Four writers explore the past and future of Blackness in Rain City
Feb
JOSEF NADJ
Omma
March 2 - 4 @ 8pm
$40-70
HUNGARY/AFRICA’S
Vancouver Playhouse
TORONTO’S
CHRISTOPHER HOUSE
New Tricks
March 2-4 @ 8pm
$20-35
Annex Theatre
MONTREAL’S
LA OTRA ORILLA
DEBORDEMENTS
March 8-11 @ 8pm
$15-20
KW Production Studio
ITALY’S
ALESSANDRO SCIARRONI
Save the last dance for me
March 10-15
$15-20/Free Performances and Workshops Various Venues
JAPAN’S
TAKETERU KUDO
The Foot on the Edge of Knife
March 15-18 @ 8pm
$20-35
Annex Theatre
UK/INDIA’S
AAKASH ODEDRA COMPANY
Samsara
March 22 - 25 @ 8pm
$40-70
Vancouver Playhouse
GABRIOLA ISLAND’S
DAINA ASHBEE
J’ai pleuré avec les chiens
March 22-25 @ 8pm
$20-35
Scotiabank Dance Centre
JAPAN/NELSON’S
ICHIGO-ICHIEH
Birthday Present for Myself
March 17-18 @ 8 pm
$30-35
Shadbolt Centre for the Arts
VISION IMPURE being
April 20-21 @ 7pm & April 22 @ 4pm
$15-20
Livestream from KW Production Studio
“My name is Zion Greene-Bull and I am a Guyanese-Canadian digital and tattoo artist. When I thought about the prompt ‘Black Joy,’ I pictured a community garden with aunties telling stories, young folks laughing and enjoying their time intergenerationally. In a world where anti-Blackness runs rampant, I believe part of our resistance is taking up more space to unapologetically relax, spend time with our community, express our creativity, building a safe environment for all, have room to make mistakes and learn how to fix them, express joy and laugh till our faces feel sore. This is meant to be a love letter to my community.””
Karen Ward is exhausted.
“The fact is, after 2,500 days of this, the people who are actually trying to work on the so-called front lines here are falling apart,” she says. The long-time drug policy advisor and anti-poverty advocate speaks so fast that it feels like the words tumble out of her.
“God—the fact that it’s still an emergency. This is just destroying people. This is grinding people down. This is ruining lives of people who are surviving. Certainly, it’s crushed me.”
We’re speaking the day that the BC Coroners Service has announced the poisoned drugs death toll for 2022: 2,272 deaths across the province. That’s 2,272 lives cut short, and countless thousands more who are now left to wrestle with the reality that their coworker, their kid, their parent, their friend, is gone: killed by the unregulated toxic soup that circulates on the illicit market. And it was only the second-deadliest year on record.
How do we grasp grief that big?
In response to spiking death rates from fentanyl, the provincial government
declared drug poisoning deaths a public health emergency on April 14, 2016. February 17 marks 2,500 days of a drug poisoning emergency in B.C.
The numbers of deaths are so big as to almost lose all meaning. And the scale is unprecedented. In 2016, 994 people died from toxic unregulated substances. More than 11,098 people have died since the emergency was declared almost seven years ago; more than 6,300 of them in the last three years alone.
In the Vancouver Centre North health delivery area, encompassing Ward’s home in the Downtown Eastside, there were 319 deaths last year. The toxicity rate was 470.8 per 100,000 person-years. The next highest is Terrace, at 110.5 per 100,000.
“‘Oh, why is the Downtown Eastside all messed up?’ I think it’s the death,” Ward says. “People used to say, ‘Oh, the community is so connected.’ No, the connections between us are gone… It’s not that easy for people to make friends in Vancouver. But it’s like, we actually make a friend and find a home, after a life that has been marked by trauma and violence.
And then you finally feel like you’re at peace, and you’ve got people you trust and connect to. And then they die.”
How can an emergency last this long?
Caitlin Shane, a drug policy staff lawyer at Pivot Legal Society, says that declaring an emergency gave the provincial health officer, or any medical health officer in a health authority, the power to take any action they deem necessary.
Since the emergency declaration, there has been a single ministerial order issued in relation to it: a December 2016 order from then-health minister Terry Lake, ordering health authorities to “assess the need in their region” and provide overdose prevention sites (OPSs) as needed.
“Need is important, because it is the sole criteria for establishing sites. If there is a need, a site arguably must exist,” Shane explains. “And the health authorities have demonstrably failed in fulfilling that order.”
There are 42 OPSs across B.C., but they tend to cluster in cities. There’s also some glaring practical problems: while inhaling, not injecting, is responsible for the majority of illicit drug-related deaths, only 13 sites allow smoking, with none north of Campbell River or east of Abbotsford.
“This order exists. It’s required by law, and yet we see terribly low numbers of overdose prevention sites, astronomical death rates,” Shane says.
It’s not just geographical need. Kali Sedgemore, a peer harm reduction
As the opioid epidemic rages on in Vancouver, those on the frontlines are burning out
WellsTyson Singh Kelsall (right) and Navi Dasanjh are outreach social workers in the Downtown Eastisde. Photo by Jon Healy >>>
worker who focuses on youth, says different communities need safe consumption sites that cater to their specific needs.
“A lot of youth don’t feel comfortable in [OPSs] because they’re very adult-oriented or very high-barrier,” they say, adding that sometimes youth are turned away from OPSs for being “too young to be here.”
In a paper Sedgemore co-authored last year, one important point is that young people fear consequences for trying to use illicit substances more safely. “Younger youth, and in particular younger Indigenous youth, may fear that accessing harm reduction supplies will precipitate a call to child protective services and removal from their families of origin,” the paper reads.
Youth have been left out of the recent decriminalization of small amounts of certain illicit substances, as the province seems concerned about doing anything that could be even vaguely painted as “encouraging young people to use drugs.” But, as Sedgemore points out, young people do use drugs, and denying them access to harm reduction services is dangerous.
Last year, 34 children under 19 died from toxic unregulated drugs.
Tyson Singh Kelsall, an outreach social worker in the Downtown Eastside, says that problems arise from assuming that all people who use unregulated drugs speak English or live in one part of the city. There simply need to be more resources, made by people from different communities who have lived experience of using drugs.
“We know that a lot of South Asian people have died in the Fraser Health Region, but we don’t have any Punjabi-led harm reduction services,” he tells the Straight from Simon Fraser University, where he’s studying for a PhD in the health sciences department. “Although a lot of [toxic drug overdoses] happens in the Downtown Eastside, there’s also a lot of life-saving interventions that happen. A lot of other neighbourhoods simply don’t have that kind of safety net.”
Even though OPSs do important work, they are still predominantly run by people who use drugs. The labour of saving lives—and the trauma of dealing with overdoses, fatal or not—still falls on community members.
“The ripple effects of the overdose crisis are much more complex than just the fatalities, losing people you care about,”
Singh Kelsall continues, with a heavy sigh. Before moving to Vancouver, he helped open an OPS in Victoria in 2017. “Continuing to try and keep people alive can be exhausting and traumatic, and it has become even more so.”
The eight-month fight for the ministerial order permitting (and demanding) OPSs was “excruciating,” Ward says. “But what’s worse is the fact that’s the only thing that [the province] has significantly done. Since then, it’s been avoidance.”
The provincial government created the Ministry of Mental Health and Addictions in 2017, ostensibly to build better mental health and addiction services and “lead the response to the toxic drug crisis.” But, in Ward’s words, mental health and addiction “specifically are not the emergency.”
The emergency isn’t that people use illicit drugs to cope with poor mental health, or that some people develop addictions to illicit drugs. These deserve time and attention, of course, but the
emergency—the thing that’s been raging for 2,500 days and far longer before that— is the toxic drug supply.
“We know that the vast majority of people who use drugs are not addicted,” Ward says. “They die too. Everyone dies in this situation.”
B.C., and governments at other levels, has consistently been conflating the toxic drug supply crisis with almost anything else involving drugs. As a result, many of the steps they’ve been championing—increasing publicly funded treatment beds, limited decriminalization, even OPSs—are designed with the idea of “recovery” in mind. That if people would just stop using drugs, they wouldn’t die.
Guy Felicella, a former illicit substance user who now works in public speaking, says it took him several attempts over many years to stop using illicit drugs until he found something that worked for him.
That was a decade ago.
“The drug supply has gotten way worse from 2012 and 2013. What it is today, I mean, it’s just a whole new level,” he tells the Straight.
One of the big problems is that the illicit drug supply is more volatile than ever. 2019 saw a considerable reduction in the number of deaths, but then in 2020 the COVID-19 pandemic hit. Supply chains everywhere broke—and that included illicit drugs.
Cutting product with synthesized drugs became a way for dealers to stretch their supply further. People were alone, cut off from their friends and family and seeking comfort, at the same time as the kind of product on the illicit market completely changed.
Fentanyl is still present in 88 per cent of fatal overdose samples, but there are other substances as well. Carfentanil, a synthetic opioid around 100 times stronger than fentanyl, went from being found in 23 per cent of substances in April 2021 to only six per cent in December 2022. Benzodiazepines went from 15 per cent of samples in July 2020, to 52 per cent of samples in January 2022, to 19 per cent in December 2022. Stimulants were present in 68 per cent of all deaths.
“Down,” the general name for any depressant, could have any kind of mix of substances present: the Vancouver Island Drug Checking Project’s monthly report for December found 80 per cent of down had additional active substances beyond fentanyl or heroin. (One of Ward’s friends has taken to calling illicit substances “mystery chemicals.”)
Benzos present a big problem for drug users. For one, overdoses are harder to respond to: people don’t get up and walk away from an overdose anymore. Naloxone, the drug that’s reversed thousands of overdoses, specifically works on opioids. Benzos make naloxone less effective; someone who’s overdosed on benzo-dope will probably wake up in hospital after naloxone treatment. Coming around from non-lethal doses takes way longer. If you happen to pass out somewhere in public, you’re more vulnerable to being robbed or sexually assaulted.
And for people who might want to change or lower their drug consumption, benzos are one of only two substances where detoxing can kill you. (The other is legally regulated: alcohol.) Currently, there is only one facility in Vancouver that’s equipped to deal with people
>>>
coming off benzos or alcohol— which isn’t a lot of beds, when one in five street samples has benzos in it.
“To come off benzos, we’re talking about medical detox or a hospital. And then if you’re looking at a medical detox, there’s a waitlist there as well,” Felicella says. “If you go through all those challenges, and trying to get into detox and you finally get in and then for whatever reason, it takes a while… it becomes dehumanizing. The waitlist essentially becomes a death sentence.”
