversation. Wait times for public and private mental health services

in Ontario only seem to be getting worse. A 2018 study by Children’s Mental Health Ontario found that many young people have to wait up to a year or even longer to access needed mental health treatment. Similarly, accessing community-based counselling or therapy in Ontario has an average wait time of over 78 days, while in certain areas across the province, this wait time can extend to more than a year. According to the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health, factors such as minimal resources and staff and a lack of system coordination between healthcare providers can contribute to these wait times. There are currently no national statistics on wait times for accessing mental health services, which is also part of the problem—if we can’t quantify the problem, how can funding be allocated to fix it? In addition to long wait times, other issues like stigma from healthcare providers, a lack of adequate resources for students and not knowing who exactly to turn to in distress contribute to the maze like feeling that is navigating the mental health care system. ... Sienna Singh, a Toronto-based actress and recent graduate of Ryerson University’s performance acting program, is no stranger to these waiting times. She says finding help and accessing the resources she needed to address her mental health was difficult. “I didn’t even know there were different kinds of therapists and kinds of therapy that I could go to,” said Singh. “It took me a really long time to get diagnosed

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and get the help I needed based on my diagnosis. That part of it was really frustrating.”

Ryerson University isn’t the only university with a long list of students in need of mental health assistance.

When she finally found a therapist, her insurance coverage was minimal. Because accessing private counselling like therapy isn’t usually covered by the Ontario Health Insurance Plan (OHIP), Singh had to limit the number of times she could visit her therapist. They eventually decided to take a break and book a later time to see her, while Singh figured out her financial situation.

At the start of the 2019 school year, a student committed suicide at the University of Toronto—the university’s third suicide in just two years. In response, Loizza Aquino and Ashwini Selvakumaran, students at the university, formed a new advocacy and support group called UofThrive, that provides a space for people to discuss their mental health needs. Speaking with the CBC, the organizers argued that wait times at the U of T Health and Wellness Centre were too long, especially for those in crisis. The centre provides counselling services for students at the St. George campus.

Before taking a break from therapy, Singh mulled over the possibility of a diagnosis but left before she was able to receive an official one. “I found out about borderline personality disorder and I wanted to get a diagnosis, because I was pretty sure that’s what was going on,” said Singh. “But I knew I wasn’t going to be seeing her (therapist) for a long time.” Looking for answers, Singh turned to Ryerson University’s counselling services. “I asked if I could see someone to try to get a diagnosis,” she said. They put her on a waitlist. At this point, Singh had confronted both ends of the coin, seeking help through both Ontario’s health care system and more local university counselling. At the provincial level, she found insufficient financial coverage to seek the help she needed, for already pricey services that required more than one visit. Accessing mental health services that are covered, on the other hand, meant facing a long waitlist. Maura O’Keefe is the clinical coordinator at Ryerson’s Centre for Student Development and Counselling. She responded to questions regarding wait times for Ryerson’s counselling services, in a submitted statement, explaining that over the last two years, efforts had been made to reduce wait times. “We have implemented a same-day counselling model which has reduced wait times for initial counselling appointments by 63 per cent,” the statement read. “Almost half of student requests for an initial counselling appointment are scheduled within 24 hours.” She explains that students are then seen for a brief counselling session to address any “immediate needs” but if the student requires ongoing therapy “they can encounter a wait.”

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Similarily, the University of Ottawa recently witnessed its fifth suicide since January 2019. At a press conference, Jacques Frémont, the president of the university, urged students with mental health issues to seek help and noted the university would implement measures to increase mental health support systems for students. “If there was a simple solution, I swear to God, we would implement it tomorrow morning,” said Frémont, as reported by the CBC. And it is true—the solution to remedy inadequate access to mental health services is multi-faceted. In the meantime, those who are in need of these services the most also end up suffering waiting to access them. ... Sally* sought professional mental health care three times. Two of these attempts were facilitated by her family doctor. The first was a counselling service at Peel Youth and Family services when she was 13. The second time, she saw a youth psychiatrist at Credit Valley Hospital. She was around 17 at this point. She waited around seven to eight months to access each of these services. After she turned 18 and a few years after her counselling had ended, she approached her family doctor wanting to take medication for her mental illness. She was referred to the Credit Valley Hospital and met with a psychiatrist. But meeting with him was a difficult experience for her—Sally says the psychiatrist barely discussed how she was feeling.

