T HE VA RSI T Y
Vol. CXLV, No. 19
21 Sussex Avenue, Suite 306 Toronto, ON M5S 1J6 (416) 946-7600
thevarsity.ca thevarsitynewspaper @TheVarsity thevarsitypublications the.varsity The Varsity
MASTHEAD
Eleanor Yuneun Park editor@thevarsity.ca
Editor-in-Chief
Kaisa Kasekamp creative@thevarsity.ca
Creative Director
Kyla Cassandra Cortez managingexternal@thevarsity.ca
Managing Editor, External
Ajeetha Vithiyananthan managinginternal@thevarsity.ca
Managing Editor, Internal
Maeve Ellis online@thevarsity.ca
Managing Online Editor
Ozair Anwar Chaudhry copy@thevarsity.ca
Senior Copy Editor
Isabella Reny deputysce@thevarsity.ca
Deputy Senior Copy Editor
Selia Sanchez news@thevarsity.ca
News Editor
James Bullanoff deputynews@thevarsity.ca
Deputy News Editor
Olga Fedossenko assistantnews@thevarsity.ca
Assistant News Editor
Charmaine Yu opinion@thevarsity.ca
Opinion Editor
Rubin Beshi biz@thevarsity.ca
Business & Labour Editor
Sophie Esther Ramsey features@thevarsity.ca
Features Editor
Divine Angubua arts@thevarsity.ca
Arts & Culture Editor
Medha Surajpal science@thevarsity.ca
Science Editor
Jake Takeuchi sports@thevarsity.ca
Sports Editor
Nicolas Albornoz design@thevarsity.ca
Design Editor
Aksaamai Ormonbekova design@thevarsity.ca
Design Editor
Zeynep Poyanli photos@thevarsity.ca
Photo Editor
Vicky Huang illustration@thevarsity.ca
Illustration Editor
Genevieve Sugrue, Milena Pappalardo video@thevarsity.ca
Video Editors
Emily Shen emilyshen@thevarsity.ca
Front End Web Developer
Andrew Hong andrewh@thevarsity.ca
Back End Web Developer
Razia Saleh utm@thevarsity.ca
UTM Bureau Chief
Urooba Shaikh utsc@thevarsity.ca
UTSC Bureau Chief
Matthew Molinaro grad@thevarsity.ca
Graduate Bureau Chief
Vacant publiceditor@thevarsity.ca
Public Editor
Associate Senior Copy Editors
Asmi Khanna, Damola Omole, Sharon Chan
Associate News Editors
Avin De, Shontia Sanders
Associate Opinion Editors
Caitlin Adams, Ameer N. Vidal
Associate Features Editors
Sofia Moniz, Chris Zdravko
Associate A&C Editors
Mashiyat Ahmed, Ridhi Balani
Associate Science Editors
Mariana Dominguez Rodriguez
Social Media Manager
:
Cover Rania Phillips
Associate Sports Editors
Medha Barath, Aunkita Roy Associate B&L Editors Loise Yaneza, Brennan Karunaratne
Associate Design Editors
Jaylin Kim, Chloe Weston, Simona Agostino
Associate Illo Editors
Jason Wang, Kate Wang
Associate Photo Editors
Nidhil Vohra, Jennifer Song
Associate Video Editors
Yan Luk, Sataphon Obra
Associate Web Developers
BUSINESS OFFICE
Ishir Wadhwa business@thevarsity.ca
Business Manager
Rania Sadik raniasadik@thevarsity.ca
Business Associate
Eva Tsai, Muzna Arif advertising@thevarsity.ca
Advertising Executives
The Varsity acknowledges that our office is built on the traditional territory of several First Nations, including the Huron-Wendat, the Petun First Nations, the Seneca, and most recently, the Mississaugas of the Credit. Journalists have historically harmed Indigenous communities by overlooking their stories, contributing to stereotypes, and telling their stories without their input. Therefore, we make this acknowledgement as a starting point for our responsibility to tell those stories more accurately, critically, and in accordance with the wishes of Indigenous Peoples.
Letter from cover artist
Moving forward, looking back
Rania Phillips Varsity Contributor
This year, my message is shaped by the theme of moving forward while looking back. In my past work, I explored the significance of Black art from a personal standpoint — my journey to gain a greater appreciation of my family’s features and how that growth reflects the larger society’s broader push toward progress. However, as I grow older and become more
politically engaged, I better understand the incremental nature of collective justice and the individual costs that come with its ebb and flow. It’s hard not to feel discouraged by the news, but inaction is not an option. In this piece, I aim to convey what I believe are the essential pillars of social progress: the courage to confront oneself and recognize one’s role in Black history, the need to grapple with both internal and external barriers to meaningful change, and the resilience to keep moving forward.