Singh Kelsall says that treatment can also be problematic in other ways. Even if someone manages to come off illicit drugs when they’re in treatment, long-term success rates are low: it typically takes multiple tries for an abstinence-based model to permanently work. And any time away from taking illicit substances can affect your tolerance.
“Even for people who adhere to the government strategy of abstaining from using the street supply, we’re in a context where relapse is often fatal,” he says.
Singh Kelsall points to studies showing that people who have been forced into treatment often die soon afterwards. Similarly, people in B.C. who have recently been released from prison died from poisoned drugs at seven times the rate of other residents.
His job is to help people; how can he, in good faith, recommend that they take part in a program that will probably not cause them to immediately stop using illicit drugs, but probably will increase the likelihood that their next hit kills them?
“It becomes ethically fraught to be a social worker,” Kelsall says, “who is working within a system that incentivizes treatment, knowing that you might be guiding someone to increase their chance of overdose risk.”
Felicella believes the answer lies in a full spectrum of care: more treatment beds, more support for people coming out of treatment programs to be able to access continuing care, more connection with harm reduction services to ensure any return to using drugs happens safely. Secure housing, too: “Why would anybody go to treatment just to go back to what they’re trying to escape?” And—importantly: a safe supply of substances.
The exact mechanics of what a safe supply would look like differ. For Felicella, it would have two streams. One part would
be scaling up what we already have, a medicalized supply for people who have been diagnosed with an addiction; the other would be providing pure, regulated substances for occasional, casual, or recreational users.
“In order for us to save significant lives, we have to really have those two models: a medical model, and one outside of the medical model as well,” he says.
Humans will always use drugs. We use caffeine to wake up, or alcohol to celebrate, or cannabis to chill out, or psilocybin to expand our mind. But the current model, which criminalizes specific substances, means that the only way to get a hold of them is through the illicit market. There’s no regulation, so people don’t know what exactly they’re using. And it only takes one time using something toxic to potentially kill us.
The alternative, radical as it sounds, is to do the opposite: provide a way to access regulated substances.
Shane, the lawyer, says that the nature of the public health emergency declaration means there shouldn’t be legal barriers in creating a large-scale framework to legally regulate currently illicit substances.
“The beauty of legal regulation is it’s endlessly flexible,” she says. “You can make it whatever you want it to be, if you are the person in charge of regulating the thing.”
Setting rules that decide how people can consume substances is far safer than
just closing your eyes and wishing people didn’t do drugs. Cannabis and alcohol are two obvious points of comparison, but all kinds of substances are legally regulated in all sorts of different ways.
“Do we want them to be adults only before they get this substance? Do we want them to consume it on site? Like literally whatever you want, however you want to control it, you can,” Shane says. “We relinquish all of that control under prohibition, because we just say ‘No,’ knowing full well that people are just going to go to the illicit market and get a totally unregulated drug that may well kill them.”
Things didn’t used to be this way. The illicit drug supply didn’t used to be so toxic. But the stuff we’ve banned didn’t used to be illicit at all.
Habit-forming drugs like cocaine, amphetamines, or opium used to be widely available in pharmacies, and were only legislated into prohibition in the early 1900s through a mixture of anti-Chinese racism, and paternalistic concern that people were using medical drugs recreationally. Alcohol was also banned at various times: in the anti-Indigenous Indian Act of 1976, which banned Indigenous people from being allowed to drink it, and province-wide in B.C. between 1917 and 1921. And just as prohibition did little to stop people drinking booze, banning drugs
did little to stop people doing them: it just moved the market underground.
“Prohibition itself is a historical anomaly in the history of human societies. It’s a weird thing that we invented 100 years ago,” Ward says. “[Access to Illicit drugs] was totally available. You didn’t have to, you know, drop out of society to actually access things.”
But the provincial government shows little interest in committing to a safe supply that would save lives. Change is too dramatic, too radical, too likely to cost voters.
“Every policy choice they make is intent on preserving the status quo,” she says. Safe supply “would mean a shift away from that, and there would be implications that would mean larger changes, because this isn’t about drugs. It’s about structural inequality.”
Treatment beds and limited decrim and tiny pilot models of safe supply for people with the most severe opioid addiction will not stop six people dying.
Sedgemore, the youth peer worker, says people in power don’t take drug users seriously.
“They don’t think that we have the capability of actually talking about it in an ethical way,” they say. “They think that we’re all dumb, and we don’t understand certain things, when we do understand things. We get it.”
Overdose prevention sites were spearheaded by people who use drugs, and continue to save thousands of lives every year. Decriminalization, even in its current capacity, was advocated for by people who use drugs, for decades.
Safe supply opponents worry that the government would be “encouraging” drug use, that suddenly everyone will quit their jobs and rush to get off their heads on heroin. But is that worse than the world we currently live in, where six people every single day are dying?
“I would love to go have a decent life and do something interesting and build better futures,” Ward says. “But instead I’m just calling people going, ‘Death is bad. Death is bad. Death is bad.’ it really fucks you up. It really takes over your whole mind, the fact of having to resist and fight against mass death, and then having people say you’re wrong to do that. That’s wild.”
February 17 marks 2,500 days of the toxic drug deaths emergency. More than 11,098 people have died since it began. How many more will there be? GS
Anew podcast series from Amnesty Canada is examining anti-Black racism and police surveillance within Canada. Rights Back At You, produced by Amnesty Canada’s digital activism co-ordinator Daniella Barreto, challenges a lot of assumptions: that peaceful activists have nothing to fear from the police; that technology is universally a force for good; and that racism does not exist in Canada.
“I was an organizer with Black Lives Matter in 2016 and 2017 in Vancouver,” Barreto told the Straight. “After I had left the city, and I was living in Montreal for a time, we found a news article, people sent it to us, that the RCMP had been monitoring the groups activities around a vigil. …
“It wasn’t surprising that a group of Black organizers were being monitored by the RCMP,” she continues, “but it is really
kind of unsettling to realize it’s your own group.”
The incident sparked Barreto’s interest in surveillance, which has carried through her work since. Like many activists she suffered burnout.
“The podcast is a way for me to really engage in these issues and bring them forward, maybe from a little bit more of the creative way,” she said.
Barreto started working on the podcast nearly two years ago, determined to examine different aspects of policing and surveillance and help highlight how racial justice issues are part of the larger human rights struggle.
“Amnesty Canada hasn’t really engaged with this subject matter before, and I think that’s kind of telling about the way systemic racism operates, like who gets hired, what the organization prioritizes,” she said.
Over the course of five episodes—released throughout Black History and Futures month, and produced by an all-woman team—the podcast centres stories from people fighting against systemic oppression.
It starts with a look at how facial recognition profiles protestors, and covers how surveillance interacts with all kinds of intersections, from immigration to neighbourhood doorbell technology to police stop-and-checks.
Episode two tackles how racism is interwoven with the ongoing criminalization of drugs, and profiles local Black harm reduction worker Hugh Lampkin.
“Black people are so often written out of Vancouver, and activism in Vancouver,” Barreto said. “There are so many Black people doing community work in Vancouver and that’s often overlooked.”
One important part of the episode is the
MySafe drug vending machines, which scan clients’ palms to dispense hydromorphone to verified people. But the machine’s infra-red technology struggles with darker skin.
“Often when we’re applying technological solutions to things that have very deep societal roots, sometimes there are lots of things that get overlooked,” Barreto said.
While Vancouver does not have a large Black population, anti-Black racism continues to exist in the city—as it does everywhere.
“Just because there aren’t a lot of Black people here doesn’t mean that the impacts of anti-Black racism aren’t just as painful, and are just as important,” Barreto said. GS
Massy Arts Gallery hosts a Rights Back At You listening party on February 16. Registration is free at massyarts.com.
Tucked between train tracks, highways, and industrial buildings is a thriving queer community hub. This is The Warehouse, also known as Eastside Studios, which has played host to everyone from drag performers to bands to would-be documentarians, as well as the beloved Eastside Flea.
For many LGBTQ2S+ people this old industrial site, long marked for demolition, feels like home. But after five years awaiting demolition, the time has finally come for the building to be levelled. After March, The Warehouse will be no more, forcing the organizers to relocate.
“Queer joy is one of the biggest things I feel when I’m in the space,” Ryn Broz, one of the organizers, tells the Straight. “Especially after the pandemic, I think everyone is really joyful about having a physical space where they can express themselves.”
Known for shows like Continental Circus and Man Up (Vancouver’s longest-running drag show), The Warehouse has also provided a platform for the queer community’s creativity, hosting premieres of documentaries (like Queer Vancouver) and renting out studios to artists. Run by women and trans folks, The Warehouse organizers aim to support the most vulnerable within the community, offering subsidized rent to marginalized and BIPOC artists.
“Being able to work in a fully queer space allows a sense of freedom and joy that can be hard to find elsewhere,” says Sam Schmidt, who helps manage the buddy system, an effort to increase safety and decrease stigma at The Warehouse’s party nights.
And that’s the crux of the issue: it’s The Warehouse’s inclusivity that makes it so special.
Queer parties can feel oddly divisive, catered to specific sub-groups within the LGBTQ2S+ community. Trans people are often pushed out, BIPOC performers face barriers, and anyone who doesn’t fit into a neat category can feel isolated or, at worst, ostracized.
Yet The Warehouse has always been a place of diversity and fluidity. As some-
one who has frequented queer events from Berlin to Chicago, I can say that it’s rare to step into a queer venue and see the entire community represented. The Warehouse is such a venue. Which is why it needs to survive. Anyone who frequents
The Warehouse has been aware that its time was running out.
“We’ve always known that the space is going to get torn down,” says Broz, explaining that Eastside Studios rented it as a demolition-marked building. That was five years ago, and since then the organizers have received multiple extensions from their landlord, allowing them to run events right up until demolition day.
“We’re trying to create community spaces with limited means, and limited support from the city,” Broz explains, “which means we can only operate in buildings that are going to get torn down.”
Thanks to increasingly unaffordable rents for long-term leases, independent organizations like Eastside Studios rent demo-buildings because that’s the only way they can operate—but the impermanence of supportive venues increases the vulnerability of an already vulnerable community.
Sure, The Warehouse’s organizers will probably find a new space, but what about the next, and the next?
One of the major issues facing LGBTQ2S+ people is displacement, and if queer community organizers struggle just to establish a space to operate in Vancouver, that legacy of being pushed to the margins will continue.