“His favourite line was, ‘You’re a smart girl, you’ll figure it out’”, said Sally. “We briefly discussed things like my struggles with school and at home, and that line was repeated several times each session.” Sally had to keep insisting on trying medication. Her doctor, however, insisted she get her family involved, despite her own wishes. “When I eventually brought them in because I felt pressured, it rapidly became a traumatic experience. It was no longer about helping me heal or cope, it was about how much of a problem I was for the people causing me harm,” she said. As a result, she felt that getting help had added to her trauma, rather than helping her heal. Facing stigma for accessing mental health services can often dissuade people from getting help in the first place. According to the Mental Health Commission of Canada, seven million Canadians will need to access mental health services this year—but many won’t, because of the stigma attached to mental illness.

“I don’t feel as if I was listened to or respected throughout any of my encounters with various services,” she said. “I never filled that prescription because I didn’t know what it was for or how it would affect me and I was never followed up with.” ... There have been past attempts to track wait times across Canada. One example in particular, are past attempts done by the Wait Time Alliance (WTA). Before being recently disbanded, the WTA worked to hold provinces accountable on their wait times for medical assistance— both mental and physical health— by tracking them. Each province received a grade for their wait times and improvements, on an annual report card. The standard for proper waiting times is determined by a benchmark rating given to each province. They’re recommended by health officials and various health societies backing the WTA. These benchmarks are recommended wait times, rather than it being a set-in-stone guideline.

to make a determination” on if the wait times even met the recommended benchmark for that year or not. David Jenson, who works with media relations at the Ontario Ministry of Health, explained in an emailed statement that the government is working to address wait times. “Mental health and addictions issues have emerged as one of the most serious health and social challenges facing families, children and youth,” said Jenson. He says the Ontario government has committed $3.8 billion over the next 10 years to develop into strategy plans for mental health programs and assistance. David goes on to say that there is an awareness that funding is crucial, however not the only solution - something the ministry is well aware of and trying to combat. “Challenges such as a lack of access to mental health and addictions services, inconsistent data collection and reporting and fragmentation of services are critical to addressing wait times and improving Ontario’s access to the high-quality mental health and addiction services they need,” he said. Getting help can feel like a maze for people; you’re sent in different directions to figure it out, only to hit dead end after dead end, still lost in the thick of it. There are always options, one of which can include seeking help privately, through psychiatry or therapy services. Online services like goodtherapy.org allow you to search therapists and psychiatrists in your area and the opportunity to contact them through there. If private therapy is unaffordable, visiting your family doctor is another viable option. If he or she works in partnership with other health care providers or mental health services, then those services are eligible to be covered under OHIP. But whatever interim solutions exist, lasting change won’t come along until we recognize access to mental health resources is as vital as access to medical care. We wouldn’t accept a waiting period of 78 days to fix a broken leg—why should that be acceptable for our mental health care? ∆ *Names have been altered to protect character’s anonymity.

In their 2015 report card, Ontario had “insufficient data

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BACK To THE FUTURE Fashionâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s resurgence through the decades

Written by: Madison Dolman Photos by: Kirti Vyas 44 // ryerson folio

he fashion industry works in cycles: the latest fads draw inspiration from fashions’ past to create the notable trends of today.

The 1980s and 1990s were decades of the most nostalgic and iconic fashion trends, currently living through their own revival. Trends evolved — chunky Fila shoes, Champion sweaters and hair accessories are now staple essentials for millenials, popping up in retail stores everywhere. As you look back on old childhood photos, you might cringe at parents’ fashion choices of washed-out jeans, headbands and layered tops—yet many of the styles that were considered ‘long gone’ have seen a resurgence in recent years, yet to be put to rest indefinitely. It might be time to apologize to your mom, who swore to you that one day you’d be asking to wear her flared jeans that seemed "oh so passé" at the time.

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CHAMPION BRAND CLOTHING During the 1990s, there were few labels known to be as popular as Champion. Dominating the wardrobes of jocks and preps since the brand was founded in 1915, Champion gear arguably had little to no retail competition. Now the brand is due for a revival— the $20 t-shirts and $30 sweaters that once lined Walmart clothing racks hit the shelves once more in the early 2000s. This time, however, the prices were jacked up, marketed at $80 for a quality woven sweatshirt or $45 for a simple tri-coloured t-shirt. Champion’s American heritage and vintage roots sit at an advantage by serving two markets: custom-made athletic clothing as well as their own primary clothing line sold through retail chains. Today, Champion works in collaboration with designer brands like Off White, Nike and Supreme, creating an ideal streetwear brand popular among Instagram’s fashion influencers and college students alike.