Letter from the Editor: Taking a page from The Varsity’s first BHM issue
In hopes of taking a collaborative step toward equitable coverage
Eleanor Yuneun Park Editor-in-Chief
In March 2020, The Varsity ’s Public Editor published an article titled “Black History Month demands respectful reporting.” As the position requires, then-Public Editor Osobe Waberi held our paper in check by reflecting on the Editor-in-Chief and Managing Editor’s process of putting together the issue and — importantly — recording a list of dos and don’ts for journalists at The Varsity and beyond.
Not only did the items on Waberi’s list inform our reporting since they were first published, but our consultations with the Black Students’ Association (BSA) also largely shaped our editorial decisions in creating our initial Black History Month (BHM) issues.
The Varsity has only begun publishing an annual BHM issue not so long ago in 2019.
What began as a suggestion from a couple of masthead members’ evolved into a yearly issue featuring a cover illustrated by a Black artist on campus — an idea also suggested by the BSA — and full of articles that highlight diverse Black student experiences both on campus and beyond.
Unlike the process that birthed our BHM issue, our recent processes have been significantly less collaborative. The previous
Hello there!
volume acknowledged this in the 2024 BHM issue’s Letter from the Editor, and I regret that our current volume did not approach our BHM issue so differently.
As of fall 2024, Black students made up 5.57 per cent of U of T’s three campuses, while other racialized groups like East Asian students comprised 33.94 per cent and white students made up 24.73 per cent. Although the people who compose The Varsity ’s Masthead are not the same as Waberi’s colleagues at the time — none of whom were Black-identifying — Black students are still a minority at our paper, whether it be among our Masthead or contributors.
Given this, our BHM issues in recent years have begun through our school-wide emails to reach all full-time students across three campuses. While we’ve received an incredible number of emails this year from students looking to write, draw, and edit for this issue, we know that this is only the first step. Our responsibility is to ensure that the students stay with us with the knowledge that our paper is a place worth returning to.
Marking the sixth anniversary of our first BHM issue, we want to return to why the first issue was possible in the first place: collaboration and consultation. The Varsity ’s BHM issue exists not to mark the pinnacle of discourse but to revisit and evaluate our commitment
to incorporate Black writers, illustrators, photographers, and stories regularly into our weekly coverage, so that a BHM issue does not vary much from our other weekly issues. But has our coverage reflected the ultimate end goal of our BHM issue?
No.
And we want to do better — not just through a single letter like this but through a constructive feedback and application system. We’ve sent out a survey to the BSAs across our three campuses, the African Students Association at UTM and UTSC, and numerous other Black student groups, which asks for an evaluation of The Varsity ’s coverage of Black students and communities in the past years. This feedback will help us inform our future editorial and visual decisions in representing Black communities.
We’re also extending this form to you — our readers that we serve — for your feedback. In the form, you’ll also have the option to choose to meet with me and our Managing Editor, Internal, Ajeetha, should you wish for further discussions. The form will be open until March 10, and at the end of this volume, we will share with you a summary of your responses and our established commitments for the volumes to come.
This is still the beginning. And we want to take the next step forward with you.
The Varsity, U of T's student newspaper, would like to invite you to give feedback on our coverage thus far on Black students, community, and identity at U of T in our issues as well as our Black History Month-themed issues.
Your feedback will help us inform our editorial and visual decisions in accurately and appropriately representing the Black community's diversity, events, perspectives, and issues. All questions in the survey are optional, so please read through and answer however many (or little) questions as you'd like! The more detailed feedback, however, the more tailored our coverage can be toward Black-identifying individuals.
Copy Editors: Anike Morrison, Ben Chapman, Dhritya Nair Raina Proulx-Sanyal, Wai Yuk Wong Designers:
Apolinario, Loise Yaneza, Brennan Karunaratne
Callie Zhang, Madison Truong, Nora Zolfaghari, Maram Qarmout Caroline Ho, Taimoore Yousaf, Lauren Nicole Robinson
Lead Copy Editors: Bruno Macia, Valerie Yao, Yasmeen Banat
Scan the QR code to access the form!