And the precarity of arts venues has an impact on Vancouver’s culture at large. Just in terms of drag, The Warehouse—and other Vancouver venues like it—supports a diverse range of performers that is unusual in the wider scene, offering a stage to trans, BIPOC, non-binary, and female performers who get far less exposure in other cities. Thanks to the efforts of community organizers, Vancouver boasts a unique environment of queer culture—but if communities like The Warehouse’s cannot find a home, that uniqueness will not survive.
If Vancouver wants its culture to thrive, the city might need to take steps to protect marginalized communities from being forced out as rents continue to rise.
But the story isn’t over yet. Eastside Studios’ organizers are already looking for other venues, and they’re hopeful they’ll be able to find another building soon—with any luck, somewhere that can house their resident artists while allowing them to host events.
Now the demolition date has been set, February is the last month for events, and the organizers have planned a full slate of shows till the final night on February 25. March will see several Eastside Flea markets.
“Seeing how well-attended events were this year,” Broz says, “we realized how necessary this space is, and how spaces like this allow growth.”
Now more than ever, we need venues like The Warehouse which enable us to come together, create art, share experiences, and build something for ourselves. But even as The Warehouse finally closes its doors, its community isn’t going anywhere. And hopefully, they will soon find a new place to call home. GS
We’ve always known that the space is going to get torn down
– Ryn Broz
What does it mean to be Black in Vancouver?
It’s a hard thing to answer, even for people in this community. It’s a small community, for sure, but a place is built from its people—all of its people, regardless of how large or small their representation in the the city. Black perspectives are a vital part of the city’s cultural fabric, and should be celebrated as such.
In honour of Black History Month, we’ve asked four local creatives and activists to tell their own stories, in their own words, about what being Black in Vancouver means to them. Not just to celebrate the past, but to take stock of the present, and offer hope for the future.
PARADOX CITY
“Vancouver? Why Vancouver?”
By Dannielle Piper, Mx. Bukuru, Doaa Magdy and Cicely BlainIt’s a question many people asked after I announced my decision to immigrate to Canada.
“There are no Black people in Vancouver,” they told me. “Go to Toronto. That’s where we are. You’ll find our people there.”
For the record, I come from a long line
of proud Afro-Caribbean ancestors and we’re known to travel far and wide. As an aunty once said: “There ain’t no place we haven’t been, and there ain’t no place you won’t find us.”
Her words comforted me… but only for a short time. As my departure date grew closer, a seed of fear dug deep into the soil of my subconscious. For the first time in my life, I was going to be seemingly all alone. I was going to be Black in Vancouver.
To be honest, I didn’t know what that truly meant at the time. But I do now.
Being Black in Vancouver means oscillating between multiple binaries several times a day. Binaries that are confusing, nonsensical, and paradoxical. I’m diverse but indigestible; invisible but conspicuous; educated but ignorant; exotic yet too foreign; beautiful but undesirable; classy but uncultured; friendly yet aloof; polite but antagonistic; innocuous but still threatening; remarkable but forgettable; and, my personal favourite, well-spoken but incomprehensible.
The list goes on.
Truthfully, who I am constantly clashes with Black stereotypes. I’m either >>>
Four locals–activists, artists and writers–explore the joy, the pain, and the complexity of what it means to be Black in this city
too Black or not Black enough. Ultimately, I had to navigate my new life in a new country with these limitations. In many ways, it was—and still is—extremely liberating. I get to prove everyone wrong on a daily basis. However, it’s also exhausting. It’s like working overtime with no breaks and definitely no pay.
So, how do I put up with this nonsense?
First, I remind myself that Blackness is varied, multifaceted and multicultural. That my worth, my voice, and my experiences are non-negotiable, and that I have no obligation to be anyone but myself—regardless of how uncomfortable my identity makes others.
Why?Because my continued presence holds this city accountable. It keeps it in check and challenges cultural erasure. Because, believe it or not, those same people who asked, “Why Vancouver?” were wrong.
Black communities have existed in British Columbia for over a century. Over the years, these communities have settled, expanded, consolidated, shifted, dissolved, reappeared, and repeatedly realigned their diverse histories with that of this city. In doing so, Black people have consistently confronted systemic racism and carved out small yet vibrant communities for themselves.
We are here. We’ve been here. And we’ve been here for a very long time. And to pretend otherwise is a slap in the face to those who have contributed to Vancouver’s cultural wealth. Until we accept this fact, I’m going to oscillate between binaries that I created for myself.
I am exhausted, but I’m liberated.; Frustrated but hopeful; rigid but adaptable. But most importantly, I am vulnerable and strong.
people (or paying Black people) sometime this month. And you will scream/“yaaas!”/tip/celebrate your way into feeling educated/chastised/ uplifted/entertained. Haus Bukuru looks forward to seeing you.
amcellent indeed.
Let’s call back to what be onstage and ver. Within the drag community, there is a tension in knowing your coworkers used to lip sync
off of fashion styles popularized
lip sync to Black artists while giving Black diva energy… Tension is one word. Unease is another.
I moved to Vancouver in 2010 with huge suitcases full of hopes and dreams of a better future. I came to complete my first master of arts degree at UBC, located in the city with the mildest weather in Canada. Clearly, the word “mild” means a different thing for an Egyptian—as you can imagine, I found that out the hard way.
My first couple of years here, the grey skies and cultural shock served me a cocktail of emotions: loneliness, homesickness, racism, and depression.
Being Black in Vancouver was mostly an isolating experience because what my heart was yearning for was a sense of belonging, a community that I could connect with and relate to.
But then I realized that I was never alone, which is something easy to forget when moving to a new country. Thanks to the friendships I made, I realized how interconnected we are as humans and how much we need each other to grow and thrive, which definitely enriched this new chapter of my life.
It opened my eyes to the power we have in building communities rooted in compassion, and using our differences to foster unity, not division. It felt like getting a completely new prescription after a long overdue eye exam.
When a performer does those things and you’re the only Black person on the lineup, how do you frame the conversation? Community doesn’t have HR.
I am tired.
By DanniellePiper, freelance journalist and a graduate of the UBC School of Journalism. Born and raised in Jamaica and now living in Vancouver, Dannielle covers identity politics, social justice, and pop culture criticism.
Blackness is not a monolith, so let me define mine: I’m a queer, fat, light-skin, mostly able-bodied Black performer. I’ve been tearing up Vancouver for five years with a mixture of drag and burlesque, hosting and teaching, sex and political sass. I know what it is to be me and Black in Vancouver. More specifically, what it is to be Black and onstage in Vancouver. The feelings of constant observation are similar. Unlike many, I do often get paid for the pleasure.
When performing, I have certain bits that only come out when the money high. Not because they are technically hard, involving stunts or circus animals. I only put myself through it once a year because… I know you aren’t listening.
Often, when I teach people the meaning of my name, I will give helpful hints. I’m not Nigerian. I am not Rwandan. Yet, everytime I give these hints, people say, “Bukuru, it’s a city in Nigeria!” Or “Bukuru, that’s Rwandan for the higher twin!” They’re not listening.
So here’s my final hint. I’m of Jamaican descent. If you run into me at a show, tell me the definition of my name and I’ll give you a drink ticket. When I chose my name, it was with an intention of difficulty. I wanted audiences to stutter, wonder, and research.
Some are stuck on the stutter.
I’m going into February with a goal. It is not to perform Black Excellence—though I
But there are good things ahead. This is my first year as a house parent. There are three new beautiful Black drag babies taking the stage this February: Batty B Banks, Acacia Gray, and Levi Thrust/Lilac Lust put the “future” in Black Futures Month.
What is your future? What is your past? February sometimes feels like I have to dislocate my Blackness to make it through; put it on a shelf so as not to be overwhelmed by the voices silenced and ever-weighing.
So in this future tense, I say: you will be supporting Black artists, you will be donating to the Vancouver Black Library Ko-Fi fund, and you will be learning the definition of my name.
By Mx. Bukuru, multi-disciplinary drag artist. They’re a member of Enby6 and parent of the only all-Black drag Haus in the City. Follow them at @mx.bukuru on Instagram
Despite the global trauma we all experienced in 2020, that year shifted the meaning of the word “community” and paved the way for the birth of the digital community as a portal of social change and compassion towards our diverse experiences.
The year 2022 was the most traumatic year of my life, yet the most connected I felt to the Black community. Thanks to my Dynamic Diasporas project with VMF during Black History Month, my connections expanded through my artwork and my community contributions.
The digital community, including my therapist, saved my life in so many ways as I continue dealing with the impacts of racial trauma in my workplace and the fight with WorkSafeBC to recognize race-based stress injury. It helped me navigate ways of healing by accessing Black joy, which to me looked like dance walking around East Vancouver and making new friends along the way. .
I want us all to heal, so that joy in our DNA outweighs the trauma for all the future generations. Radical joy is revolutionary, and this is what I aspire to
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create with my art. My passion for cinema and the power it has in transforming societies inspired me to found Horror in Seconds: a new upcoming horror film festival for Black and Indigenous emerging artists.
Radical joy is telling and writing our own stories from our perspectives and sharing them with the world. Horror in Seconds will revolutionize and decolonize the concept of film festivals by creating a space for the community to witness the magic that underrepresented artists are capable of creating when given the opportunity to unleash their creativity.
By Doaa Magdy, Nubian interdisciplinary artist and educator, subverting colonial norms of storytelling and highlighting Black joy in film, dance, poetry and photography. Follow her on Instagram at @doaaliciousart.
When I sit down to summarize my experience as Black, mixed-heritage, queer femme in this city, I find it hard to consolidate the mosaic of happy, scary, joyful, and isolating moments into one cohesive descriptor. However: what strikes me most about being Black in Vancouver is the exhilarating feeling of change.
I come from London, England—you can feel the city’s age and the history that has moved in and out of the concrete and asphalt. By comparison, Vancouver is young. The settler-colonial process renders cities, particularly on the West Coast, uncertain in their identities. Where Indigenous communities lived in symbiotic harmony with the land and water, farms, factories, and tall glass buildings now extract from the surrounding nature. Processes of oppression like colonialism, slavery, forced migration, and indentured labour have all caused cultural loss..
The resurgence and revitalization of the languages and culture that has resisted extinction is a key part of Vancouver that I find beautiful and inspiring. Attempts to destroy cultural connections, like the placement of Indigenous children in residential schools or the demolition of Hogan’s Alley, have been unsuccessful in destroying the spirit and resilience of marginalized communities.
