The Strand | Volume 61, Issue 11

the

STRAND VICTORIA UNIVERSITY’S STUDENT NEWSPAPER VOLUME 61, ISSUE 11 | 19 MARCH 2019

what does nostalgia feel like? editorial | page 4 friendships for thought opinions | page 5 finding safety in childhood art arts | page 11

02 NEWS

EDITOR | NICHOLAS FREER NEWS@THESTRAND.CA

Alexa Ballis on running for President unopposed and opt-in student fees nicholas freer news editor

The Strand: Could you describe the position of VUSAC President and what your responsibilities would be?

The president is essentially the leader and spokesperson of VUSAC. They help support the admissions and executives [and] they liaise with the Dean’s Office and with the president. Overall, they help with the tone of VUSAC for the year ahead.

Could you summarize the main aspects of your platform?

There’s a few. The main one would be the response to the postsecondary changes that the Ford government has proposed. We don’t know what the policy would look like yet, but I hope to support our clubs, levies, and VUSAC through it all. By consulting [clubs and levies] we can best respond to their concerns.

Also, consulting members of the VCU to understand the reasons why they may opt out of certain clubs. I would also work with the clubs and levies throughout the budgeting process and connect them to the Performing Arts Endowment, which is a source of funding that won’t be touched by the cuts. I also plan to help promote and advertise exactly where our student fees go because a lot of students don’t know, and I want to make that clearer.

What specific measures would you say that you’re looking to implement that would help make things clear for the Vic student body?

Apart from advertising where our student fees go, I want to highlight our meetings as a space where Vic members can come to speak to issues. Our meeting packages are released one or two days before the actual meeting, which doesn’t give a lot of time to promote what’s on the agenda. To have the agenda out before and spend that entire week advertising with fun graphics.

You’re running unopposed for the highest position in VUSAC; why should voters cast a ballot for you rather than abstain?

I think they should cast a ballot for me because I still put in the work regardless. I made a 30-page platform; I’ve been trying to go out to students to hear them speak. It’s important to me to know that the VCU is confident in my ability to lead. To choose not to cast a ballot, that’s telling me that they’re not as confident in [my leadership]. It would push me to work harder. Having less uncontested elections is a priority for me.

You ran for Scarlet and Gold Commissioner last year; that was also uncontested. This seems to be an issue across the board for VUSAC elections. I think there are about seven uncontested positions this year; does that correlate to lack of political engagement to you?

VUSAC is really inaccessible right now in my opinion. It’s hard

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to get involved. I think highlighting what VUSAC does earlier in the year is beneficial. If students know what VUSAC does, they’ll feel more confident in campaigning for these positions.

Often grooming someone for a certain role can discourage other people that might be just as qualified for the role.

What would you do as president to help get voters more engaged?

Our outreach and promotions need to be enhanced. The format of caucus needs to be restructured because it’s very long and that could be off-putting. All the information there is important.

I want to have surveys to hear from students to find out how VUSAC can best serve them and what we can do to make them more engaged. I need to listen to the students to hear how to change VUSAC in order to get them to care.

You’ve mentioned Doug Ford and the Conservative government’s decision to make student fees optional. If you are elected president, what are you going to do to help mitigate the damage it might cause?

That’s a big thing in my platform. Starting in the summer I’d like to promote where our fees are going and how it funds all

the amazing programs at Vic. I would also continue to lobby the government wherever possible if needed. VUSAC might need to take a little more political stance going forward and stand for what we believe in. I would consult clubs and levies to hear what their concerns are moving forward because every club and levy may have different concerns with the changes.

At the last caucus meeting there seemed to be some concern over the use of specific funds, whether that be overspending or an overwhelming portion of the budget used for one event. How would you seek to deal with this concern over the use of student fees?

Some of the ways funds are being spent need to be re-looked at.

Moving forward, we need to prioritize what programming and initiatives are most important to the VCU. Student fees should go back to the students as much as possible. Having a large portion of fees being reserved for a single event that only touches a very small group of the Vic population makes me uneasy, but levies can make those decisions themselves. Levy audits are happening, and we’re looking at reducing spring levy fees. Before making any decisions, I want to find out what services and programs are most important to the VCU and the plan from there.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

2019 Hancock Lecture, moving toward a disability justice revolution Sarah Jama encourages coalition building georgia lin opinions editor

The 2019 Hart House Hancock Lecture, titled “Moving Toward a Disability Justice Revolution”, took place on Thursday, March 14 in the Great Hall and was delivered by disability justice activist Sarah Jama. The annual lecture seeks to engage University of Toronto students and community members on pertinent societal issues. This goal is achieved through concurrent programming like the Talking Walls campaign featuring student experiences on disability, which was on display at Hart House over the past month.

Sarah Jama is a co-founder of the Disabil-

ity Justice Network of Ontario and is a community organizer based in Hamilton. In her lecture, Jama centered her lived experiences with disability and emphasized common understandings of disability as burdensome. Jama also focused on unpacking the discriminatory structures and organizations that actively work to exclude people with disabilities, which results in the devaluation and disregard for the existence and worth of disabled people. By drawing on her identity as a racialized disabled woman, Jama spoke about the intersection between marginalized groups and the necessity of building coalitions for mobilization movements. Through dismantling ableist notions of productivity, Jama told the audience to organize from a place of love, instead of hate,

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and to rethink the foundations from which structural inequities stem. Jama concentrated on why just pushing for “access and inclusion aren’t enough” in policies like the Accessibility for Ontarians with Disabilities Act (AODA), and instead, a focus on organizing as a mandate is required.

She argued that in order to create a disability justice revolution, it would be crucial to be political and to advocate for marginalized populations. She also urged the audience to not consider people with disabilities as “perpetually screwed,” and emphasized that it is the onus of everyone to champion issues “we fundamentally care about” under a global disability framework.

Interviews with all of the candidates can be found on thestrand.ca.

Voting takes place until Wednesday March 20 at voting.utoronto.ca.

NEWS 03

@STRANDPAPER THE STRAND | 19 MARCH 2019

Katie Marsland on running for VPI, inclusivity, and event safety eric mcgarry web editor

The Strand: Why are you running for VPI? I’m running to try to make a more inclusive VUSAC that is more welcoming, approachable, and accessible for students. It’s your student council; everyone deserves to feel welcome and have a team that is working for them. I think having a strong team that is working to help students comes [out of] a cohesive team that can work well together. I’m running to strengthen VUSAC and make sure we have the best team to serve the VCU. What do you feel makes you a good fit for this position?

I care a lot about people and I just want to help people succeed in their projects. I think I’m a good motivator and I think I can use that [skill] to help different members of the team realize their goals. To help them in whatever way I can, just encourage them and let them know that I’m here to help with whatever they need. I was a Transition Mentor this year, which meant that

I had the opportunity to welcome first-years. I found it a really wonderful experience to see their growth throughout the year and I would love to [create] that same experience for VUSAC members this year as well.

Tell us about your platform.

I’m really interested in having mandatory first aid training for VUSAC. It’s been great that some VUSAC members have been first aid-trained [in] the last couple of years, but that might not always be the case. If you’re ready to help students and to make sure students feel safe at our events, I think that’s the way to do it. That would also include overdose training, making sure we are prepared no matter what happens. Tied into that, I started an initiative this year that I would really love to continue. It’s a workshop to help students who are planning events with alcohol—to know how to safely plan events and empower their team so that everyone can feel safe.

What would you say your short-term and long-term goals are for the position?

I think short-term goals would be [focused on] operations within VUSAC. Having more check-ins to help keep members accountable for the promises that they made during election season, because I think it’s unfortunate those can sometimes fall by the wayside because people get busy and things like that.

So just having more check-ins with people and [making sure they know] that I’m there to support them with whatever their initiatives are. In terms of long-term goals, it would definitely be finding a way to make the alcohol workshop more sustainable long-term and strong so that it can continue, because it is really valuable training.

Is there anything else you would like to include before we wrap up?

I hope you will take the time to read my platform. I put a lot of thought and care into it. I really think that, if elected, a lot of these initiatives are really valuable to the VCU, and I would really love to see them come to fruition.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Aurore Dumesnil on running for VPI, welcoming environments, and printers sandy forsyth editorial assistant

The Strand: What has inspired you to run for the position of VP Internal for VUSAC? I have always wanted to help people, especially students. I really like the Vic environment and I feel like the VPI position is really good for that. Everyone in VUSAC is so dedicated and passionate about what they do, and they’ll do it with such a good heart.

It’s inspiring when you see them doing such great things, and you’re like, “I want to be a part of that!” I want to do even greater things.

You’ve mentioned the Vic community; what do you think is something that you want to do to improve that good feeling you have about our community?