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CORDUROy In the fall of 2019, corduroy made a comeback. This thick woolen material with line-like patterns became a closet staple after being popularized within the 1960s and 1970s. Often mocked by consumers for being 'old fashioned' or 'out of date', this unique fabric has returned to the market each decade with minute updates. You’ll be able to distinguish older styles of corduroy from more modern looks with the range of colours entering the market: corduroy is now available in more playful hues, like red or blue, unlike the staple brown colour it was limited to in the 1990s. Up until recently, corduroy pants, offered in a multitude of colours, had been hanging sleepily in closets. Now, this familiar trend is sported by just about everyone, and specifically younger students who choose to add corduroy pants, jackets or skirts to finish off their look. The versatility of this material has not gone unnoticed by celebrities, either—Daniel Craig and Taylor Swift are just two of many seen rocking this stylish, textured trend, and will certainly not be the last to promote corduroy’s return.

DR. MARTENS BOOTS Being an optimal choice of footwear among influential fashion icons like Gigi Hadid and Miley Cyrus, Dr. Martens boots continue to grow in popularity and have been since the late 2000s. The shoes were originally created in 1901 in Northamptonshire, England and are most distinguishable by their signature yellow stitching and tag. Upon their establishment, Dr. Martens were considered a symbol of the working class, worn most often by policemen and factory workers with the durable footwear being seen as a staple piece for their labour-focused jobs. Through the 1990s, as the grunge era grew so did the popularity of Dr. Martens. By the end of 2018, Dr. Martens reported a total revenue of $459 million, with an improved gross margin by 2.2 per cent as per 2017 . The boots later adopted a more casual look, better paired with Levi’s jeans and a plain white t-shirt: the kind of look that can be spotted on university campuses.

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a l fi

s e o h s

In 1996, Fila’s hit shoe, “The Disruptor,” lined shelves of shoe stores everywhere and sold out quickly. Today, this pioneer of sportswear has brought back the chunky shoe in many different styles, paying homage to the notable sports shoe culture of the 1990s. As a brand, Fila has become relatively popular among the demographic of millennials and those in Generation Z— the brand now operates in more than 70 countries worldwide. Once considered an outdated trend, the company is being reestablished alongside other main fast fashion brands, such as Nike and Adidas. (Though it’s worth noting the

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stark white shoe, with its gargantuan platform, is an acquired taste, that plays into what some have called the “ugly sneaker trend” that admittedly isn’t for everyone.) Despite their critics, Fila promotes itself as a sporty, comfortable clothing brand while maintaining a high-profile image at a good price, and even their most unconventional designs allow for creativity and an edge to the typical street look. Students who are fans of the brand can most often be seen sporting “The Disruptor 2,” an updated version of their original 1996 shoe.

mom jeans Putting it loosely, anything with the word “mom” in the title probably has you thinking about the least trendy piece you could possibly imagine. But mom jeans, with their high waist, relaxed fit and straight edge, have been seen shaping the bodies of celebrities and influencers worldwide. This “go-to” pair of pants became popular in the 1970s and resurfaced as a trend in the 20th century: Topshop was the first fashion retailer to reintroduce the mom jean to consumers as 'trendy.' Now department stores such as H&M and Zara carry a version—or multiple—of this perfect-fit denim. The resurgence of mom jeans can be attributed in part to women ditching their skirts and stilettos in favour of more comfortable and unisex pieces— one of them being looser denim. While mom jeans carry a notable similarity to men’s jeans, they are easily styled and can make for a classy outfit by tucking your shirt in, cuffing the jeans from the bottom or even adding a belt.

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Back in the 1980s, having big, voluminous hair was considered to be very fashionable. Women would typically use a circular elastic band of fabric— otherwise known as a scrunchie, to tie up their hair. The scrunchie was most popular leading out of the 1980s and into the 1990s, when celebrities like Madonna and Cyndi Lauper were seen sporting their own scrunchies. In the last few years, the popular hair accessory has undergone what was called “the scrunchie dilemma,” a term coined by artist David Riley, explaining how something so practical and therefore adult-like, could be seen as an ode to immaturity and childhood. Scrunchies were often used for practical reasons rather than being considered a fashionable item (they wouldn’t snap like a normal hair tie would). But late last year, scrunchies had become so relevant to the fashion culture that they were even seen sported by models on runways during New York Fashion Week. Shortly after that, a new social media trend called “VSCO girl” developed— this trend is based on girls that dress and act a certain way, and wearing scrunchies was an integral part of that look.