When I first moved to Vancouver in 2012, the smallness of the Black population was immediately evident. Living on campus at UBC, I would go days without seeing another Black person. The duality of being both hyper-visible and invisible was
confusing and isolating. People wanted to touch my hair because they hadn’t seen an Afro before, and they based their interactions with me on superficial pop culture stereotypes. I was called on in class to speak on behalf of all Black people and “complimented” on my eloquent speech. I sat through lectures on Black trauma that were merely a distant spectacle for my peers, rather than a lived reality.
Vancouver is often disparaged for being boring and characterless; young people can end up feeling disconnected and disillusioned. In the same way that Vancouver evades definition, the type of racism that manifests here can be subtle, non-committal, and careless. As a visitor or migrant, it’s confusing. It’s hard to make meaningful relationships, especially in academic and professional spaces where Blackness is so often othered.
Yet somehow, I’m still here; lucky to enjoy the crisp ocean air, meandering forest trails and beautiful mountain views. To this, I attribute the undeniable resilience of Black communities and our ability to find one another despite fear and isolation. It’s something marginalized people have done for generations.
Eleven years later, there are two stores
for Afro hair products on my doorstep, good Caribbean roti in walking distance, and a familiar Black nod or smile almost every day. Sometime during my decadeand-a-bit in Vancouver, the Black community has grown, but not just in numbers.
The growth of the Black community also feels like a growth of expression, freedom, vibrance, and connection. There are more events centring Black experiences: conferences for Black-owned businesses, theatre performances with Black leads, books by Black authors on the front shelf. Through protests, marches, articles, art, policy, education, training, and community building, Black folks continue to carve out the space they deserve in this city.
Black, Indigenous, and racialized folks are often the driving force behind systemic change and social progress, and it’s starting to show in Vancouver’s gradual transformation.
Being Black in Vancouver is an ever-evolving experience, and I feel optimistic it’s trending towards a vibrant, joyful future.
By Cicely Blain, CEO of Bakau Consulting, co-founder of Black Lives Matter Vancouver, the editorial director of Ripple of Change Magazine, and the author of Burning Sugar.
TRUE TO PLACE: STÍMETSTEXW TEL XÉLTEL Exhibition curated by artist and muralist Xémontalót Carrielynn Victor (Stó:lō) examines the artistic practice of 10 Northwest Coast Indigenous artists. To Mar 19, Bill Reid Gallery of Northwest Coast Art.
FORGIVENESS To Feb 12, Stanley Industrial Alliance Stage. Tickets from $35.
THE WILLFUL PLOT EXHIBITION To Apr 16, Morris and Helen Belkin Art Gallery.
JEFF WALL: VIEWS IN AND OUT OF VANCOUVER
Jeff Wall, leading contemporary photographer To Mar 25, 12-6 pm, Canton-sardine. Free.
BAMBOO FLOWERS - KEEYAN SUAZO A new installation for BAF by Keeyan Suazo To Mar 11, Burrard Arts Foundation. Free.
2023 THE LANTERN CITY The Lantern City returns to light up the new year To Feb 16, šxʷ ənəq Xwtl’e7énk Square, Vancouver Art Gallery.
INSCAPES: OUR LANDSCAPE WITHIN To Apr 1, 10 am–5 pm, Italian Cultural Centre. Free Admission.
ADVANCE THEATRE Play Readings live on Stage! To Feb 17, 8 pm, Shadbolt Centre for the Arts. $15.
VIRTUAL FESTIVAL OF OCEAN FILMS Virtual Festival of Ocean Films To Feb 11, 9 am–11:55 pm, Georgia Strait Alliance $10.
SUNSET COMEDY| PROFESSIONAL STANDUP COMEDY SHOW VANCOUVER |THURSDAY
8:00PM Live Stand-Up Comedy in the heart of the West End Feb 9, 8 pm, The Loft Lounge. 15-20. BRAND UPON THE BRAIN! [14A] Feb 10, 8:20 pm; Feb 12, 8:30 pm; The Cinematheque. $10–$14.
TREAT SHOW COMEDY Treat show is really good improv comedy. Feb 11, China Cloud. $18/20 or Pay What You Can.
JOKE BOOKS COMEDY Vancouver’s best comedians tell new jokes! Feb 16; Mar 2, 16, 30, 8 pm, Havana Theatre. 15.
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 9
SONGBIRD NORTH: WHERE WRITERS SING & TELL Songwriters showcase hosted by Shari Ulrich Feb 9, 7:30-9:30 pm, Roundhouse Community Arts & Recreation Centre. $23.
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 10
HOW THE WEST WAS ONE THIS QUEER COMEDY IS BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND! Feb 10, 11, 8 pm, Russian Hall. 25.
MUSE BY FLIP FABRIQUE Feb 10, 11, 8 pm, Vancouver Playhouse. $36.75 - $93.45.
DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS IMPROV SHOW Spill secrets anonymously, laugh joyously! Feb 10, 9:30-11 pm, Tightrope Theatre. $20.
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 11
VANCOUVER OPERA PRESENTS A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM BY BENJAMIN BRITTEN A romantic, atmospheric opera Feb 11, 7:30-10:30 pm; Feb 16, 7:30-10:30 pm; Feb 19, 2-5 pm, Queen Elizabeth Theatre. Starting at $50.
SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 12
ONE, TWO, TRIO & TRUMPETER-PIANIST ALAN MATHESON Brass trio and trumpeter-pianist Matheson performs a program of works by Bach, Byrd, Bernstein, Beiderbecke, Poulenc, and Pulcinella. Feb 12, 2:30 pm, Langley Community Music School.
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 14
JOKE BOOKS COMEDY! A VALENTINE’S DAY STAND-UP COMEDY SHOW Feb 14, 8-10 pm, Dolly Disco. 15.
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 17
CONSONE QUARTET: BBC NEW GENERATION ARTISTS London quartet performs works by Mozart, Haydn, Chevalier de Saint-Georges, and F. Mendels-
sohn. Feb 17, 7:30-9:30 pm, Christ Church Cathedral. $36-$75.
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 22
MSG COMEDY Feb 22, 7:30-10 pm, Cold Tea Restaurant. $20.82.
FRIDAY, MARCH 3
ON THE BREATH OF ANGELS An aural journey that ranges from 1600 to the present day, exploring the ways in which the cornetto and the human voice can interact, imitate each other, and musically entwine. Mar 3, 7:30-9:30 pm, Christ Church Cathedral. $36$75.
POPCAPPELLA III The Chor Leoni men’s choir performs a blend of classic pop and choral works. Mar 3, 8 pm; Mar 4, 5 pm; Mar 4, 8 pm, St. Andrew’s–Wesley United Church. From $20.
THE SPONTANEOUS SHAKESPEARE COMPANY
PRESENTS: BREAKING BARD An improvised twist on classical Shakespeare Mar 3; Apr 7, 9:30 pm, Tightrope Impro Theatre. 20.
SATURDAY, MARCH 4
MICROCOSMOS QUARTET Quartet composed of Marc Destrubé (violin), Andrea Siradze (violin), Tawnya Popoff (viola), and Rebecca Wenham (cello). Mar 4, Langley Community Music School.
SUNDAY, MARCH 12
ANGELA HEWITT: BACH, BRAHMS & SCARLATTI Pianist Angela Hewitt plays Bach’s English Suite No. 6 in D minor, preceded by a selection of Scarlatti sonatas and followed by Brahms’ Sonata in F minor Op.5. Mar 12, 3 pm, Chan Centre for the Performing Arts. $36-$75.
SUNDAY, APRIL 16
JAMES HILL AND ANNE JANELLE Ukelele virtuoso James Hill and cellist Anna Janelle perform original material from their recent projects and programs. Apr 16, Langley Community Music School.
FRIDAY, APRIL 21
THE BIRDS CONCERT Through fascination for birdsong, La Rêveuse brings to life a vision of the music of the 17th and 18th centuries focusing on nature. Apr 21, 7:30-9:30 pm, Christ Church Cathedral. $36-$75.
WEDNESDAY, APRIL
NILS FRAHM German musician, composer, and record producer combines classical and electronic music. Apr 26, 7 pm, Chan Centre for the Performing Arts. $89.50-$59.50 (plus service charge).
ART VANCOUVER Western Canada’s largest international contemporary art fair features a wide range of paintings, photography, sculptures, glass, wood, and mixed-media works. May 4-7, 7-11 pm, Vancouver Convention Centre. $14.45.
SCHUBERTIAD WITH THE LEONIDS & CHOR LEONI Chor Leoni, the Leonids and Alexander Weimann on EMV’s Graf fortepiano, present a memorable Schubertiad with solos, quartets and part-songs sprinkled with piano solos from Schubert’s Moment Musicaux May 5, 7:30 pm, St. Andrew’s–Wesley United Church. $36 - $75.
LISTINGS ARE A PUBLIC SERVICE PROVIDED FREE OF CHARGE, BASED ON AVAILABLE SPACE AND EDITORIAL DISCRETION. SUBMIT EVENTS ONLINE USING THE EVENT-SUBMISSION FORM AT straight.com/AddEvent. Events that don’t make it into the paper due to space constraints will appear on the website.
KID KOALA The Vancouver-born DJ performs with special guest Lealani. Feb 9, 7 pm, Biltmore Cabaret. $25 (plus service charges).
PIERRE KWENDERS: LIVE Feb 9, 7 pm, Fox Cabaret.
PRO NOVA ENSEMBLE VALENTINE CONCERT
FEBRUARY THE 9TH Professional chamber ensemble performing classical Feb 9, 7:30-9 pm, Silk Purse Arts Centre.
AWFULTUNE: LIVE Feb 10, Fox Cabaret.
MBNEL Feb 10, 6 pm, Fortune Sound Club. $20.00 (plus appl. s/c).
DUNE RATS WITH SPECIAL GUEST CHASTITY Feb 10, 7 pm, Wicket Hall. $20.
JOHNNY A...JUST ME AND MY GUITARS Feb 10, 7 pm, 9:15 pm, Blue Frog Studios. $55.50.
YVIE ODDLY PRESENTS STRANGE LOVE Feb 10, 7 pm, Rickshaw Theatre. $35.00 - $75.00 plus appl. s/c.
THE SONS OF KAIN LIVE AT THE ROXY The Sons of Kain return to the Roxy with special guests. Feb 10, 7-11 pm, The Roxy Cabaret. $13.86.
FERRON “ Feb 10, 8 pm, Shadbolt Centre for the Arts. $30-$35.
WAILIN’ WALKER BAND Feb 10, 8-10 pm, Mel Lehan Hall at St. James. $31-$35.
FROM PHOENIX WITH LOVE A February concert exploring love and passion. Feb 11, 3 pm, Pacific Spirit United Church. Varying.