Something that is a bit of a problem in the community is this Vic bubble, and I think that we can sometimes seem a bit unattainable. I have a lot of friends who are outside of this Vic bubble who feel like it’s harder for them to reach out to the VUSAC community. I would like to make sure that it is a well-known fact that there is no such thing as a Vic bubble, and everyone is wel-

come in Vic, whether it is VCU members or others from outside who have more friends around Vic. It’s just really important that we pop this bubble and make sure that everyone feels included.

Would you say that you’ve had any experiences in the past that you think have led you to this position, or that make you suited to becoming the VPI? Definitely. I mentioned that I was a Transition Mentor this year, and I think that this position really helped me discover other people who are passionate about equity and inclusivity. This whole team-building experience helped me when I was picking what I should run for on VUSAC; I thought that VPI was something that would be amazing. I’ve also applied to be a don, which is something that I’ve been really involved in. I think that there are some similarities in both positions, and I’ve tried to gain more and more skills related to don-ship that could also be really useful as the VPI. Regarding the position of VPI, what are your aims and your platform if you do take up the role?

Regarding Ford’s Student Choice Initiative, I think that it’s going to impact VUSAC quite a bit. I’d like to work with the other executive positions—VPE, VPSO, and President—to make sure

that VUSAC is as transparent as possible to VCU members, so that everyone knows where our fees go, and make that information easily available. I would also provide a platform for VCU members to contact the VPI anonymously; it’s their money and they should have a say in what we do.

It’s easy to have an unpleasant experience when in VUSAC or to feel excluded, and I think that having a way to communicate that really helps, or to help prevent it in the future. I would also want an [internal method] for elected members and staff members to contact the VPI anonymously. I want to ensure during the retreat that there’s a focus on team building which is kinder and more open-minded.

We’re here to provide services and help students. It would be a cruel irony for those people to feel like they’re not welcome in the first place. Having better communication, office openness, and training to open up to students is important. We need to insert the idea of more welcoming attitudes into our training.

I’d also like smoother printing for everyone. I would like to ensure that everyone during the retreat and elected members know how to use the printer correctly, and also the laptops, so that everyone has that training and that knowledge, and building an FAQ list by the desk so that students have some kind of answer to any questions that they might have.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Vibhuti Kacholia on running for VPE and Board of Regents noah kelly editorial assistant

of interest if you held office in both bodies?

The Strand: What experience do you have with student politics at Vic? I was a first-year councillor [on VUSAC], I learned a lot in that position. My portfolios were Equity, VP External, and Finance.

This year I’m the Equity Co-Chair on VUSAC, helping to lead the Equity Commission. On top of that I’m the Finance Director of UTUBS, the undergraduate bioethics society at Vic. Holding these positions have helped me understand how the administration and student government come together to affect [the] day-to-day of students. I think with my equity experience at Vic, understanding how marginalized students navigate the space, being a marginalized student myself, I have a strong voice to be at the table talking to higher admin at Vic. I want to speak to what they can do to make every student feel supported at Vic. The Vic constitution states that the VPE is meant to be a liaison between VUSAC and the BoR—would that be a conflict

I think in holding both positions, I could help strengthen the relationship between the BoR and VUSAC. Historically, student representatives on governing bodies aren’t super connected to VUSAC. It’s challenging for them to make it out to all the meetings and communicate everything that is going on. I think being able to sit on the board and bring that knowledge back to VUSAC would help communication between the two bodies. I could also help encourage other board members to be more involved with VUSAC themselves. The President of VUSAC also sits on the board, so it’s not unheard of to hold positions in both.

A lot of positions in the VUSAC election have only a single candidate—as VP External, how would you make VUSAC seem more accessible and get more people involved?

I think part of it is being transparent with what we do on VUSAC. We need to better communicate the things VUSAC is doing and present it in an accessible way. I’d like to work with

the rest of VUSAC to make sure we are making an effort to get in touch with the general student body through programming and events, to try to make clear how VUSAC is here to help. It’s important to communicate that VUSAC not all about higher administration issues, it also often has free food!

If you had to pick a single issue you are most anxious to tackle, what would it be?

Responding to these new policies the Ford government has put in place is terrifying. I think that because the policy changes are so ambiguous right now, it’s hard to structure a game plan. A lot of student groups across UofT are making an effort to mobilize right now, making sure that university administration knows what students want. Hopefully, they will communicate that to the government. I’m excited to work this summer, and all next year, with students across campus to make sure they can be a part of the mobilization to combat these issues.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

04 EDITORIAL

EDITORS-IN-CHIEF | AINSLEY DOELL AND SABRINA PAPAS EDITOR@THESTRAND.CA

What does nostalgia feel like?

the

strand V O L U M E

editors-in-chief

editor@thestrand.ca

As the academic year ends, our masthead reflects on how they experience nostalgia

6 1

ainsley doell sabrina papas

business manager

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mishail adeel

news

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nicholas freer

opinions

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georgia lin

features

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rebecca gao

science

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tanuj ash kumar

arts and culture

artsandculture@thestrand.ca harrison wade stranded

stranded@thestrand.ca

leo morgenstern

copy editing

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tamara frooman

design

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jay bawar

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hana nikcevic

art

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mia carnevale

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editorial assistants

miranda carroll sandy forsyth noah kelly amelia martinez-white abbie moser

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contributors carleigh campbell, alexander coney, mena fouda, ellen grace, wilfred moeschter, max nisbeth, emma paidra, gianni sallese, molly simpson, rashana youtzy copy editors alexandra baldwin, alyssa dibattista, arin klein, michal leckie design team jay bawar, sabrina papas illustrations mia carnevale, katie doyle,

tanuj ash kumar, fiona tung, yilin zhu photos hana nikcevic cover illustration erin mccluskey

The Strand has been the newspaper of record for Victoria University since 1953. It is published 12 times a year with a circulation of 1200 and is distributed in Victoria University buildings and across the University of Toronto’s St. George campus.

The Strand flagrantly enjoys its editorial autonomy and is committed to acting as an agent of constructive social change. As such, we will not publish material deemed to exhibit racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, or other oppressive language.

The Strand is a proud member of the Canadian University Press (CUP).

Our offices are located at 150 Charles St. W., Toronto, ON, M5S 1K9. Please direct enquiries by email to editor@thestrand.ca. Submissions are welcome and may be edited for taste, brevity, and legality.

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On the first day of every class, after the prof hands out the syllabus, I immediately flip to the reading list. Yes, I have already memorized it from the course description on the English Department’s website, but now the course is real. I tune out the prof ’s mandatory speech on UofT’s plagiarism policy and silently fantasize about the unending opportunities for learning each book represents. Who are the characters? What will they say? How will they make me feel? Over the course of the year, the thrill I feel in September slowly dwindles. This isn’t because the books are bad, but because their former limitless potential fades into a real book. I no longer look at that copy of Passing on my shelf and think, “Oh my god, I can’t wait to find out what that’s all about.” Now I know what it is about—and it’s great. I loved reading it, but I miss the enigmatic excitement of seeing it on the reading list, too.

—Nate Crocker, Social Media Manager Upon finding out that I’m from New Brunswick, I get some variation of “I bet you miss home and your family” from people; shocked expressions arises when I reply that I don’t really miss either. I have a complicated relationship with my family while my home feels like a museum of melancholy moments. I only miss my dogs. For the past 18 years, dogs have been a part of my daily life.

I have grown accustomed to hearing their nails clicking on the hardwood floor as they run to their bowl and not having to set an alarm as they act as one when they wake me by licking my face. For nearly my entire life, my dogs have been a source of comfort, happiness, and stability.

But they’re no longer a constant, I’m more than 1,300 miles away from my only living four-legged childhood friend. Now if I’m lucky I’ll briefly see a dog as on the TTC or walking along the streets.

—Abbie Moser, Editorial Assistant Nowadays, my exhaustion is permanent due to a mix of clinical depression and an overwhelming amount of commitments. Burnout is the word that never leaves my

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mind, a state I am constantly mired in thanks to my unceasing calendar alerts. I miss the sweet, floating days of May and June, when my worries were mostly about whether or not I remembered to bring sunglasses with me when I left the house; now, I run from room to room presenting a smiling, hollow version of myself with dark circles and honey lozenges in hand. I crave a sense of discovery, even if it’s in the offices I’ve inhabited for the past year, and the option to inhabit a noncommittal attitude. Yet disability doesn’t give you an option most days.

While I love what I’m doing, and I believe my doing it will contribute to something good, I want to strike a feasible balance between service and self. I’m reminded of the good when I look at my peers thriving in spaces I helped to create, or when I reflect and realize that I now understand my mental illnesses with an intangible nuance that didn’t exist last May. I can only hope for a better June.