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scrunchie

THE BANDANA Any fashion guru might remember bandanas being very on-trend in the 1990s. This simple square piece of cloth has come a long way: bandana, meaning “to tie,” originated in the 18th century but wasn't popular until the 20th century. Believe it or not, the bandana has served as an important cultural piece for generations, worn by bikers, farmers and sailors. It traces its roots back to South Asia, more specifically India, where the bandana’s synonymous colour was red, inspired by the Turkey red-dying process from the past. In the fashion world, the bandana also holds significance. In 2017, an article by The Business of Fashion encouraged all designers, journalists and influences to wear a white bandana in belief of “the common bonds of humankind — regardless of race, sexuality, gender or religion.” Many fashion designers were in support of this idea; Tommy Hilfiger sent his models down the runway for his 2017 Spring Collection sporting white bandanas and as did Belgian fashion designer Raf Simons in the fall of 2017. Designers have since tried to redesign bandanas by incorporating them into everyday fashion. Symbolizing practicality and showcasing history, this accessory can be tied up in your hair, used to keep the sun out of your eyes and if you’re feeling risky enough, tied into a shirt. ryerson folio // 51

Popularity shouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t demean artistic value By Keisha Balatbat

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n an interview with Empire Magazine late last year, film director Martin Scorsese stated that, to him, Marvel movies weren’t cinema.

Fans of the Marvel Cinematic Universe were stunned— here was one of the most revered directors in the industry reducing an extremely popular franchise to nothing more than a theme park. In an opinion piece for The New York Times, Scorsese clarified his comments: since Marvel movies are made for entertainment and profit, they are not as artistic or adventurous as indie films. This debate is actually much bigger than the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Is art made for mass appeal and commercial entertainment as valuable as art that lives in live theatres and galleries, made for critics to praise? Art made for mass appeal and commercial entertainment is the basis of popular culture today with many filmmakers and musicians hoping for blockbusters and hits. People can be very hesitant to call a franchise movie, like those exhibited by Marvel, art, as these movies are seen as just a means to make money. And while that is definitely a factor of production, it seems unfair to believe that the people behind these movies are not putting in the time and effort to make creative choices that enrich the audience’s viewing experience. If popular culture can do exactly what art aims to do, make people feel and think, then it simply is art. ... When Taye Alvis, a third-year film student, was nine years old, he wanted to go see the animated film Avatar: The Last Airbender in theatres. But after getting the titles confused, he instead ended up seeing James Cameron’s Avatar and he says it completely changed his life. “I remember watching that as a kid and thinking for the first time, ‘how did they make this?’” Alvis said. He went home and got on the Internet looking for answers to his questions about filmmaking. He stumbled upon articles about the controversy around the movie being a white saviour story and the Na’vi characters being stand-ins for Indigenous people. ryerson folio // 53

they do. It was the first time he saw politics incorporated into aspects of film. Alvis, who is First Nations Ojibwe himself, said, “I didn’t understand what it meant but it mentioned First Nations people, people like me, and I thought that was interesting.” Watching Avatar ignited Alvis’ curiosity about films and how they were made. That curiosity has now become a career path: after graduating high school, he decided to pursue a career in filmmaking. Alvis argues it’s hard to make a distinction between popular culture and art because what is considered to be art is constantly changing. “It’s up to whoever’s viewing the art and whoever’s creating the art,” he said. “It doesn’t really matter as long as someone’s enjoying it.” Historically, it was often only paintings or sculptures in art galleries that were labelled as art. But as technology developed, new avenues came about for different forms of art to be created and easily disseminated to the public. Viewing an artist’s work through their Instagram page, for example, or opening a streaming service and accessing a vast catalogue of music anywhere has allowed for a diverse set of artists to gain a platform. Online platforms also have provided a great way for audiences to find and connect with artists and their followers. Riley Goldsmith, a third-year psychology student, was able to find friends who shared her love for YouTube personality and musician Dodie Clark through the comment section of Clark’s videos. “She allows me to interact with other people that are similar to me,” Goldsmith said. Art is often a personal expression of the artist and the same applies to pop culture, both have the ability to bring people together. Although it may not seem like art, music specifically functions similarly to high art, in that both forms hope to reach and impact people—and