NAPALM RAID Napalm Raid in Vancouver Feb 11, 7 pm, Bullet Farm. $20 and up.
DUNE RATS WITH SPECIAL GUEST CHASTITY Feb 11, 7 pm, Rickshaw Theatre. 22.50.
THE VANRAYS ALBUM RELEASE W/ SPECIAL GUESTS CLONE An Eastvan Soul/Glam Rockin’ extravaganza! Feb 11, 7 pm, Fox Cinema. $15 advance. $20 at the door.
BISON WITH GUESTS FEARBIRDS AND WORSE BC behemoths BISON take to the Wise Hall stage. Feb 11, 7:30 pm, WISE Hall. $20.
SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 12
NICK HAKIM R&B/soul singer-songwriter from Brooklyn. Feb 12, 7 pm, Hollywood Theatre. $22 (plus service charge).
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 13
VAULTBOY Feb 13, 6 pm, Mel Lehan Hall at St. James. $20.00 (plus appl. s/c).
DUCKS LTD. Feb 13, 7 pm, WISE Hall. $17.50 plus appl. s/c.
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 14
GILLA BAND Feb 14, 7 pm, WISE Hall. $25.16.
GILLA BAND Feb 14, 7 pm, WISE Hall.
MARGO PRICE Feb 14, 7 pm, Commodore Ballroom.
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 17
VANESSA DEE & THE BRIGHTSIDES The Loving Longing Leaving EP Release Show Feb 17, 7 pm, WISE Hall. $20.
RAHIM ALHAJ TRIO Two-time Grammy-nominated oud virtuoso. Feb 17, 8 pm, St. James Community Square. $35.
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 18
SUUNS WITH SPECIAL GUESTS SUUNS with special guests Feb 18, 7 pm, Cobalt. $20 plus fee.
SOOK-YIN LEE Feb 18, 8 pm, The Lido.
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 21
‘THE 4 BS - BACH, BEETHOVEN, BRAHMS & BORIS’ WITH BORIS KONOVALOV Feb 21, Silk Purse Arts Centre. $18 - $22.
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 23
DANCEHOUSE AND VANCOUVER NEW MUSIC PRESENT “BROKEN CHORD” Feb 23-25, Vancouver Playhouse.
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 24
TOVE LO: LIVE Feb 24, 6 pm, Commodore Ballroom. SKEGSS Australian garage-surf trio. Feb 24, 9:30 pm, Rickshaw Theatre. $20 (plus service charge).
SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 26
SURF SUNDAY WITH THE REVIBERATORS Monthly surf rock n’ roll night Feb 26, 8 pm, The Heatley.
FRIDAY, MARCH 3
LOU REED & THE VELVET UNDERGROUND TRIBUTE CONCERT Lou Reed & the Velvet Underground Tribute Concert Mar 3, 8:30 pm, Princeton Pub & Grill. FREE EVENT.
THURSDAY, MARCH 9
PAROV STELAR Austrian electro-swing/downtempo artist. Mar 9, 7 pm, Harbour Event Centre. $55-70. JIGJAM ‘I-grass’ band melds Irish and bluegrass music. Mar 9, 8 pm, BlueShore Financial Centre for the Performing Arts. $35.
SATURDAY, MARCH 11
JOACHIM COODER Son of Ry Cooder plays Congo blues with his trio. Mar 11, 8 pm, Mel Lehan Hall at St. James. $30.
THURSDAY, MARCH 16
EXTC – FEATURING XTC’S TERRY CHAMBERS
EXTC - feat. XTC’s orginal drummer Terry Chambers Mar 16, 7 pm, Rickshaw Theatre. $26.50.
SATURDAY, MARCH 18
THE RESIDENTS Mar 18, 7 pm, Hollywood Theatre.
SUNDAY, MARCH 19
DEREK GRIPPER Guitarist melds African and classical traditions. Mar 19, 8 pm, Mel Lehan Hall at St. James. $30.
FRIDAY, MARCH 24
DEAD CAN DANCE Dark-wave/art-rock duo composed of Lisa Gerrard and Brendan Perry. Mar 24, 8 pm, Orpheum Theatre.
SUNDAY, APRIL 2
PIGS: CANADA’S PINK FLOYD – FEARLESS TOUR 2023 PINK FLOYD TRIBUTE ACT! Apr 2, 7-10 pm, Bell Performing Arts Centre. $55.
SATURDAY, APRIL 15
JILL BARBER Enchanting performer writes timeless songs Apr 15, 8 pm, York Theatre. $45.
TUESDAY, APRIL 18
FLORIAN HOEFNER TRIO Modern piano jazz trio from the East Coast. Apr 18, 8 pm, BlueShore Financial Centre for the Performing Arts. $30.
SATURDAY, APRIL 22
THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS Alt-rock band from Brooklyn. Apr 22, 8 pm, Commodore Ballroom. $35 (plus service charge).
TUESDAY, MAY 2
PLINI W/ SUNGAZER & JAKUB ZYTECKI Plini w/ Sungazer & Jakub Zytecki May 2, 6 pm, Rickshaw Theatre. $27.50 plus fee.
Close your eyes and picture the platonic ideal of a standup comic. Probably on stage at Yuk Yuk’s or something. Vancouver filmmaker Shana Myara suspects your go-to might be “a white guy on stage with a plaid shirt, or maybe a suit and tie.”
Comedy is a notoriously insular industry. It’s hard to break into, and the systems in power that long rewarded a certain kind of straight white dude are slow to change. But there’s always been great comedians who fall outside of one narrow range of experiences. And with her new series, Killjoy Comedy, Myara gives some of Canada’s most exciting new comics a platform to make more people laugh.
“We get to hear from folks who have maybe historically been the butt of the jokes, and suddenly they’re the ones holding the mic and telling the jokes,” Myara tells the Straight over Zoom.
Myara’s debut documentary feature, Well Rounded, challenged fatphobic assumptions about body size. It featured multi-hyphenate actor-comedian-broadcaster Candy Palmater, who “stole the documentary” with her humour and warmth, and inspired Myara to focus on marginalized comedians for her next project.
“Candy Palmater really struck me because a comedian’s ability to synthesize and sort of skewer a ridiculous opinion is so persuasive,” Myara says. A good joke has “the sharp edge of a poet’s precision,” and the same ability to cut through someone’s thoughts.
After Palmater died suddenly in late 2021, Myara says she spent a long time looking for a cast that resonated: “I cast the show pretty carefully to try and find people who are funny as her, people who have the same sort of effect as her. [Palmater] always said she used comedy like a rubber sword: she wouldn’t draw blood, but she would make her point. So
all of these comedians have the ability to do that in their own different ways.”
Instead of a single film, Killjoy Comedy is a six-part series on OUTtvGO. Each halfhour episode follows a different comedian, interspersing standup footage with more personal conversations and goofing around. Each episode feels unique, as you get to know and parasocially bond with a different funny person from Rain City. For actress, standup comedian and Tightrope Impro Theatre performer Ashlee Ferral, being on stage means being in charge. She tells me the story of her first-ever standup set.
“In Filipino slang, it’s like a colloquialism to call someone a KJ. We just use the acronym for killjoy when someone’s ruining our fun, and I definitely remember growing up being called this by my mom,” Lorica says. “I find it very satisfying to kill the joy
“That badge is like a badge of honour to me now.” GS
Killjoy Comedy releases on OUTtvGO on February 14. Ashlee Ferral performs weekly at Tightrope Impro Theatre. Tin Lorica co-hosts
Pioneering figures of the golden age of photojournalism whose names are familiar to anyone with even a tangential interest in the subject. Vancouver’s Yosef Wosk makes a convincing case that Tim Gidal deserves to be added to that pantheon.
Born in Munich in 1909 to Jewish-Russian parents who had fled the pogroms for the perceived safety of Germany, Nachum Narcys Ignaz Gidalewitsch started his career as a press photographer in 1929, just as new developments in portable camera design were revolutionizing visual storytelling.
Gidal went on to shoot for pioneering publications such as Picture Post and Life; later in his career he wrote the seminal Modern Photojournalism: Origins and Evolution, 1910-1933 and spent 16 years teaching “The History of Visual Communication from the Stone Age to the Television Era” at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem.
In spite of all that, Gidal is little known today. Wosk is on a mission to correct that. In 2020, he curated and wrote the preface to Memories of Jewish Poland, which offers a rare and precious glimpse at everyday Jewish life in prewar Europe through a series of photos Gidal took in 1932.
Last year, Douglas & McIntyre published Gidal: The Unusual Friendship of Yosef Wosk and Tim Gidal, edited by Alan Twigg.
In an interview with the Straight , Wosk recalls that his part of the story began in 1992-93, when he was on sabbatical in Jerusalem. He carried with him a picture clipped out of the pages of Hadassah Magazine and a diminishing hope of meeting the photographer whose camera had captured it.
The photo in question was Night of the Cabbalist, a striking image of a man reclining atop a low building with a domed roof, a full moon in the sky directly overhead. Gidal took the photo in 1935 at the Meron mausoleum of second-century rabbinic scholar Shimon Bar Yohai in what was then still known as Palestine.
“When I saw that photograph it was a visceral experience, as if I was looking at a photograph of myself taken decades before in a place that I knew,” Wosk relates. “I had spent time there, and it’s an incredible location dedicated to Jewish mysticism, and Tim was able to get that photograph at a very rare moment.”
Wosk explains that the man in the photo was a mystic on a quest for knowledge, and by sleeping on the tomb of the rabbi
reputed to have authored the foundational Kabbalist text known as the Zohar, he was trying to get as close as possible to the source of inspiration.
“It’s just a physically and spiritually intimate photograph, and it just captured my imagination,” Wosk says. After a number of fruitless months of intermittently searching for Gidal, Wosk by chance spotted a poster on a lamppost, advertising a gallery exhibition of early 20th-century Israeli photography.
“I took the information, got in touch with the gallery, and the owner happened to know him,” he says. “She introduced me to him. We made an appointment and went to his house. It was interesting; she warned me before going over that he could be cantankerous, ‘So be careful.’ But he and I and his wife Pia, we hit it off pretty much immediately, and as we relaxed around one another, and I had a number of private visits to their home, we just connected as friends, even though there was a 40-year
difference between us and he lived in a whole other universe that I could only read about in history books.”
Indeed, as documented in Gidal, both in words and in images, Gidal was blessed with the eye of an artist and had a Zelig-like (or Forrest Gump-like, if you prefer) knack for getting a front-row seat to world-altering historical events.