—Georgia Lin, Opinions Editor My mother lived in over 14 places by the time she was 18, crisscrossing the border between divorced parents from Toronto neighbourhoods to New York State— Markham to Manhattan, Lippincott to Woodstock, Lowther to Long Island. The legacy of my grandmother’s restlessness seeps through generations to shape my life in subtle ways. Though I had only moved seven times by the age of 18, I was always drawn to others who I sensed could recognize, as I felt I could, the precise texture of emotionality that comes with geographical shifts. Landscapes are physical, but they are also affective. I once made a boyfriend drive me an hour and a half to the port city in which I spent my childhood so I could brush up against the landscapes I have fortified in memory. I don’t know what it means to not remember my birth city. I don’t know how to articulate the weight of places that are no longer home, emotional ghost towns. All I know is that losing access to a space emotionally when you still have access to it physically is a particular type of grief.

—Tamara Frooman, Senior Copyeditor

OPINIONS 05

EDITOR | GEORGIA LIN OPINIONS@THESTRAND.CA

Friendships for thought “I have learned to accept the spaces in my life for what they are” carleigh campbell staff writer

Over winter break, I got drunk with a couple of friends from high school. These are friends I would see every so often, usually if we are home for a holiday or when we make our way to each other if we have a weekend off.

Since starting university, I’ve always considered them to be my good friends, which is kind of funny because in high school we weren’t really that close at all. These friends, Lucas and Carrie, had already booked a trip to Iceland for reading week, and since I was a bottle of wine deep, it wasn’t hard to convince me to book a flight to join them. All this was despite my better judgement that still circled inside my muddled brain: you don’t have the money for this, you don’t have the time for this, and you certainly don’t know if you’re close enough with Lucas and Carrie for this.

That last one was my greatest worry. See, I could put off school work, and I’d be fine. I’m lucky enough to have been able to figure it out financially with a little help from my future self and all her debts. But I had never travelled with Lucas and Carrie before, and I’d be in a car with them, in the same hostel rooms as them, living in the same three t-shirts, eating the same flavours of Icelandic yogurt, for three days, and honestly, I wasn’t sure I had the patience for it.

Catch me two months later hopping on an overnight flight to Iceland for a trip I was unsure about, and I will summarize it like this: it truly was one of

the best weeks of my life. We spent a week roaming the Icelandic countryside, climbing mountains, dipping our feet in hot springs, drinking cheap beer in our Airbnbs, laughing, crying (but only a little), and screaming our favourite songs going 120 down the highway—but don’t tell my mom.

When I came back, all I felt was their absence. We go to different schools and live in different cities, but the whole time we were away together it felt like they would still be part of my everyday when we returned.

I learned a lot from being around them every second for only one week. I felt free; I felt impulsive; I never felt judged; I felt comfortable. This all coming from friends with whom, four years ago, I never felt that close.

I have spent the last few weeks reflecting on my friendship with these two and all my other friends who have stuck around. Since high school, I have gained friends here at UofT, and I have drifted away from others who were some of my closest friends in high school.

I had a solid group. We hung out every day at lunch, spent every weekend watching horror movies, and knew pretty much everything about each other.

The thing about drifting away from those people is that I didn’t recognize it was happening at first, and I don’t really feel the weight of it until I see them again, which is a rare occasion. When I do, the differences are palpable. We are not the same people we were in high school; we have grown, mostly in opposite di-

rections. It is an almost painful feeling. It is nostalgic and uncomfortable, trying to find the words to refill a space that used to overflow with love and laughter. Of course, I still love these people, but there’s something in recognizing that you and a friend aren’t what you used to be. It’s a recognition of growth, but it is also a loss within some sort of liminal space where there is still love within a great distance.

At the same time, I have watched myself become closer with, and open up to, people I considered only acquaintances in high school—and what an exciting thing that is. I have had a couple of friends who I have known since I was four, and they have always been a constant. And then I have friends that I’ve known since I was 14, who were certainly not a constant, but have become a necessity in my life. As we’ve grown older, we’ve discovered more in common. And now, being self-aware enough to truly reflect on the relationships that I still have and the ones I have lost has taught me a lot about growing up. I have learned to accept the spaces in my life for what they are, as I watch old and new friends come to occupy them, then come to walk away. I think that this acceptance has taught me a lot about myself and about what I value.

The relationships I’ve strengthened with some friends have told me that the bonds with others are not so strong anymore. I’ve also learned that these are things I must accept and that it’s okay to let go of things that just don’t fit anymore to make room for the things that seem right. photo

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06 OPINIONS

EDITOR | GEORGIA LIN OPINIONS@THESTRAND.CA

Where did you grow up?

Living and loving my islands and cities

illustration

georgia lin opinions editor

Last week, a professor of mine asked me, “Where did you grow up?” I answered, “Taipei, Taiwan.” I consider myself to be a diasporic individual, having lived in Taipei, New York City, and Toronto throughout my childhood. When I elaborated by saying I was born in Taipei and raised there for six and a half years, my professor scoffed and responded, “Six years doesn’t count as growing up there. You grew up here.” In that moment, I was baffled but composed, explaining that I identify as having spent my formative years on the island and I frequently return to my birthplace to visit family. This is not the first time my notion of a “hometown” has been questioned, and this invalidation is exhausting.

Defending where I’m from should not have to be such a laborious task. My being is deeply entwined with my Taiwanese heritage and lineage, from speaking Mandarin as my mother tongue to knowing where the alleyways twist to find shaved ice storefronts in bustling night markets. I watched the Taipei 101 tower construction occur on my carpool to elementary school every morning and knew which highway led to which of my grandparents’ houses at opposite ends of the city. I have my preferences for which convenience store sells the best pudding ice cream bars and know that I can rattle off my specific order for two dollar bubble tea without hesitation.

The nuanced details of my Taiwanese ties have all been developed over the countless hours I’ve spent

at home. Now, I return knowing my jet lag will be combated by the roosters’ crow reverberating off the metal roof shingles before dawn and island rainfall knocking me awake from a nap to weather the humidity. My grandmother knows my favorite breakfast items are 蔥油餅 (green onion pancakes) and 蘿 蔔糕 (radish cakes), which I gorge on while anticipating the fresh, sweet mangoes that, as my mother says, make Taiwan a “fruit heaven.”

I also say I’m from New York. Having learned English through ESL classes in Manhattan and having gained my first understandings of North America through the city’s lens, I value the time I was given as a precocious immigrant child in Morningside Heights. When I’m asked about New York, I say I grew up there, but this assertion does not negate my Taiwanese origins. A friend overheard this statement once and countered, “You didn’t grow up there.” This patronizing dictation of my transnational trajectory—as if the language I learned and the school I attended in New York City were irrelevant—was indicative of how my story, one that I should have the right to spell out, is repeatedly warped. Whether I lived somewhere for half a year, six years, or ten years, I should not have to justify my time and understanding of home. I know my favorite stack of fiction to pursue in the Strand Book Store, the joyful seclusion of visiting The Cloisters on a warm occasion, and on my last visit I almost cried from the nostalgia, visiting my local New York Public Library branch as I reminisced about serially borrowing Magic Tree House chapter books to read

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fiona tung

on my bunk bed.

A room in our Manhattan apartment acted as immigration storage for all of our books until our relocation to a house in Toronto, where the couch covers and the cherry wood table are still used without fail. I say I’m from Taipei, New York City, and Toronto not because of an opportunistic desire to talk about my experiences, but because it presents the most cohesive story of myself. I am a child of the islands of Taiwan and Manhattan and have grown into a multifaceted individual in Toronto. I actively choose to embody my hometowns as part of my identity, and having truths diminished to offhand comments by white folks whose upbringings are vastly different from my own only furthers the inequities faced by immigrant women of color. I bounced through five schools in eight years of primary and middle school education because I sought a diversity of languages, arts, and cultures that defined my diasporic experiences in three countries. I live and breathe my mountains in Taiwan, hear the roars of motorcycle and scooter engines competing for a spot on the road and hunger for piping hot egg cakes that I must finish before entering the metro unless I want to risk a fine. I carry with me the stories of riding three subway lines with my mother to travel to my bilingual school on the Lower East Side every day and singing in endless choirs at my specialized arts high school in Toronto. My education and body have been influenced by my transnational journeys, and my identity was shaped incontrovertibly through the cities I cherish.

OPINIONS 07

@STRANDPAPER THE STRAND | 19 MARCH 2019

Looking ugly for the male gaze How do I feel safe when my body belongs to the public domain? tamara frooman senior copyeditor

Last week I left my apartment wearing, for the first time in months, heels, a dress, and makeup. I knew this was a risk that would likely attract unwanted attention, but I thought the sound of my heels against the sidewalk might snap me out of a dissociative void and anchor me within my surroundings. Plus, I walk faster when I’m feeling confident about the way I look.