COURTESY OF RANIA PHILLIPS
Built by Black people, for Black people: Students reflect on Black barbershop event
U of T’s Black Students’ Association held the event at new lounge for Black students
Damola Omole Associate News Editor
On February 5, U of T’s Black Students’ Association (BSA) hosted a barbershop event at the newly created Black Student Lounge. Approximately 16 individuals attended the event on the third floor of the 21 Sussex Clubhouse.
The event aimed to create a “safe, judge-free space where self-identifying Black men can come together and openly discuss what matters most to [their] community.” Attendees were also able to receive free haircuts from barbers at the event.
Chopping it up
The event started off with a presentation by BSA members: Equity Officer Favour Adegboro, a second-year life sciences student and VicePresident (VP) Internal Mesai James, a third-year neuroscience and immunology student. They asked the attendees: “What does it mean to be pro-Black?”
After a moment of reflection, attendees began discussing the nuances of being passionate about one’s identity, while still celebrating and embracing the beauty in diversity and multiculturalism.
The rest of the questions posed throughout the presentation were in the same vein. The group considered the challenges associated with navigating one’s Black identity in various environments, including at U of T.
Elijah Gyansa — a fourth-year student studying health studies and global health — was one of the more outspoken participants. After the discussion, he shared his reasoning for attending the event with The Varsity
“I feel like I can feel seen and heard. I [can] get a haircut to make me feel more confident but also… have discussions with other Black students about how they’re doing in school and just relate to them,” said Gyansa. “I just wanted to come out to meet other Black students, Black [men], and build community and bonds.”
Black Barbershop
Beyond the presentation and discussion, a key part of the event was of course, the haircuts.
Students who attended had the opportunity to receive a free haircut, similar to other initiatives on campus, such as the university’s Hart House Black Futures Barbershop — which offers specialized monthly services for students with Afro-textured hair.
Barbershops are significant locational fixtures in Black communities, drawing on decades of history and cultural significance.
Since the 19th century, barbershops have served as places for Black people to not only receive hair care services but also be vulnerable and talk about issues of importance in their communities. For Black communities, hair once existed simply as a tool of oppression at the hands of colonizers, but now serves as a symbol of pride and self-expression for many.
The Varsity has previously reported on how Black students’ hair and culture intersect with
Housing discrimination symposium explores Canada’s anti-Black racism
U of T professors and students discuss the impacts of housing discrimination
Olga Fedossenko
Assistant News Editor
On February 7, U of T’s Department of History and the School of Cities held “A Symposium on the Histories and Geographies of Housing Discrimination” as part of a series of events celebrating Black History Month.
The symposium, organized for the second consecutive year by Department of History PhD candidate Catherine Grant-Wata, included several presentations focusing on anti-Black housing discrimination in Canada. Grant-Wata has been researching the topic of racial discrimination in housing since receiving her master’s degree where she wrote her thesis on the history of housing discrimination in Toronto from 1961–1977.
The event featured keynote speaker Joe Darden — a professor emeritus from Michigan State University — whose research expertise is in residential segregation, social inequalities, and immigration.
Housing discrimination in the US and Canada
The event began with Grant-Wata’s welcoming speech, where she shared insights about racial discrimination in Canada’s housing sector.
“Canada has what I’d call its own unique brand of maple-sugar-coated anti-Black sentiment and racism,” argued Grant-Wata. She said that even though racism in Canada is “disguised by a sickeningly sweet veneer of politeness,” it is “no less dehumanizing or demoralizing” for Black Canadians. This is apparent with housing discrimination.
Grant-Wata then introduced Darden, who discussed the causes of racial discrimination in housing in the US.
He began his presentation by emphasizing that white supremacy ideology is what causes racial residential segregation in neighbourhoods today, as those who hold that ideology want to keep Blacks, Hispanics, and Asian communities “separate and unequal… to satisfy white supremacy.”
Darden mentioned the US’ Fair Housing Act, saying that “[housing discrimination] continues because there’s a lack of enforcement of the Fair Housing Act of 1968.” The act “prohibits discrimination by direct providers of housing… to persons because of: race or color, religion, sex, national origin, familial status, or disability.”
“Many whites in the US do not want to have [the
act] enforced because they don’t want to have to get [an] integrated neighbourhood,” explained Darden. “White supremacy [is to] maintain and protect white dominance by maintaining neighbourhoods.”