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Many fans of pop artists will say that an artist’s music has helped them through tough times. Those top 40 radio hits which may seem mind numbing to some can actually be a lifeline to others, helping them to feel less alone or serving as a distraction from the stress of their life. Music is definitely m e c h a nis m. upset, I put playlist with h e aling get well that

my coping When I feel on my get well soon Ariana Grande’s most songs like Be Alright and soon. If I’m feeling myself day, I have a girl power anthems playlist filled with songs by women about powerful women. Whatever the occasion, pop music is the soundtrack to my life.

Goldsmith herself struggles with depression. By listening to Clark and her music, she says she has felt more comfortable talking about her mental health. “I think a big part of depression is your brain trying to convince you you are alone,” she said. “When I saw that this famous, talented, incredible musician is making art and poetry explaining exactly how I felt, I felt less alone.” Pop culture can be used to create newer forms of art. Clark, along with other artists Goldsmith listens to, have inspired her to consider publishing poetry and putting out music talking about her struggles. “I want to help other people in the same way that Dodie and other artists have helped me,” she said. There are countless examples of the impact that pop culture, movies and music alike, has had on people. Whether it has helped decide career paths or allowed someone to feel validated, the effects of pop culture are all around us. Ultimately, it functions just the same as art on display at a gallery—as a means to express emotion and connect with audiences more deeply. Debates around what is art and what isn’t have gotten old. At the end of the day, pop culture is just art in a different form. ∆

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How my grandma found her team at 85 years old By Nicole Fernandes

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uring the 2019 NBA finals, I would often stay over at my cousin’s house—partly for her company, but mostly for her much larger TV. The two of us sat side-by-side curled up on the leather loveseat, wearing our Peace Collective Toronto Raptors sweaters. My aunt and younger cousin would drop in from timeto-time to “watch the game” with us but it was really their way of snagging the nachos and pizza bagels we had laid out on the coffee table. It was on that couch that we watched the playoffs unfold, holding our breath during the final seconds of the game, hearts beating so loud the neighbours could probably hear. I remember one night in particular during a commercial break when I had to grab my phone charger from her room upstairs. Passing by my grandma’s bedroom, I was initially shocked by what I saw. But I was also intrigued. Her curtains were closed, and the bedroom was pitch black, the only light coming from the picture of the basketball game on her 32inch television. She was relaxed in her beige

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Muskoka-style plastic chair that’s meant for the outdoors, eyes never leaving the TV, the occasional slew of frustrations in Konkani, her native tongue, leaving her lips when the Raptors missed a shot. She started watching them during the playoffs last season because, in her own words, “they were playing good.” Really good, it turned out, as the Raptors quickly won the Larry O’Brien Trophy for the first time in franchise history. Along the way, the Raptors would gain many more fans from all over the world after their historic run—my grandma was one of them. Now, at the ripe young age of 85, Braga Fernandes is fully immersed within the world of the Raptors. Not only has she watched every game this season, but she also knows all the players on the roster (Siakam and VanVleet are her favourites), their schedule and their win streak, among other things. “They lost by two points, and then they won by one point the next game,” she recalls.

“They’re playing tonight.” . . . Fernandes immigrated to Toronto in 1974. She lived at her brother’s home in Scarborough, along with her husband and their four children. And although they were new to Canada, they spent their Saturdays in true Canadian fashion: watching hockey, of course. They would all huddle by the TV on Saturday nights at 7:00 p.m., eyes fixated on the black-and-white picture of the Toronto Maple Leafs and their opponents. This tradition carried on when they moved into their own apartment later on: Wednesday and Saturday nights were reserved for hockey. “There was no other sport to watch,” Fernandes explains, with the Toronto Blue Jays and Raptors yet to exist. Fernandes’ husband, Ignacio, was the biggest Leafs fan in the family. He would sit on the couch with his eyes glued to the TV, his right foot occasionally pushing out in a back and forth motion to mimic the way the players would glide around Maple Leaf Gardens, his wife right by his side. If the game wasn’t on TV that evening, he would switch on his radio to listen to the game being called. The following day, he would pick up the phone and call up a few of his buddies, and they would talk about how the game went. Fernandes starts to list Leafs players she remembers watching with her family. “Börje Salming, Lanny McDonald, ‘Tiger’ Williams,” she recites from memory, using her fingers to keep count. But those players weren’t Leafs forever and inevitably, players were traded from the team. When it happened, it would also mark the end of Fernandes’ interest in hockey and sports in general. “When they got new players, I stopped [watching],” she says. “I [didn’t] know any of them.” Ignacio passed away in 1994. All but one of his kids fell out of love with the game that their father once adored. ...