I made it 650 metres before a man did a double take—trapping my body inside his locked gaze as he approached the corner where I waited to cross Spadina Avenue. I remember thinking, “I should have looked uglier today,” as the walk sign lit up. I could still sense his presence behind me a block later, though I assumed I was overreacting until, after two blocks, he overtook me and cut off my line of sight.

“Excuse me, can I ask you a question?” I mumbled something in response, already eyeing escape routes,

making lists of what those around me were wearing so I could single someone out and avoid the bystander effect, if necessary. He showed me his phone, and I skimmed the sentences he had composed above an illustration of a rose drawn with the app’s highlighter tool. I absorbed “beautiful” and “coffee” and “treat you” before I mumbled something else I no longer remember and hurried away.

I don’t know why this experience in particular was so unsettling. It’s just another addition to a long list of examples many of us have. The time a man followed me home from the bar and I let him into my residence because I didn’t know if he would hurt me otherwise. The stranger who used to follow me to school several times a week. The man in London who chased me back to my hostel at 2 am when I told him I wouldn’t take his money for sex. I was 15.

Leaving the house instigates a series of choices I must make to navigate a world that has commodified my body, no matter how I present it. Consider mascara, heels, tights as simultaneously coverings

and accentuations. Consider the influence of socialization, the inability to ever measure its extent. Consider the underlying question of whether “it’s even possible for women to reclaim their sexuality in this deeply entrenched patriarchal society, or if claiming to do so is just a lie we tell ourselves so we can more comfortably cater to the male gaze,” asked in passing in a cartoon about a talking horse named Bojack Horseman.

When I feel like I look good, I know it’s based on the way I’ve been socialized to recognize beauty.

Often, the reality is that feeling good about the way I look also means warding off more unwanted attention—but even when I try to fade into the background, there is no guarantee that I will succeed.

How do I reclaim my own body when it belongs to the public whenever I leave the house? How do I feel safe when I am public domain by default? Most days I want to look ugly because I think it will protect me. But I am still catering to the male gaze—it structures my life through my attempts to avoid it.

Self-doubts of an English major First-year reflections on studying the humanities emma paidra staff writer

There’s a certain sense of security that accompanies the word “university.” Compared to a high school diploma, a degree seems to imply a level of selfassuredness, of having successfully chosen a path.

However, now that university is more than a series of application forms, this sense of confidence in what I have chosen has dwindled. I have spent a significant portion of my first year questioning the validity of my studies, and as much as I love the arts, I can’t help but feel that a large amount of my quarrel with my degree has to do with being a humanities student.

How can I blame myself for feeling downtrodden when I often receive deflated responses from others after I say I’m studying English, as if they were expecting me to say something good and I have just let them down? Who wouldn’t feel frustrated when their own professor advises that “as a writer, you should

never say no to free meals”? I am tired of all the jokes I have heard about how computer science, engineering, or virtually any other field is more employable than the humanities. No matter how much humour is placed around it, my degree is not a joke, and having to defend it as if it were is exhausting.

Yet the root of the problem may lie within myself and not the views of others. Recently, while making small talk in one of my lectures, a classmate of mine said he had “mad respect” for my English degree. As uplifting as this was to hear, it occurred to me that while he has admiration for my studies, it’s possible that I don’t. Have I let the stereotypical notion of an arts degree as useless and vague corrode my appreciation for art? There is no one explicitly telling me my English degree is a waste of time, and yet, whenever I wear my “U of T English” hoodie around, I can’t help but wish that the first three letters of my degree were followed by an “I-N-E-E-R.” The most confusing part is that I do genuinely love the arts and my

chosen course of study. I have no untapped desire to be a scientist or mathematician—writing has always been not only what I excelled at, but what I love.

Why, then, am I so confident in my passion but plagued with doubts when it comes to turning my passion into a degree? It has recently occurred to me that I have allowed the fear of unemployment and a lifetime of fruitless artistic attempts to scare me into uncertainty. However, it is specifically this kind of fear that threatens the arts as a whole, and I will not let it win. The bravery and creativity it takes to embark on an artistic career in the current social and economic climate are more than enough to validate an arts degree. To all my fellow humanities students out there, I would wish you all luck, but none of us need it, because the arts are about so much more than luck. Art takes time, patience, and a healthy dollop of self-trust. That is something worth being proud of, and I will not let anyone’s doubts strip me of that—not even my own.

08 FEATURES

EDITOR | REBECCA GAO FEATURES@THESTRAND.CA

Free speech, misinformation, and abortions A closer look at on-campus anti-abortion groups

illustration

| yilin zhu

FEATURES 09

@STRANDPAPER THE STRAND | 19 MARCH 2019

rebecca gao features editor

All too often when I’m on campus, I find myself strategically crossing the street or taking alternate routes to avoid anti-abortion protests. I check Twitter and Facebook to stay updated on which street corners to plan my walk around. I know I’m not the only one who actively avoids these groups. Though these protests are not a new phenomenon, recent developments in governance and policy may change the way these groups function on campus.

According to a 2018 report by the Canadian Press, university campuses all over Canada have increasingly become focal points in the anti-abortion debate. Across the country, there has been a rise in anti-abortion groups.

These groups often set up their own crisis pregnancy centres near campuses and target

an anti-abortion protest on campus is demoralizing. I instinctively look down so as to avoid making eye contact with the protestors or their extremely graphic signs that depict what they claim to be the result of an abortion. These tactics of intimidation and graphic signage do nothing to support pregnant people in crisis—they stigmatize abortions and scare pregnant people away from a perfectly viable choice.

Further, many of these anti-abortion groups have been criticized for spreading misinformation. According to a report by the Canadian Press, the crisis pregnancy centres that are set up by anti-abortion groups often employ under- or un-trained counsellors who are guided by “traditional religious sexual morality and biblical ethics.” As well, though these groups claim to offer “nonjudgemental counselling,” they tend to overemphasize the negative effects that abortions

In addition to their anti-abortion activism, UTSFL also opposes euthanasia, embryonic stem-cell research, and “other acts which fail to protect and affirm the dignity of human life.” In an email to me, the UTSFL stated that “our goal is to change hearts and minds of everyone at the University of Toronto on abortion in order to save children’s lives and spare women the trauma of abortion.”

UTSFL is the group that is responsible for most of the protests on campus, including the large and controversial protest that happened during this year’s UTSU Street Fest in September. According to the UTSFL website, they are “committed to proclaiming and defending the dignity of all human life from fertilization to natural death.”

I want to be clear: I support students’ rights to assembly and freedom of expression.

It would be massively hypocritical for me, a student journalist, to be anti–freedom of

These tactics of intimidation and graphic signage do nothing to support pregnant people in crisis—they stigmatize abortions and scare pregnant people away from a perfectly viable choice. students through on-campus protests and demonstrations, information campaigns, and advertising. Anti-abortion groups focus on university campuses because of the age demographic associated with university students. The groups also know that those who are midway through a degree are more likely to end a pregnancy.

As these anti-abortion groups have increased in prevalence, so too has the debate over their place on campuses. Anti-abortion groups across the country have usually been denied official club status and funding because of their views. Some argue, however, that anti-abortion groups have a right to advertise to students and should be protected under universities’ free speech rules. Since January 1 of this year, the Ford government’s new “commitment to the people of Ontario to protect free speech on campuses” came into effect. While the University of Toronto has not changed its free speech policy in two decades and will not be changing it in light of Ford’s new mandate, on-campus anti-abortion groups across Ontario may be protected depending on their specific university’s rules.

Despite claims to “free speech,” the tactics used by these anti-abortion protestors are predatory, to say the least. Walking past

have. Though these groups claim neutrality and support for pregnant students, the mischaracterization of their services leads to potentially uncomfortable or even dangerous situations for pregnant students seeking help.

At Ryerson University in 2018, the Ryerson Pregnancy Care Group (RPCG) was granted official club status by Ryerson’s Student Union (RSU). They soon began promoting their services with posters that said “Unexpected pregnancy? We can help.” The RSU granted the RPCG official club status because they “identified as pro-choice,” which adhered to the RSU’s policies. Individual students, however, found that the RPCG was not pro-choice or judgement-free. In response to these claims, the RPCG stated that they were decidedly neutral on the topic as they did not want to discourage students from using their services. Despite their neutrality, the RPCG do not provide contraceptives, abortions, or referrals to abortion services. The RPCG’s implicit pro-life leanings, which are not made clear in their advertising, exemplify the spread of misinformation and mischaracterization of services.

At UofT, the group University of Toronto Students for Life (UTSFL) explicitly labels themselves as “U of T’s pro-life group.”

expression. However, anti-abortion groups, such as the UTSFL and other groups on the rise at Canadian universities, spread misinformation, falsify claims about abortion, and stigmatize a perfectly normal and healthy way to deal with an unwanted pregnancy.