“He lived through the First World War, through the Second World War, through the Holocaust, through the re-establishment of the state of Israel, through the Cold War,” Wosk says. “He was an active participant as a photographer, as a historian, as an academic, as a collector, as a teacher. He was almost killed a number of times during the war, shot at by different forces as a frontline war photographer.”
Gidal also captured some of the most influential figures of the first half of the 20th century, including Mahatma Gandhi at the All-India Conference in 1940, Winston Churchill in a postwar appearance at London’s Albert Hall in 1948, and even a rare (and totally unauthorized) candid snap of Adolf Hitler at a Munich café in 1929.
As of this writing, Tim Gidal doesn’t even have an entry on Wikipedia. He does, however, have a lovingly crafted book with his name on the cover and his astonishing photographs inside. He also has a tireless champion in Wosk who, in 1996, wrote a letter to Gidal’s wife, Pia, upon learning of his friend’s death at the age of 87. That letter, reproduced in the book, reads in part:
“Nachum Tim Gidal knew how to look where others only glanced incomprehensibly. He knew how to see where others only gazed without genuinely embracing the encountered object or historical moment. As such, he became the eyes for those who knew not how to look; he became a conscience for those who did not take notice.” GS
As part of the JCC Jewish Book Festival, Yosef Wosk and Alan Twigg discuss Gidal: The Unusual Friendship of Yosef Wosk and Tim Gidal at the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver on February 14. Admission is free.
He knew how to see where others only gazed.
– Yosef Wosk
steven sanders is launching a lineup of homemade toys , Vanimals, this summer
I run an online toy store right now called Mynd Gym Toys, which I’m actually trying to look for retail space for at the moment. I do pop-ups, festivals, and events throughout the Lower Mainland. Right now I sell stuff from other manufacturers, but I’m in the process of making my own toys, Vanimals.
I’m in the prototyping phase. They’re mostly designer toys, similar to what Funko or tokidoki does, where you can be a kid or you can be an adult and still collect these figures. You know? I’m in basically the phase where I’ve 3D-printed off a lot of different figures, seeing what actually works.
I’m doing the molds myself, instead of trying to find a manufacturer right away. I’m just going to produce it all myself first, locally. If it fails, well, then I’ll try to look for a manufacturing partner overseas. I would like to be here and do it.
This started back when I was working my day job. I got pulled into doing something for the Richmond museum and we were looking for somebody who collected toys. I had just finished my master’s and I was like, “What do I want to do?” I was mostly interested in virtual reality at the time. But I had done all this toy research. I was like, “I can design a better toy than this. I can design a better figurine than this stuff.” I had all these cartoon characters that I’d designed when I was trying to look for work in animation. And I was like,
I can turn this stuff into an actual toy figure. And it just kind of snowballed from there.
This first series that I’m doing is actually dedicated to Vancouver. I’m a transplant, originally from Detroit, Michigan. I started off kind of hating Vancouver, which I know is not the best thing to say, but you know, I’m gonna be honest. I hated Vancouver. I was like, “Housing, the cost of living, everything”—I was just down in it. But my wife is from here, so I had to warm up to it. So this first line of Vanimals is dedicated to that, focusing on hipsters and other kinds of characters I came across while first living here. I hope people can kind of see themselves in these characters.
It’s important because play is important. So is imagination. But also just seeing yourself reflected in the art of it. I know some people don’t look at toys as art, but designer toys can definitely be art. It’s about expressing yourself in a lot of different ways and finding community with others. That’s a key thing for me. Whether it’s toys or comics, whatever, you always want to come across other interesting people. And it can be a positive thing to, you know, share that same experience with somebody else. gs
myndgymtoys.com | @myndgymtoys
Wayne Coyne doesn’t want to get ahead of himself. But if all goes to plan, his band, the Flaming Lips, will finally play in Vancouver.
The group has performed here many times over the years, though there’s been a significant three-year gap between when these tickets went on sale and when, finally—mercifully!--the show will happen at the Commodore Ballroom (plus an added second night, for good measure). That gap, of course, was the result first of worldwide COVID-19 lockdowns, then, later, the result of Coyne getting COVID. But now, here we are. Hopefully.
“That’s really one of the ridiculous things that if you would’ve told me that people are going to buy these tickets, and they’re going to come to the show it’s going to be three years later, I’d be, ‘No way. There’s just no way anybody’s going to do that,’ ” Coyne tells the Straight in an interview.
That’s cute Wayne, but we beg to differ. If there was ever a time for the Flaming Lips’ exuberant, joyful, and theatrical live show, it would be right about now, when the world’s political system seems on the verge of collapse over spy balloons—never mind, uh, everything else that’s happening. The Lips’ live experience has always been a communion between band and audience, a space for crowds to revel in the bliss of togetherness, filling our batteries with hope and joy to carry us on our way.
In other words, it’s always a great time, and possibly even better now. Because, as Coyne notes, “Our concerts are more insane than ever.”
That’s saying a lot for a band that’s renowned for costumed craziness, laser
beams and inflatable unicorns. Consider its COVID shows in the Lips’ hometown of Oklahoma, in which the group performed in its own “Space Bubbles,” with the crowd members also in their own individual inflatables. The clever concept—which inverted a long-standing Flaming Lips trope, where Coyne would crowd surf in a bubble at the beginning of each show—actually belied a new and improved approach to performing. No longer in a rush to get from gig to gig, the band could perfect its sound design, set design, and all the other elements, to ensure each aspect of the show was the best it could be.
“I think previous to the pandemic, I mean, we really would just be running to catch up all the time. There was just never a moment to do anything,” Coyne says. “Doing [those bubble shows], we really figured out how to do our songs better, how we would run the monitor systems better, how our guy at the front of house could do better, how we could make our singing better.”
But COVID wasn’t all technical and creative breakthroughs for the band. The Lips lost two members following those
space bubble shows—keyboardist Jake Ingalls, who went to focus on his work with Spaceface, and bassist Michael Ivins, who’d been with the band since its inception in 1983. The departure leaves Coyne as the only original member on the roster, but also gives him and Steve Drozd, the Lips’ multi-instrumentalist and Coyne’s chief co-writer, more flexibility to explore new terrain in their songwriting.
The band had already forged a new path with its last effort, 2020’s American Head, released in the middle of COVID lockdowns. That album is a somber and sobering reflection of the Flaming Lips’ roots in the American Midwest, abandoning the whimsical experimentalism for more pastoral psychedelia. As a few critics pointed out in their reviews, it marked a fresh direction for a band that’s made a career of changing directions. For Coyne, breaking new creative ground is almost a compulsion.
“Maybe it’s dopamine, whatever that rush is that you get when you’re discovering something new that you didn’t expect to find and you really, really like it. Once you get that through making music and
stumbling upon things, it’s addicting. That’s what drives you, that’s what you want,” he says.
“The way that I make music is just so primitive that it could literally be the same song over and over, because I don’t really know how any of it works. Luckily, a lot of producers and musicians have come my way and we get to do this insane music.”
So keep this in mind for the upcoming gigs at the Commodore. It will be the culmination of two years of perfecting the Lips’ live show and breaking new ground. Coyne says. With the exception of the “hits” everyone hopes to see—“Do You Realize??” and “Race for the Prize” and a few others—each show will have a “radically different setlist.” He teases there might even be a few new songs, if “they are working and sounding right.” Supposing, of course, that the band actually ends up playing.
“Let’s not jinx it,” Coyne says. We’re knocking on wood. GS
Our concerts are more insane than ever
– Wayne Coyne
When Ché Aimee Dorval heard “Cowboys” by Portishead, it took her out of her body. It was sometime in her early 20s and a DJ she was dating played it for her. She loved trip-hop already—the experimental hip-hop and electronic fusion that emerged from the ’90s Bristol underground—and bands like Zero 7 and Massive Attack had been on constant rotation.
“It always really struck me,” Dorval tells the Straight, on the phone from her home in Vancouver. “There’s so much emotion and it’s so dark, which I gravitate to.”
But that Portishead moment opened up new pathways for the musician, running alongside other influences like Alanis Morissette and Cat Power: artists whose bold, honest, and reflective songwriting shaped her own. You can hear it through
Dorval’s music, where the evocative atmospherics on her last record, 2017’s Between the Walls and the Window, offered a backdrop to contemplative lyrics brought to life by her big, rich, soulful voice. The influence is at its most fully realized on her new album, The Crowned. Songs like “Sensibilities” and “Try” are lush, mysterious, and enveloping, with intentional layers of instrumentals that move like pop melodies.
“I’ve always wanted to create music like this,” Dorval says. “I just never knew how before. I played the guitar my whole life— and I play the piano a little bit—but I wasn’t confident enough to really make that my instrument and go deeply into it. That really restricted the musical landscape and the genres I was able to touch upon.
“Over the years,” she continues, “I’ve really gotten into producing and started to explore soundscapes and just everything—controllers and VSTs [Virtual Studio Technologies]—and that basically gives you
a paint brush. You don’t have to necessarily rely on your skill of, like, ‘Are my fingers fast enough?’ And I have weak hands. I was always held back by that. But with all of these other things, you can just create whatever is in your mind, electronically.”
On The Crowned, Dorval worked with iconic engineer Bob Rock, who co-produced half of the album. When the pandemic hit, it gave Dorval more time to reach even further into herself, and she finished producing it on her own.
“I think it was just a mixture of confidence and exploration,” she notes. “And then just working with the right people who let you be who you are, and vice-versa.”
Having the safety to be true to herself goes back to Dorval’s upbringing. She grew up in Vancouver with her mother and a “huge, crazy, loving” family.
“Even though we were struggling, everything felt really magical and wonderful,” Dorval says.
Her uncle, who was an actor and parttime drag queen, lived next door and “was just the most fun.” Her aunt, an artist and musician, would take Dorval camping.
“My life was filled with these gorgeous humans, all of whom had their different crazy piece of life and perspective to give to me,” she recalls. “And it was just a really beautiful childhood. And my mother was a rock, and so strong. And I think it definitely helped shape who I am today, but it also got me kind of ready for the craziness of the music industry. I think you have to be crazy, but then you also have to have some sort of inner strength to withstand it. And I definitely owe it to them.”
Music offers Dorval space to process. Along with themes of love and loss, there
are many songs on The Crowned, she notes, that speak to a sense of frustration, because that’s how she works through things. Much of her inner turmoil related to politics surrounding women’s bodies and rights.
Dorval wrote the title track with Rock during the #MeToo movement. On the opening line, with just a chorus backing her, the singer belts: “Gone from the ground/Here we are with the crowned.” It’s about equality.