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I sit cross-legged on the cream-coloured carpet in my grandma’s bedroom, across from her bed. She sits upright now, palms planted on the firm mattress. I ask her if she wants a Toronto Raptors jersey to celebrate her newfound fandom. To my surprise, she’s quick to shake her head ‘no’. “I don’t go anywhere,” she explains, using a frail hand to motion to a chair by her closet occupied by a bag of clothing. “People give me clothes, but I don’t go anywhere. I don’t go out.” Not even to church anymore, she continues, because now she can watch the service on TV from the comfort of her bed. There’s a televised mass on at 8:00 a.m. and if she misses that one, there’s a repeat of it shortly after at 12:00 p.m. At 85 years old, living in her daughter’s house, her days are following the same predictable routine: she wakes up, eats her meals, might call a friend in India, turn on CP24. There aren’t many shows of interest for her to watch anymore like the family sitcoms and soap operas she used to enjoy when she first moved to Toronto. She’s home alone for the majority of the day, the rest of her family either at work or school. According to Statistics Canada, approximately 1.4 million seniors reported feelings of loneliness “often or “some of the time.” Cassandra Fernandes is a practical nurse at the Dunfield Retirement Residence and works with the elderly on a daily basis. She recalls stories about residents who get lonely, especially after their family visits. They yearn for communication with others once their family members are gone, often using the nurses as a shoulder to lean on, or to chat with throughout the day. Even in a place full of other people their age, Cassandra explains that it’s hard for seniors to make friends. “It’s like they’re kids again. It’s hard for them to socialize.”

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At family holiday parties at her son’s house, Fernandes can be found in the white leather armchair that’s always reserved for her. She leans back in the seat, letting it envelope her small frame. She usually makes small talk with her children, who are now grown with their own children, about other relatives in other countries. Fernandes rarely socializes with her grandchildren, but not because of a lack of effort or interest. Her English is limited, and her grandchildren don’t speak her native language of Konkani. This narrows her pool of people to talk to and she resorts to listening rather than engaging. But with her recently discovered interest and devotion to the Raptors, she now speaks a language everyone in her family understands: the language of sports. ... When people ask me how I got into sports, I give them the same answer, often sounding like a broken record: sports are like a religion in my family. Cliché? Probably. Accurate? Undoubtedly so. Family parties are a time where my family comes together in the living room to have heated discussions about soccer, basketball and hockey, each member offering their hot takes like they’re professional panelists on a Sportsnet broadcast. Everyone chimes in here and there, and the occasional arguments break out. But this year, there’s a new voice in the mix. My grandma leans forward in her leather armchair fully engaged when the conversation shifts to the reigning NBA champions. When everyone tries to remember which players were injured, she swoops in to the rescue and the room grows silent. She uses her fingers to count again, listing player names rather quickly and accurately before delving into a speech about her favourite player, Pascal Siakam.

Her children’s lips pull into amused smiles and some laugh softly to themselves as they listen to their mother talk passionately about the Toronto Raptors. Her grandchildren, although they can’t fully understand what she’s saying, catch the gist of what she says anyway, and joke that she probably knows more than them. When you find your team, it’s a magical moment. At 85 years old, my grandma is having her magical moment. She has something to cheer for and something to look forward to every other night. She has something to be passionate about, the same way her family members do. The same way she used to when she first immigrated to Canada. “Powell is back tonight,” she tells me, excited as she turns on her TV, trying to figure out which channel is showing the game. It’s only 4:30 p.m. and the game starts at 6:00 p.m., but she likes to be prepared. I ask my grandma if she wants to go to a Raptors game in the near future, although I have a feeling I already know the answer. “Oh yeah,” she nods her head, the edges of her mouth curling up into a playful grin. After finding the right channel, she asks me to write it down, so she doesn’t forget. After all, the Raptors are playing tonight—and their newest fan isn’t going to miss a moment of it. ∆ ryerson folio // 59

AWAKENING AWAKENING AWAKENING