These groups create an atmosphere of fear and judgement on campus. UofT and other universities, as well as their student unions, need to take a stance against misinformation and hate speech which anti-abortion groups claim is protected under the moniker of “free speech.” Groups like the UTSFL do not educate on the issues of unwanted pregnancy and abortions—they scare people away from abortion and destroy safe spaces for vulnerable students who need them the most.

With Ford’s implementation of the “Student Choice Initiative,” which will allow students to opt out of student union fees starting in the next Fall/Winter session, student unions may not have the resources to stop anti-abortion groups from protesting on campus. They might not have the resources to provide alternatives to pregnant students in crisis.

While universities are a space for education and the exchange of views, it should not come at the expensive of objectivity and the safety of vulnerable students.

10 SCIENCE

EDITOR | TANUJ ASH KUMAR SCIENCE@THESTRAND.CA

Waking up to the science of sleep A personal retelling of a journey through narcolepsy treatment tamara frooman senior copyeditor

I am not a science person and have never felt the urge to understand the building-block mechanics of the world we live in. I have always been content sitting with the unknown when it relates to outer space or to the spaces within me, the ones between my cells. Instead, I have always been drawn to more abstract methods of interpreting the world—creative knowledge, subjective forms of communication, and the exploration of human emotion—not physical materials. But the science behind not knowing becomes more personal when it’s related to a diagnosis. Knowledge gaps become spaces that matter intimately when they structure my own day-to-day.

Of course science matters. But it didn’t matter to me until it was the only pathway to the knowledge I needed.

“Essentially, you haven’t slept in three years,” was how my neurologist explained the situation. He had asked me how well I thought I had slept the night before, hooked up to 22 wired electrodes. “I never wake up overnight,” I had told him. I was doing the sleep study because for the previous year I had been sleeping 14 hours a day, every day. Sleeping wasn’t the problem; staying awake was. It turns out the problem was both. He glanced at my results sheet. “Actually, you wake up every four minutes, just for a split second,” he informed me. I also fall asleep in under two minutes, a quarter of an hour faster than the average person. I haven’t peacefully drifted off to sleep since high school. My diagnosis: narcolepsy.

The two primary symptoms of narcolepsy are abnormal rapid eye movement (REM) sleep and the excessive daytime sleepiness (EDS) that results from these disturbed sleep cycles. An average person enters into REM sleep—the part of the sleep cycle in which dreams occur—after an hour and a half. For narcoleptics this stage happens immediately. This is

why I dream during all of my naps. After plunging into REM, I spend the rest of the night spiking in and out of deep sleep and into brief flashes of wakefulness that I can never recall the next day.

Several other common symptoms of narcolepsy stem from the brain’s confusion surrounding these different sleep stages. Cataplexy is a temporary loss of muscle control, akin to the loss of muscle control that happens during healthy sleep. In narcoleptics, it can occur during waking hours if triggered by a strong emotion. Sleep paralysis is when the body’s inability to move during sleep carries over into consciousness. Hypnagogic hallucinations are realistic dreams, often nightmares, that the brain is unable to distinguish from fiction.

Though I have never experienced cataplexy or sleep paralysis, I could develop these symptoms in the future, and I often struggle to separate the fiction of my dreams from the facts of my waking hours. Halfway through my first year, I called my mom, upset about my decision to transfer to McGill. “This is the first I’m hearing of it,” she responded before we realized that I had never actually applied to transfer. Since then, I have gotten better at sifting through the hazy memories of my own historical fiction.

Medication helped. Though narcolepsy has no cure, it is very treatable. I used to take the highest recommended daily dose of Ritalin with an additional 10 mg prescribed “as needed,” which it usually was. Ritalin helps with EDS but does not address its underlying cause, sleep quality, which is why many people end up taking two different medications to treat both of these main symptoms.

Last summer I participated in a trial run of a new drug called Xyrem (sodium oxybate), and I felt like a person again. Having narcolepsy essentially means having long-term sleep deprivation, and until that point I had been sleepwalking through life weighed down by brain fog, unable to make it through a day without several, sometimes multiple-hour-long

naps. Each morning I set alarms for every three minutes between 9 am and 11 am and snoozed them all, over and over, for two hours, sometimes three.

I was proud if I could read for 15 minutes without napping. I fell asleep in seconds, constantly, all day.

Some days, analytical thought was beyond my capability—I was unable to stay awake, let alone focus enough to comprehend what I was reading, let alone reach the level of concentration required to develop and articulate an argument. I felt like my brain was dissolving.

With Xyrem, I felt like I could finally access my whole mind again. I could read again, I could think again, I could concentrate on my assignments, I could get out of bed before noon. I’m on different medications now: Modafinil instead of Ritalin and Zopiclone instead of Xyrem. Like Ritalin, Modafinil is a stimulant, but a lot of narcoleptics find it less harsh. Ritalin doses chopped my days into jagged alertness highs and crashes that left me disoriented.

Modafinil feels less intense, more natural.

We still don’t know what causes narcolepsy. One theory suggests genetic origins: in Israel, only 0.2 out of 100,000 people are narcoleptics, but in Japan, rates of narcolepsy reach 590 per 100,000 people. The latest research involves autoimmune connections: narcoleptics have fewer orexin-producing cells, a neuropeptide that regulates sleep cycles.

These lower levels are potentially caused by a viral infection that tricks the brain into attacking its own allies. It is also possible that these cells could sustain damage through head injuries. At this point in time, we don’t know how to restore lost orexin, but ongoing research is exploring narcolepsy as it relates to diabetes (diabetic immune systems attack insulin-producing cells) and opioid addiction (opiates increase levels of orexin-producing cells).

It may have taken an incurable condition for me to finally learn to appreciate science, but I am so grateful for the people who devote their lives to exploring spaces in the world that overwhelm me. illustration

| tanuj ash kumar

ARTS AND CULTURE 11

@STRANDPAPER THE STRAND | 19 MARCH 2019

Finding safety and confidence in childhood art

mena fouda associate arts and culture editor

The first time I ever saw Howl’s Moving Castle, I was entranced. I must have been around 10 or 11, on a manic Studio Ghibli marathon in the middle of the night. I fell in love with the vivid colours and warm characters. I fell in love with this entire fantasy world filled with witches and portals and eclectic characters.

Growing up, I found myself re-watching Howl’s Moving Castle almost religiously. Throughout my changes and developments, I always found time to turn off the lights and curl up in my Jacob-from-Twilight blanket for a rerun. Now, I am approaching 20, and I guess this is the age when I am meant to analyze the choices I make in life. So why is it that, despite being a cinema major who is exposed to a vast array of films every week, I am so drawn to this particular film?

I can only theorize that it’s because I wish to seek comfort. There is something about this movie that exists for me as a reminder of my childhood and my imagination.

Escaping into the realm of this film for two hours reminds me of all of the things I have held dear since I was a child.

As a kid, I took shelter in my public library. My main exercise came from checking out 50 books (the library limit) every few weeks, carrying them back to my room, and devouring them. I made sense of my reality through the women whose thoughts I briefly inhabited, through the

enigma of mystical lands, through the forbidden relationships that I witnessed blossoming on pages. Sometimes, I feel as if I have grown up backward—I used to be so confident, so devoted to my imagination, so convinced that books and movies and art were the answer for everything.

Now, as with so many of my friends, I find it difficult to uncover these truths. I exist in a digital age that elevates the concept of the “instant.” Everything happens so fast now, in a chaotic whirlwind that doesn’t really allow you to slow down. My thoughts are flicking back and forth and left and right and I am bombarded with this heavy sense of helplessness. I can no longer categorize elements of the world into clear-cut boxes. I can no longer tell if I am the heroine of my own story.

Sometimes, I will read things that I have written in old journals. In these, my writing is always so frantic. In these, I am filled to the brim with a sense of adventure and a desire to love and be loved. I read these journals and am reminded of the safety of my childhood home and the music I used to listen to within those walls. I remember the first book that ever made me cry, Awake and Dreaming

by Kit Pearson. I still have a copy of it on my nightstand.

Somewhere along the way, I inscribed the front page with a phrase: “this is where it all began.”

In Howl’s Moving Castle, Howl gives his heart to a mystical fire demon. In Mena’s Ongoing Story, I have put my heart into the art that has meant the most to me. It is not an act of pure nostalgia, but rather a method of self-re-

juvenation. Remembering the stories that gave me a sense of euphoria as a child helps me to regain a piece of that euphoria as an adult.

My childhood best friend lived across the street from me, and one time she saw me from across the street, in my room, dancing around and head-banging to Three Days Grace. It makes me smile to remember a tiny version of myself frantically dancing (if you can even call it that). In the not-so-critically-acclaimed sequel to Twilight, New Moon, I was exposed to the sad boy music of Death Cab for Cutie for the first time. It makes me laugh to remember how I would listen to these songs about breakups and death and just stare out my window, inventing a fake world in which I was experiencing these tragedies.