“It was really important for me to make the song about not retribution, but just plain across equality,” she says. “‘Can we stand next to you? Can we all just stand together?’”
Another standout, “Blood Red Son,” was written when Roe v. Wade was overturned and reproductive rights in the States were hanging precariously by a thread. Dorval’s voice soars over the cinematic soundscape, which twists hauntingly as her tone rises higher and higher. “Bet the other goes on placidly,” she sings. “Undisturbed by those who would object.”
With Between the Walls and the Window, Dorval reached an assuredness in both herself and her artistry. On The Crowned, she is unapologetic.
“I’m going to go whatever direction musically I want to go because I like to explore and I love music,” she says. “I’m going to say whatever I feel like I need to say, because what’s the point of doing anything other than that? I think I grew up with this record—as a musician and as a human.” GS
Jonah Yano remembers the first time he ever ate ikura. The juicy salmon roe was served on tofu, sprinkled with bonito flakes. His grandparents always had it on hand, preserved in brine and stored in the basement of their Port Coquitlam home. That meal is one of Yano’s fondest memories of his grandfather.
“I felt like he was sharing something about our identity with me,” the musician says with a smile, speaking over Zoom. “In retrospect, that’s what it felt like. When I was a kid, I was just eating something yummy.”
His grandfather is a first-generation Japanese Canadian.
“But I can remember the plate and everything,” Yano recalls.
Food has a kind of multi-sensory power. It can embody love. It can hold memory, ushering you right back to an exact moment. “I feel like it can also connect you to parts of yourself you’ve never known before,” Yano says.
About three years ago, when his grandfather began losing his memory, Yano travelled back to Port Coquitlam to archive his family’s life. The musician now lives in Montreal, but he was born in Hiroshima, Japan, and raised in the Tri-Cities. For his trip home, Yano brought a field recorder, a video camera, disposable cameras, and a scanner to individually scan documents and thousands of photos. He was there for two weeks. It was painstaking and tireless, but incredibly important.
“As time goes on, you forget stuff, and as people pass away, the things that pass away with them are gone,” Yano says. “I wanted to just have those conversations and record them, so that I have them forever.”
While Yano knew in some way that the cataloging would be part of his next album, he didn’t realize just how much it would be the glue that held everything together. Once he was in the middle of sifting through everything, it was clear he needed to process it through music.
An intimate contemplation and celebration of family history, dynamics, and relationships materialized on Yano’s new album, Portrait of a Dog. While the writing was years in the making, recording the music—a rhythmic and expansive landscape of jazz, acoustic, and experimental textures, produced entirely in collaboration with alternative jazz band BADBADNOTGOOD—took just eight days.
Rich string arrangements that Yano worked out in his apartment with his friend and “brilliant cellist” Eliza Niemi contribute. They are particularly moving in support of the voices of Yano’s family members, taken directly from recorded conversations, which surface through songs like “Haven’t Haven’t,” where his grandfather forgets his name.
Warm laughter rushes in as the strings retreat out. “Who’s that?” Yano’s grandmother asks. The musician is in the background, encouraging his grandfather, reminding him. Saxophone builds. “Jonah!” Laughter again, and the horn ripples into a bright solo.
“When he gets to it, we all laugh because, you know—ultimately it’s quite a sad thing that has just happened there.” Laughter is another instrument—one of healing—that faithfully accompanies the family voices on the album.
“It’s because they’re so funny. They’re such funny people,” Yano explains with a grin. “I was trying to do my best to communicate that through the recordings I use.”
Yano’s own voice—which shifts from aching and restrained to full and robust, sometimes flooding right into the waves of sound—is the emotional compass of Portrait of a Dog. His vocals take centre stage on “Song About the Family House,” the one track on the record that is just Yano, by himself, with his acoustic guitar. “So bury me on Jefferson Street/Replace me with concrete,” he sings softly. “And all of the stories I’ll keep/Between family/It’s just me.”
Developers have been buying up much of the neighbourhood where Yano’s
family lives. When he found out his home was on the line too, he felt stricken. Its existence would be forgotten. Everyone has lived there at some point: his grandparents, his mother, even him. His aunt and uncle live there now.
“To this day, everyone still gathers there for dinner, and celebrates things and each other,” Yano says. “It’s the arena of family life—like the coliseum of generational information. It just felt important to make something for it and about it.”
As Yano named the album’s songs, he was reading The Undying, Anne Boyer’s memoir about breast cancer. A line stood out: “the ordinary is ordinary because it ordinarily repeats.”
“I thought, ‘Wow. That is one of the most beautiful ways to describe what the lived experience is all about,’” Yano says. “And it becomes the last phrase of the album.”
His grandparents haven’t heard Portrait of a Dog in its entirety yet. Yano will send them a CD, and he’s excited for when they receive it.
“My grandma will really love it. I really don’t even know if my grandfather will care, you know?” Yano laughs.
He smiles fondly. “But I know he’s proud of it and proud of me.” GS
You remember that kid who drowned in Willy Wonka’s chocolate river? Picture that, but it’s me, and there’s a big ol’ smile on my face as I sink into the chocolate’s warm embrace.
I was never much of a hot chocolate drinker. My pick for warm beverages are usually reserved for a well-sugared coffee on the occasional sleepy afternoon, and even then it was more for the caffeine kick than the taste of hot bean broth. But this January? It changed things. It changed me. In ways I’m still not sure are necessarily for better or worse, or both.
I, like so many others when the calendar flips to a new year, started January off with some aspirational goals. The biggest? Make
it through the entire month of January without a drop of alcohol. AKA Dry January. AKA the first time I’d have gone so long without a drink since 10th grade, probably.
Sure, a recommitment to vegetarianism and trying to “maybe work out more” were also in the cards, but abstaining from booze was definitely the biggie. It helped that I’d be going into it with my equallyas-in-love-with-libations partner, and it definitely helped that we both have something of an overly-competitive streak, which meant that a craving for a cocktail would result in endless ridicule and the handing over of eternal bragging rights.
The first few weeks went by easily enough. We still had a hankering for beer and wine and the occasional bottle of bub-
bly, but we got by on the non-alcoholic versions of the aforementioned inebriants. And what a selection there was! Most grocery stores have non-alcoholic beer by the box and at least a few dealcoholized wines to choose from, the local liquor store has its own non-alc section, and there are even some booze-free versions of the harder stuff in case you’re craving the burning sensation only a heavy-on-the-G kind of G&T can provide. I was doing pretty well, if I do say so myself.
Enter the Hot Chocolate Festival.
Spoiler alert: the Hot Chocolate Festival didn’t make me give up on sobriety. (That particular lapse in willpower actually came after the partner and I decided on some mutually-assured-and-agreed-upon destruction at the four-week mark on January 28. It’s not our fault that February started on a Wednesday, okay?)
For those who have been living in lactose-free seclusion for the past 13 years, the Greater Vancouver Hot Chocolate Festival is a now-13-year-old institution around the city, in which cafés, pastry shops, bakeries, chocolatiers, ice cream shops, and god only knows where else come up with extremely extravagant (and incredibly Instagrammable) takes on the comforting drink during the cold, cold days of January 14 to February 14. We’re talking 145 flavours from 66 shops across 95 locations, spanning from Whistler to White Rock. You’d have to average about five different hot chocolates a day over the course of the festival to try all the flavours on offer. It would also cost you roughly $1,500. At least.
Granted, you’re probably not going to have two or three or six hot chocolates during a wild night out—unless you actually are trying to hit all of the flavours, that is, in which case godspeed, you bittersweet
emperor—but damn do those dairy-soaked dollars ever rack up. Especially when you’re constantly in need of a:
-Reason to go out for a fun drink with a friend
-Warm cuppa something to take the edge off the biting cold of a Vancouver winter (we hear you laughing, rest of Canada, but it’s a wet cold, alright)
-Casual date idea that doesn’t include ordering a full blown meal
-Excuse to get yourself, you know, a cute lil’ treat or something.
Don’t get me wrong; I’ve had an absolutely gorgeous time skipping through the city and enjoying some of the most scrumptious pairings of hot chocco + treat that I’ve ever had. There’s one with a cotton candy cloud. Another has red velvet whipped cream. Forget the Instagrammability—these things are just downright delicious. But the cocoa leaves left at the bottom of my mug spelled out a troubling truth I was terrified to face.
Cut to me floating around in Wonka’s River. That’s the thing about poor Augustus Gloop; the kid straight-up drowned. Or at least it’s heavily implied he did; we didn’t really see him at all after the whole glass pipe debacle. There was definitely an on-the-nose Oompa Loompa song about gluttony mixed in there, too, because what was Willy Wonka about really if not a warning of the deadly sins?
Which all made me realize that my craving for decadent drinks, my love of overpriced beveraginos, and my inability to factor my health into any equation regarding what goes down the gullet isn’t, actually, mutually exclusive to alcohol.
As easy as it would be to blame the booze for my dwindling savings account or my declining health, the belief that a month off drinking will be the magical cure for all that ails me is, clearly, a much more naively optimistic (or is it optimistically naive?) expectation than the true reality of the situation; that maintaining health and happiness is an ongoing, multitudinous pursuit, and one that can’t be “fixed” simply by giving up a particular vice for a month.
It was honestly quite the sobering realization—and one I wasn’t expecting to come to as the result of an adorable hot chocolate festival being held in my city.
So, if you’re going to replace one drinking habit with another, maybe consider water. Or home-brewed kombucha. Or soylent, even. Because finding yourself aboard that Hot Chocolate Fest train is a dangerous(ly delicious) ride, indeed. GS
Back in 2019, Lilian Umurungi-Jung launched Mumgry, a successful line of all-natural nut butters. Like the rest of us, she had no idea what global chaos would upend the world for the next three years. And, like many entrepreneurs, she questioned if she could continue with her business.
But her uncertainty was put on ice one day when Beyoncé showcased Mumgry on her website, among more than 100 other Black-owned brands.
The impact of the shoutout was immediate. It led to orders from across North America, and Umurungi-Jung says it gave her business a platform.
“We took that opportunity,” she tells the Straight, “and said, ‘Okay, now we’re going to do really cool things that are going to impact our community and different people.’”
Umurungi-Jung is part of Vancouver’s growing crop of Black food entrepreneurs seeing success and awareness. They span consumer-packaged goods (CPG), restaurants, bars, and other food service businesses.
But despite recent movements forward on social progress and attention on Black culture, there is still work to do. The Straight spoke to many food-focused Black business owners over the past week who highlighted progress and the power of trust and education to create positive change. They also reflected on ongoing challenges unique to the community.