Through the pages of my old diaries, I wrote strangely mature thoughts about how confident and strong I felt in this world. It makes me cry to think about that strength and where it has gone.

I am learning that it’s necessary to disconnect and take time off to replenish myself. To re-read super cheesy poems that I wrote in my childhood and to mull over the art that made my heart bloom. To search for my old playlists and to pay attention to the writings in the margins of my favourite books. To order lots of junk food, turn off the lights, and fall asleep at the end of Howl’s two-hour runtime. To dream of nothing but vibrant colours in faraway lands that ignite my imagination and make me feel safe and utterly invincible.

Towards youth and towards ourselves A play on radical hope proves its resounding message georgia lin opinions editor

Towards Youth: A Play on Radical Youth aims to showcase transnational case studies of global drama classrooms as sites of activism, and it succeeds with a passionate fervour that makes for a transcendent theatrical experience.

Through a nine-person cast that performs a stunning piece of verbatim theatre written by playwright Andrew Kushnir, the lives of youth from Toronto, England, Greece, India, and Taiwan are examined with a politically relevant lens. Dr. Kathleen Gallagher, an OISE professor and researcher, travels to each location and interviews each

student with compassion and heart about their future aspirations and love of acting. The cast seamlessly transitions between languages, embodying schoolchildren and teachers in English, Greek, Mandarin, and Hindi. Videos of the time Dr. Gallagher’s team spent in each country are projected behind the actors as they cycle through different classrooms. The multimedia combination produces an artistic spectacle that captivates and enriches the audience with its diversity, and the ethnographic research is translated into tender moments of global connection.

Interactions between encouraging, perseverant educators and enthusiastic students, whose schooling is often shadowed by their politically turbulent environments,

are the highlights of the performance. Towards Youth reinforces the power of the arts and portrays theatre not as an escape, but as a reflection of our fraught realities.

By valuing the opinions of youth and foregrounding how drama can inspire mobilization, the play creates a world that treasures cultural differences and illustrates the insights young people possess. The last word of the play is “adjust,” which is repeated by the entire cast as they stand downstage and gaze out at the audience—the conclusion is a necessary call to action for all.

Towards Youth: A Play on Radical Youth runs at Crow’s Theatre until March 16.

12 ARTS AND CULTURE

EDITOR | HARRISON WADE ARTSANDCULTURE@THESTRAND.CA

Basma Alsharif at the MOCA

Mapping narratives and journeys into the collective subconscious rashana youtzy staff writer

The Museum of Contemporary Art in Toronto recently opened its doors again in the fall of 2018, and with the opening came the impression that Toronto’s desire for contemporary art would be satiated once more. The Believe exhibition (closed January 6, 2019) was promising, but the current exhibition featuring Basma Alsharif ’s works leaves that thought stunted and shriveled.

The show, presented at MOCA, weaves together four works, each of them displayed on a staged setting in an array of media (literature, images, and video). The intention is to lead us on a journey into the collective subconscious—exploring the tools we employ to understand the “ghosts of history” with a narrative based in Lebanon, through 1935 Palestine, and into the New Kingdom Egypt. The exhibition claims to investigate how we understand the past, including memory, deteriorating histories, and geopolitical dynamics through an inviting, intimate, and domestic staged setting.

My first impression of the exhibition was sincerely underwhelming—almost as if the artist and curator had been collaborating on a successful marketing scheme for their exhibition proposal but forgot about rendering the exhibition true to the concept. As soon as I entered the exhibition space, I asked, “Is this the right floor?”

I felt so lost, not only in terms of physical disorientation but also on a mental level. My heart just wouldn’t engage with the exhibition. In terms of exhibition design, it’s characterized by its flaws: the didactics in the space are integral to understanding many of the works; however, their placement is not conducive to interpreting the space effectively, as is the case with Alsharif ’s film Girls Only (2014). The work is a senseless rhyming game, using the Panathenaic Stadium in Athens, cre-

ated to play with the representation of power and the authority of universally accepted histories. Meanwhile, at the core of the exhibition is the exploration of collective subconscious through storytelling and the idea of participatory learning in a familiar and domestic setting. That idea is not realized with this exhibition— there is an expected shortcoming to building a “home” atmosphere within a gallery, but patrons cannot escape the artifice that permeates the space. For example, in an attempt to build a home, the placement of artificial grass and a number of plants offer some semblance of décor, but it feels halfhearted. Unfortunately, I actively struggled to see the artist’s commitment throughout the space.

Admittedly, I thought my first impression was too negative, that I was taking the artist’s creativity for granted, or maybe I was in a bad mood and let that affect my perception of her work and experience of the space. So, I went back a second time, and my original impression held steady, but I was better able to judge and justify my claims. The exhibition’s lack of the domesticity and intimacy that should accompany the telling of histories, especially ones relating to collective memory, was still a fact that I could not deny. Further, the exhibition is disorienting in the way it retells history: there is no cohesive fluidity. However, this is not necessarily a fault in the exhibition since it does hold true to the notion that we can learn about inherited trauma without truly understanding it.

I should also note that the artist is successful in certain aspects of the exhibition. For instance, there is a span of wall that, at a glance, is reminiscent of photo collections adorning the walls of distant, older family members’ homes that feature relatives who they “haven’t seen or heard from in umpteen years.” Though the primary difference here is the fact that the faces within the

photographs are censored or erased, a reality in diasporic histories where the remembrance of individuals often fails to be maintained, this erasure can also be applied broadly as a reminder that we gain an anonymous identity as our existence fades in others’ memories. This further relates to an idea mentioned within the exhibition about implementing the look of the “salon,” directly related to the Western art canon through the sheer abundance of visual material being hung. Though this point was explicitly made on a text within the space, I failed to understand why it was important. Perhaps leaving Western identity in the periphery of this exhibition would be more successful—outside of recognizing how colonialism has created dominant paradigms and projected stereotypes of the Middle East. Once again, it was necessary for me to look at the didactic in order to understand the importance of the images. The central work, “Trompe l’Oeil” (2016), features three images belonging to the T.E. Lawrence Collection of the Imperial War Museums archives. Each of the images shows people enslaved by Arabs, hung on walls of a Spanish colonial-style home in Los Angeles. They are re-photographed and displayed. The work is intended to function as an experiment in disrupting how we understand and read the past, though it relies on engaging with the work with an already established knowledge to recognize the imagery at hand.

Though I entered the space on two different occasions and left it feeling unsatisfied, my opinion should not serve as a warning to avoid the exhibition. I have my own expectations about how to communicate domesticity and collective memory, which have certainly played a role in how I perceived Alsharif ’s work. Please do visit the space, be mindful of what you are viewing, and think critically about what is successful or unsuccessful in the works you are engaging with.

Like a pop song

Reflections on Madonna’s Like a Prayer 30 years later

nate crocker social media manager

March 21, 2019, is the thirtieth anniversary of Madonna’s watershed album Like a Prayer. Upon its release, the album was universally acknowledged as Madonna’s greatest effort to date. By and large, that reputation still stands; fans and critics consistently turn to Like a Prayer as the defining testament to Madonna’s pop art potential. In 2017, Maura Johnston at Pitchfork wrote that Like a Prayer represented “just how grand, artistic, and personal a pop star could be at the very height of [their] fame.” This paradoxical conflation of the zeitgeist and the personal has always been associated with Like a Prayer. In fact, the album’s most potent meaning is found in its paradoxical and fragmented narratives. Take the title song’s famous lyrics: When you call my name, it’s like a little prayer I’m down on my knees, I wanna take you there In the midnight hour I can feel your power Just like a prayer you know I’ll take you there.

At first glance, they seem to detail a spiritual exchange with God. However, they function equally well as an erotic monologue. Or consider the effect of an album called Like a Prayer (by an artist named Madonna) that includes an additional liner note directed to a largely gay fanbase that details facts about contracting AIDS. Or the music video for “Like a Prayer,” which cuts between images of Catholic stigmata and burning crosses. Like a Prayer relishes in these paradoxes of conflating the sacred with the profane, the celebrity with the personal, the commercial with the artistic. As a whole, it sounds like 11 incommensurable fragments of the artist.

Madonna moves from sinner (“Like a Prayer”), to motivational speaker (“Express Yourself ”), to jaded lover (“Love

Song”), betrayed wife (“Till Death Do Us Part”), older sister (“Promise to Try”), starry-eyed romantic (“Cherish”), psychedelic storyteller (“Dear Jessie”), grieving daughter (“Oh Father”), guilt-ridden sibling (“Keep it Together”), and finally, memorialiser (“Spanish Eyes”). Perhaps the chaotic coda, “Act of Contrition,” most accurately represents Like a Prayer’s paradoxical and fragmentary aesthetic.

This preamble is all to say that the anachronistic process of reviewing an album on its thirtieth anniversary seems to echo the paradoxes Madonna’s album espouses. Tidily cutting and pasting Like a Prayer out of 1989 and into 2019 would feel like ignoring its compelling challenge to cohesive narratives. I cannot, nor do I want to, listen to this record and present some neat argument on what it might mean to the world, or even to me. Like the album cuts, I have little fragments that hold Like a Prayer together in its most compelling form. They are what follows: a professor’s story, a common gay phenomenon, and a memory. Read them however you’d like. Maybe throw on Like a Prayer while you do—or don’t. In fact, Madonna might prefer it that way.

Professor Michael Cobb: What I will always remember about Like a Prayer is that it came out right around the time I got my driver’s license. I was just starting to be a driver and I had this old, kind of used Jeep that was kind of mechanically malfunctioning—wired in strange ways. One of the things I remember about listening to Like a Prayer was that whenever I was going to have to press the brakes, the tape player […] slowed down because that was just the way that kind of malfunction was working, so it would just be like “just like a prayerrreerrrr.”

Nate Crocker: I guess I was just compelled by that anecdote because—sorry to close-read your life—but, like, you hitting the breaks […] is kind of a way to register, and thereby

control, time? And then, archiving things by 30-year anniversaries is, like, also kind of a way to register time? And maybe praying is too? I just saw kind of a cool parallel there.

There are seven or so songs that can come on in any gay club, and within the first five seconds of each one, every single person in that club seems to be screaming along. I don’t know (read: “care”) what everyone else is doing, because I am starring in a music video. I am immaculately lit.

I am beat for the gods. Miraculously, I am performing for an audience that worships the diva I am. “Single Ladies,” “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!,” and “Believe” are a few of these songs. “Like a Prayer” is another.

I am nine. Some Saturday afternoon in October, my mom picks me up from a play rehearsal. As I slide into the back seat of her Honda Accord, she turns.

“Look what I got you, hun.”

From the driver’s seat, she hands me a blue and gold CD. The Immaculate Collection: Madonna.

“Thanks, Mom.” “She’s the lady from Evita.”

“Oh, cool!” (Two years prior, Evita had been my favourite film.)

My mom turns up the volume and begins to drive.

Beyond Evita, I have no idea who Madonna is. From the speakers, I hear a thin voice singing about a “holiday.” It’s so different from the brash musical theatre voices I am used to; Bernadette Peters, Patti LuPone, Idina Menzel. There is a same demand to be heard, but it is communicated without singing loudly. I don’t sing loudly. Immediately I connect with “Madonna.”

For the next year, The Immaculate Collection is all that my mom and I listen to in the car. As hard as it is to pick favourites, I have one.

“Mom, put on that prayer song again.”

ARTS AND CULTURE 13

@STRANDPAPER THE STRAND | 19 MARCH 2019

An ode to Dolly Parton From one fake blonde to another abbie moser editorial assistant

With larger-than-life platinum hair, signature red nails, grade-A bedazzling, and a full face of makeup, Dolly Parton is in a league of her own. With more than 60 studio albums under her rhinestone belt, it’s clear that she’s more than just a hyped-up dumb blonde.

My love for Parton does not stem from being raised in a southern state; it arises simply from her being a revolutionary woman. When I look at Dolly Parton mastering five-inch designer heels, her hourglass figure wrapped in a sparkly fringe orange jumpsuit, captivating a room of reporters or die-hard fans, I don’t see glitz and ditz. I see a woman taking control of her own narrative.

I know that most people who are not fans do not think too much of her. They see her as a patron saint of plastic surgeons, or a country bumpkin. While Parton has released 41 top-ten country albums and has written more than 3,000 songs—covering everything from miscarriages to jealousy and fears of infidelity—her work is often overshadowed in media by her bra size.

Parton’s glory lies in her ability to embrace her campiness. She’s not just in on the joke of herself— she wrote it. With her first solo single “Dumb Blonde” and first mainstream record Backwoods Barbie, Parton knows that by being the first to make fun of yourself, you demobilize your critics. She exaggerates the stereotypes of the simple mountain girl and the town tramp, combining the innocent with the knowingness. By juxtaposing these two categories, she not only shows that they’re stereotypes, but questions their limits. As she playfully and ironically exaggerates them, she questions both sides of the virgin-whore dichotomy.

Parton has perfectly positioned herself as a sexualized and sensualized object in a knowing way. She’s not only making fun of it, but she has full control of it. Her critical parody has a drag queen essence to it.

She’s so comfortable with the drag aspect of her look and performance that she once entered a drag contest as herself and lost.

Besides putting on a gender performance that would leave Judith Butler shaking in her red shoes, she

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takes on the full-time job of leading grassroots praxis.

As her fame rose, she brought her impoverished hometown of Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, along for the ride of upward mobility. The rural town was lifted out of poverty thanks to Parton’s advocacy and creation of her theme park Dollywood, which employs hundreds of local citizens and is one of the most popular tourist destinations in America. Like a true gay icon and supporter of the LGBTQ+ community and rights, Parton ensures that Dollywood hosts annual “Gay Day” events. The event even caught the attention of the Ku Klux Klan, who sent her death threats.

Dolly Parton’s work doesn’t stop there. She launched Imagination Library, a book gifting program that mails a free book each month to more than a mil-

| katie doyle

lion children in Canada, the United States, Australia, England, and Ireland, from the child’s birth up until they begin school. Originally the program was created to help her home state in honour of her father, who did not get the chance to attend school, but it took flight in the best possible way.

While her looks are often chastised for being too fake, Parton’s personality has yet to go under the knife.

It really doesn’t matter what procedures any woman has or hasn’t done—it’s your body, so go off. What is important is that Parton’s honesty about her fakeness makes her even more authentic. She recognizes and affirms her Botox rumours; she hasn’t developed a filter through hours of media training. She’s just Dolly.

Review: Everybody Knows sonya roma video editor

The theme of broken family runs deep through Asghar Farhadi’s movies, and Everybody Knows, his latest, carries on this motif in a grand, if not always plausible, way. This is a movie that begins with much happiness and celebration and ends in speculation and disbelief. That could make for a delicious little thriller, but somewhere along the way, as the movie develops contrivances to drive wedges between family members, it loses interest like a deflating balloon.

As it opens, Laura (Penélope Cruz) and her two kids, Irene (Carla Campra) and Diego (Iván Chavero), arrive from Argentina at a picturesque Spanish village for her younger sister’s wedding. There, in a manner not unlike a Robert Altman film or the early wedding scenes in The Godfather (1972), we are introduced to her sprawling family and a number of important peripheral players in a series of scenes that are expertly choreographed.

We meet Laura’s older sister (Elvira Mínguez), who runs the local store with her husband Fernando (Eduard Fernández). Their daughter Rocío (Sara Sálamo) is somewhat estranged. The grumpy family patriarch, Antonio (Rámon Barea), lives to pick fights with the good townspeople. Paco (Javier Bardem), an old friend of the family’s,

oversees the local vineyard with his wife Bea (Bárbara Lennie). Then there is Paco’s nephew Felipe (Sergio Castellanos), who has a kind of playground romance with Irene and schemes to run away with her. There are lots of little stories going on, but on the night of the wedding, Irene is mysteriously abducted from her bedroom, and suddenly all the threads are woven together.

Naturally, the rest of the movie deals with the family’s attempts to bring Irene back. The usual abduction tropes apply here: members of the family receive anonymous text messages demanding ransoms and threatening to hurt the poor girl should the cops be notified; the family consults a retired police officer for advice; they scramble to try and consolidate the ransom money; and so on and so forth.

The hysteria and panic that sweeps the sleepy village isn’t helped by the fact that another girl was abducted under similar circumstances sometime earlier. Could the same perpetrators be at work again?

Everybody Knows uses Irene’s abduction not as a device to generate suspense but as a catalyst to uncover buried secrets about Laura, her family, and most importantly, Paco. Old wounds are re-opened, past traumas relived.

People start turning on each other as suspicions rise. I can’t give too much away since the movie holds off revealing the identity (or identities) of the abductor (or abductors) until about the end of the second act. I can’t even reveal

the big secret that “everybody knows,” as it more or less stitches the entire plot together. But I suspect, if you’ve seen domestic thrillers like this one, and you know that Paco is played by Javier Bardem for a reason, you’d be able to gradually build your own case.