With a 60 per cent failure rate, the food service industry is a difficult business. But for Black restaurateurs, challenges can begin before the first dinner service. Case in point: Cullin David, chef and co-owner of Caribbean-focused Calabash Bistro, recalled resistance to the eatery’s concept in its very early stages.
He had explained the concept to a white patron at an establishment he worked at before, and the response was, “Well, your food’s amazing, but I just don’t think it’ll work in Vancouver. I think it’s a mistake.”
David says that person’s reasoning was obvious: they believed Black food in Vancouver was not going to make it. Fortunately for local foodies, Cullin ignored
this person’s advice.
“I heard that and I took it and I was like, ‘No, I just don’t agree with it at all,’ ” he says. Thirteen years later, Calabash Bistro is now a city staple.
Even once operating, Black businesses can face increased challenges or scrutiny. Cullin remembers going to a bank with his co-founders (one Black and one white) and he could see the lack of trust from the people they were meeting.
“We had to get creative on how we presented,” Cullin recalls. “We had a white guy in our partnership group, so we actually utilized that to our advantage, which we shouldn’t have to do.”
Umurungi-Jung shares a similar view on how being Black has had an impact on getting financing for Mumgry—not a decade ago, but today.
“What I’ve noticed is that there are far greater hurdles, in my experience, versus my non-Black counterparts,” she says. “I know that, factually… I’ve heard directly from loan providers themselves, saying, ‘We’ve never seen this type of examination before. Yours is very intense compared to anything we’ve ever seen before.’ When you hear things like that, it’s hurtful.”
Asha Wheeldon, the founder of Kula, an Afrocentric plant-based foods company, echoed statements about the extra work Black entrepreneurs must do to get equal consideration. Although more Black-owned businesses have emerged, she notes “there are barriers when trying to sustain and grow our businesses due to minimal support and willingness to engage. Specifically, as a CPG brand, it’s been challenging to get our products on retail shelves.”
But when times are tough, positive words of encouragement can help.
“You reach a point where you kind of… feel defeated, but what keeps you going is the community,” Umurungi-Jung says. “It’s the people who say, ‘Okay, well, I’m not going to stop supporting you guys. I really need you guys to be in this store.’ And it just motivates you to keep going.”
Community is a recurring theme when it comes to what has enabled and motivated these entrepreneurs. But everyone we spoke to says the mere size of Vancouver’s Black population can hold it back too.
According to the 2022 census, just 1.6 per cent of Metro Vancouver’s 2.6 million residents identify as Black. Christopher Boreland, owner of Elbo Patties, says that because the city’s Black community is so small, “you still have to go outside” of it for sustained growth and support.
“If you’re only dealing with the same circle, meeting Black entrepreneurs, helping Black entrepreneurs, we will go a long way,” adds Justin Tisdall, a co-owner of Juke Fried Chicken. “But we’re also not necessarily changing the minds of people on the other side of that circle.”
Fortunately, Tisdall believes the wheels are in motion to elevate Black perspectives and entrepreneurs in the city.
“There are Black coalitions,” Tisdall notes. “There are all these things that are starting, which hadn’t happened years ago, partially, because there probably weren’t as many of these businesses, or these businesses didn’t have a voice. They needed to be able to connect with each other. So now that we know we have the tools, I think it’s great to see people starting to utilize them and starting to use their voices in positive ways.”
As for what’s needed from people outside of the Black community, Umurungi-Jung says trust and transparency are key. “I think that there’s a huge lack of trust when it comes to certain people in positions that can hold back your success.”
For these entrepreneurs, it feels like Black History Month can be a time when there is a bit more trust and space for them. But they wish it extended to the rest of the year.
“I’m Black every day all day,” Boreland says. “But when we’re talking about how people show up in support, there’s definitely an influx of it during this month, as short as it is. I would just basically say, it would be nice if they kept that same energy, the other 11 months out of the year. I love being busy, but I hate the reason behind why I’m busy.”
When it comes to the makeup of food industry businesses in B.C., the data is basically nonexistent. In fact, even when looking at just restaurants, Ian Tostenson, CEO of the BC Restaurant and Foodservices Association, admitted there’s no tracking.
“There are no stats on this,” he says over email. “The [only stats] we have by market feel is that about 40 per cent plus, of all restaurants have an ethnic proposition.”
Without data, it’s not clear how to measure progress. Still, Juke’s Tisdall, sees change all around him—and increased visibility is important in and of itself, he said.
“I’m a true believer of ‘you kind of can’t do it until you see it,’” Tisdall explains. “So, you know, I never really had a lot of people of colour in front of me. But there’s definitely a lot of people of colour that work around us now, or who are you know, have raised up to the level where we’re at.
“I think Vancouver is at a really interesting point in time right now, because there are probably the most Black entrepreneurs that we’ve ever had,” he continues. “So, like every day people are operating, you’re creating Black history, right? Every day that goes forward, you’re just building your businesses more, and hopefully affecting more people in a positive way.” GS
Harmless! Immutable! Also, we’re living in the golden age of foot-fetishist representation—from the conniving, murderous, unctuous Ser Larys Strong on HBO’s House of the Dragon (prestige television!) to the sweet, goofy, traumatized Jimmy on TLC’s MILF Manor (trash television!), guys with a thing for feet are suddenly all over our screens. And as kinks go, there are far… well, I don’t want to say worse fetishes. Let’s just say there are fetishes that are far harder to explain, far riskier to attempt, and that a vanilla partner is far less likely to happily indulge you in.
> WOULD YOU CONTACT AN EX AFTER A YEAR TO ASK HOW THEY ARE?
Depends on the ex, depends on the breakup, and depends on where we left things. If the ex was a genuinely nice person that I liked, I might be inclined to reach out. If I experienced the breakup as amicable and I have every reason to believe my ex did too, I might be inclined to reach out. And if the last time we talked we both said we would be open to being friends in the future, I might be inclined to reach out.
> ARE YOU EXPERIENCED WITH CHASTITY?
I have tried on a cock cage—once a philosopher—but the idea of having my cock locked up for an extended period of time doesn’t appeal to me.
> IS SEXTING REAL SEX OR MUTUAL MASTURBATION? IS SEX WITH AN AI CHATBOT REAL SEX OR MASTURBATION?
The American Psychological Association defines “mutual masturbation” as a “sexual activity in which two individuals stimulate each other’s genitals at the same time for the purpose of sexual gratification.” (Emphasis added for, well, emphasis.) Since you can’t touch someone else’s junk via sext message, sexting wouldn’t count as mutual masturbation. It’s a shared erotic experience, and one many people in monogamous relationships would consider cheating, but it’s not a sex act. And while you can certainly stimulate your own genitals as you swap messages with an AI chatbot, that’s not fucking. That’s typing.
> HOW DO I GET MY LIBIDO BACK? I’VE LOST IT TO SSRIS AND BOREDOM.
Talk to your doctor about adjusting your meds—advocate for your own
libido—and then talk to your partner about breaking out of your sexual rut(s). If you’re always having sex with the same person, in the same place, at the same time, and in the same way, try having sex with someone else, someplace else, at some other time, and in some other way. If you aren’t allowed to have sex with anyone else, then have sex someplace else, at some other time, and in some other way with your partner. And if the only person you’re allowed to have sex with (or want to have sex with) isn’t willing to give other places, times, and ways a try, well, breakups are never boring.
> CAN SOMEONE BE BAD AT CUDDLING? Yes.
> HOW DOES ONE FIND SPACE FOR MASTURBATION WHEN LIVING TOGETHER WITH VERY LITTLE ALONE TIME?
One takes long showers, one gets up early or goes to bed late, one seizes opportunities as they present themselves, e.g., partner has a doctor’s appointment, partner is out with friends, partner is locked in the storage unit in the basement.
> WHY DO I HAVE TO FEEL ASHAMED IN ORDER TO COME?
Because that’s what turns you on. But just like women who need vibrators in order to come shouldn’t feel ashamed, and men who need tit play in order to come shouldn’t feel ashamed, dirty little sex perverts like you who need to feel ashamed in order to come shouldn’t feel ashamed either… despite being the kind of dirty little sex pervert who gets off on feeling
you out. I was too scared as you were also with your friend. I regret it and have been thinking about the encounter all week. I hope we meet again one day.
From F to F
GIRL IN THE GREEN JACKET AT INDIGO ROBSON
I instantly saw you when I walked into the Indigo on Robson Street. Your green jacket and beautiful light brown curly hair caught my eye. My path coincidentally followed yours in the store. At one point we were very close and you bumped into me. You apologized and I blushed, saying it was okay. I was instantly drawn to you. Our paths kept crossing. I wanted to give you my number and ask
When: Wednesday, January 25
Where: Indigo on Robson Street
WE BOTH HAD INFUSIONS AT THE SAME TIME
We were both having infusions in Richmond at the same time. We chatted and I admired your Doc Martens. I said they made you look taller and you said I knew your secret. Not all of them. We talked about Chinese New Year, and I showed
ashamed, you dirty little sex pervert.
> I’M A 40-YEAR-OLD MAN AND I’M ABOUT TO BE SINGLE AGAIN. HOW DO I APPROACH DATING?
With a sense of wonder and anticipation—also, a real appreciation for your luck, as your timing could not be better. You don’t mention your sexual orientation, but the world is suddenly full of men and women—some your own age, some significantly younger—who are all about dating, fucking, and possibly marrying daddies, e.g., hot men in their 40s and 50s. Make sure you are respectful, leave ‘em in better shape than you found ‘em, and have fun.
I fear this is a trick question designed to make me say something that could be construed as positive about incest. So, for the record: as a person with siblings, parents, step-parents, aunts, uncles, etc., and a vivid and very visual imagination, blech blech blech. With that out of the way…
If watching incest porn troubles you, ask yourself why you’re watching it. If incest scenarios are your kink, well, then you’re going to keep watching incest porn. But if you’re watching incest porn because it’s transgressive and taboo and it feels wrong, well, there’s lots wrong sexual scenarios that are portrayed in porn and erotica that you might enjoy just as much and feel a little less shitty about what you are “consuming.” GS
Send your burning questions to mailbox@ savage.love. Podcasts, columns and more at Savage.Love!
you a red envelope in my pocket. May I see you again, not when we are being infused?
From M to F
When: Wednesday, January 18
Where: At the infusion place in Richmond
GRANVILLE ISLAND PUBLIC MARKET
You were by yourself, I think. You wore light blue jeans and black shoes with tall wedge-like heels. You had beautiful dark hair. I wasn’t sure if you caught me checking you out…
From M to F
When: Saturday, January 21
Where: Inside the public market