Predictable or not, Everybody Knows showcases the collective might of its cast. Cruz and Bardem, married in real life, play here two childhood friends who fell in love and then outgrew it. Cruz spends about 80 percent of the film sobbing her precious eyes out—but watch her in scenes of strength. She is quick to present herself as a woman who refuses to be pushed around. She is sly, fragile, protective, formidable, and a bit nasty when she has to be. Bardem responds appropriately to suit Paco’s emotional state at various points throughout the film.

The film is set in the lovely Spanish countryside, in the kind of town where everyone more or less grows up as one family. There’s a lot to relish, particularly the way Farhadi’s screenplay subdues any urges to turn itself into a mindless thriller, but Everybody Knows is a very modest attempt. It is straight-laced melodrama, amped up by its gorgeous scenery and impressive acting. I bought into the characters and their relationships with each other, I sympathized when tragedy fell, but to be honest, when I thought hard about the necessity of the plot, I still wasn’t quite sure why Irene was abducted in the first place.

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EDITOR | LEO MORGENSTERN STRANDED@THESTRAND.CA

No spoilers! Please!

Please! max nisbeth associate stranded editor

Spoiler alert: I’m gonna be talking about spoilers and the poop bags who wield them. See? That’s how it’s done! Where has the courtesy of the spoiler alert gone? In a time where Game of Thrones is entering its final season and The Bachelor is concluding one of its most dramatic seasons of all time, my only defence against the dark arts of spoilers is the spoiler alert… or the fingers-in-the-ears-nahnahnahnahnah, which I’ll be honest is pretty embarrassing when done in the middle of the ninth floor of Robarts.

The loud noise and finger plugs are, therefore, a last resort reserved for emergencies only. And because the majority of people think spoilers are reserved for just movies and books, let me give you a list of the spoilers that people have mistakenly committed to me: The Bible: I didn’t need my grade 10 Religions teacher to tell me that Jesus dies halfway through!

Thought he was the protagonist, but turns out he’s just one of three of a Christian Charlie’s Angels.

Thanks for nothing, Mr. Rafferty.

The Sixth Sense: I trusted you, Lonely Island!!!! I trusted you! But no! I’m not even safe from the delicate vocals of Andy Samberg. “When Bruce Willis dies at the end of The Sixth Sense I jizz in my pants.”

No! You jizzed on the surprise! Thank you, next.

The Weather: Don’t ruin the mysticism of life by telling me to bundle up for the cold spell tomorrow.

If I wear just shorts and a t-shirt and the sky steam-

rolls my exposed body with a dump of freezing rain then that’s just the universe doing its thing. Maybe I was supposed to get pneumonia and you RUINED IT! #geminis My Biological Father: Somebody grab the Red Bull because I’m about to keg flip you with a Jägerbomb of truth. I don’t need some asshole who I’ve known all my life telling me he’s my dad, okay?! You’ve totally spoiled the mystery of me scouring the earth looking for him as well as the years I would’ve believed it was Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. Stop with the paternity tests, Magnus! You’ve spoiled it!

Red Velvet Cake is Just Dyed Chocolate Cake: Oooooooh nooooo does that ruin red velvet for you??? This is what a spoiler feels like! This spoiler is directly from a Mr. Maclean Morgan. Dear Mac, this is a callout. You have been called out for your spoiling ways. Please address him accordingly.

If you aren’t convinced now, just wait till my newly published book comes out, titled The 1354 Things You Should Never Spoil for Me, Ever: Now in ranked order. Available everywhere they sell Indigo.

Two friends wronged!

The injustice of it all! alexander coney and gianni sallese friends

The “generation gap,” undoubtedly a term some of our less spry readers can recall, is an issue that has once again reared its ugly head—a head not unlike the measles-infested visage of an anti-vax boomer’s child. This begs a question: what happened to all the cool old people? Surely there must be more than the

likes of Betty White, Angela Lansbury, and salt-andpepper heartthrob Eugene Levy? These titans of age have done much of the heavy lifting needed to keep elderly street cred on life support. However, much like our boys in The War, they can’t do it alone, lest the dream of rad retirees goes the way of all old people: to the grave. If the following experience of two young bohemians has any validity, the dream, much like Jay Leno’s career, is in grave danger.

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| mia carnevale

While enjoying a young and virile lunch, leaders of tomorrow John Lamb and Matthew Innocent (names changed upon request) were unjustly accosted by a cruel relic of yesteryear. These charming lads were wrongly yelled at for the “crime” of a jocular demonstration of joie de vivre. The aged assailant was quoted as saying, “You two have been carrying on at 20 decibels and that one [Mr. Lamb] just went OUT of control!” It should be noted that the proverbial joint was jumping and was patronized by boisterous diners all around. These paragons of boyish virtue attempted the high ground, but as in Gallipoli, the strategy proved futile. The irate (alleged) octogenarian could not be sated and proceeded to mock Mr. Lamb’s proud Italian heritage without care or concern for the plight of the Italo-Canadian experience.

This callous attitude proved too taxing for our heroes. “Let’s go someplace cool,” conceded Mr. Innocent, bemoaning the erasure of youthful vigour from the public sphere. After delivering a gentle reminder of the ever-encroaching spectre of human mortality, these victims hung their heads and departed a oncejoyous locale.

What does this sorrowful tale herald for an increasingly polarized modern age? The dream of being old and cool has fallen—can it get back up? This reporter says yes, but there is a caveat. There are cool old people; my grandma is the best, but one episode of Leave it to Beaver does not a season make. Let’s put this into terms you can understand: Cool Old People, you have a beachhead of coolness; you need to “storm” the “Calais” of hegemonic curmudgeony and convince all the mean seniors (meaniors, if you will) to just chill out in this modern “D-day.”

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@STRANDPAPER THE STRAND | 19 MARCH 2019

Who is Ned*? ellen grace ned truther

The “““media””” would have us believe that the titular Ned of Ned’s Cafe (1.3 stars, blogTO), is a nickname for E.J. Pratt, who was the “““““leading poet of his time.””””” That belief is the coward’s way out.

Believing that is denial. Believing that is a danger.

If you stay very still, late at night, close your eyes, and listen closely to the screeching of the chairs against the cold floor, those screeches will become words. The words will tell you the following: The hierarchy of the world goes like this: - Ned - God - Humans and animals - Ned’s Cafe - Margaret Atwood - Oat milk The only time Ned has visited Earth, he accidentally went to Ned’s Café in Leeds (not yet reviewed by blogTO). But he is coming again. Soon. And he will be taking E. J. Pratt down with him.

Signs of Ned’s imminent return to look out for: - You have trouble starting your car in the morning - Springs, seeps, or saturated ground in areas that are not usually wet - Your fantasies (sexual or otherwise) involve bathing in a tub of melted brie cheese - You read solely classics or postmodern works - A faint smell of fabric softener - You feel that your dad doesn’t actually know the real you - Oily skin and dull hair - You have a hole in your shoe. The hole could be in the upper mesh or the side of the shoe, and no one wants to see your toes. Sure, breathability is an important feature for footwear, but a shoe with a hole is no longer useful

- People are constantly telling you that you’re “not like other millennials” - Your husband is suddenly passionate about new interests - Worms - Your mom says, “You think you’re funny?” as a testament to how not funny you are, but also to how much trouble you’re in

If you see or experience any of the following, please let me know. We need to start preparing We have come from Ned, and to Ned we shall return. *I have not yet determined whether Ned is good or evil.

Fun quiz: Match my friends to the secret they told me in confidence! molly simpson local gossip

A. Cheated on his bio midterm.

B. Slept with her econ TA Russel.

C. Secretly in love with our friend Mick even though he’s dating our other friend Sarah.

D. Went on his first date with a boy at a Starbucks and then got in the boy’s car even though he barely knew him and went to his house and they went in the backdoor and used a key that was under the mat (why didn’t he have his own house key wtf?) and then they watched the Food Network for an hour and a half before finally hooking up and the boy’s bedroom literally had no decorations and the only things in his bedside table were condoms and lube and then the boy said “do you want to fuck me?” and he said yes but then they tried and neither of them knew what they were doing and they couldn’t get it in and eventually he whined “Why is gay sex so hard?” and then the boy made him leave in a hurry because he had to have “a meeting with his roommates.”

E. Is pregnant with Puck’s baby.

Sarah

Dale

Jeff

Daniel

Kate

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@STRANDPAPER THE STRAND | 19 MARCH 2019

Facebook just released a new Toast Reaction and everybody’s freaking out about it Sit tight and grab the popcorn! wilfred moeschter staff writer

Yesterday morning, Mark Zuckerberg released a bombshell on his Facebook page, and well… we’ll let YOU decide what to make of it:

WTF right?! It’s safe to say that we’re as puzzled as amused.

It looks like not everyone is a fan, though:

Anyways, how do YOU feel about this cool update? We have to say, we’re bread-y for whatever Facebook cooks up next!

joke issue: fuck call for pitches

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