According to 2021 research from the University of California, Berkeley, 81 per cent of metropolitan regions in the US were more segregated in 2019 than they were in 1990.
Following Darden’s speech, U of T Department of Sociology Associate Professor Prentiss Dantzler discussed the housing situation in Canada, which “[seems] very similar to the US context, but [gets] co-opted or diverse in very different ways.”
In an interview with The Varsity, he explained that Canadians “have this complicated country, given that we have a high immigration policy… so [the issue of housing challenges] gets conceptualized or… described as an immigrant thing when it’s not particularly just an immigrant story.”
A 2023 report by Canada Mortgage and Housing Corporation (CMHC) showed that both immigrant and non-immigrant racialized groups can be in core housing need, meaning their houses can fall below at least one of the adequacy, affordability, or suitability standards. From 2011 to 2016, the percentage of racialized immigrants in core housing needs was 27 per cent, which was only slightly higher than that of racialized nonimmigrants at 24 per cent.
CMHC’s report also found that while an immigrant status is less strongly linked to persistent housing difficulties, being a racialized person increases the possibility of experiencing core housing needs. This pattern is seen in housing discrimination as well, where the renters’ racial identities increase barriers.
A 2022 study by the Canadian Centre for Housing Rights found that newcomers in Canada experienced more discrimination when they revealed their racial background to the landlord. Additionally, the study found that undercover phone audits revealed that newcomer auditors who are men experienced a 267 per cent increase in discrimination when they had racialized accents while speaking to landlords on the phone. Newcomer auditors who are women saw a 62 per cent increase in discrimination when they had a racialized accent.
Dantzler finished his presentation at the symposium by informing the audience about his latest project, the U of T Housing Justice Lab: a
the challenging representation barriers that Black members of the U of T community face. Nathan DeGuire — a third-year student studying architectural studies in the technology specialist stream — shared his thoughts on the significance of the Black barbershop as a whole.
He wrote in an email to The Varsity that the barbershop is a rare place in the mainstream that’s built by Black people, for Black people.
“There’s no judgment; you’re surrounded by people who want to build you up and leave you looking the best you can be,” he explained. “It’s the type of place where you don’t feel the need to explain your existence in, but instead, a place where you’re actively wanted.”
The Varsity also later sat down with James. He spoke about his desire for Black men on campus to become more comfortable bonding and forming tighter-knit relationships, believing that events like this help make that vision a reality.
In celebration of Black History Month, James emphasized education and personal initiative in a message to U of T community members.
“Support Black-owned communities or organizations, whether that be a small bracelet-making organization or even just a cafe down the street who’s owned by Black individuals,” he said. “Educate yourself… learn about Black Canadian history.”
research initiative on improving housing justice in North America.
The lab’s work focuses on the “Racial Equity and Anti-Displacement Initiative;” the “Ensuring Quality Urban Affordable Living Initiative;” and the “Fostering Reparative Equity for Empowered Living Initiative.” These initiatives aim to help reduce the effects of eviction on racialized communities in the GTA and support the development of housing across North America.
Dantzler’s team has conducted research into the eviction rates among racialized communities in Toronto, which showed that neighbourhoods with a higher concentration of Black households had the highest odds of experiencing eviction compared to other racialized neighbourhoods. During his presentation, Dantzler said that he’s been in communication with racialized communities in Toronto to find out more about the displacement rates.
Attendees’ insights
Other student and professor attendees spoke on a variety of topics related to racialized housing discrimination, such as forced evictions in Rio de Janeiro ahead of the 2016 Olympics, slum clearance in India, and anti-Black rental housing discrimination in Toronto.
Some of the attendees spoke to The Varsity about their impressions of the event and the speeches.
Titobi Oriola — a first-year student from Nigeria studying international relations — came to the event to give a speech about “stories near and dear” to him, involving communities in Lagos facing forced evictions.
During his interview with The Varsity, he spoke about his move from a “third-world country” to Canada, and how that changed his perspective on housing discrimination.
“Moving to Toronto, experiencing and seeing
housing discrimination in a different form, in a place that I thought was so much better, it sort of brought my attention to the fact that that is a very real issue… in the present day and age,” said Oriola. “Housing discrimination is something anyone can face.”
A U of T alumnus, Anyika Mark, had similar sentiments. She came to share the story of her community in the ‘Little Jamaica’ neighbourhood in Toronto, and the Black communities’ gentrification: a practice where wealthier residents move to a poor area of the city, renovate homes and businesses, causing property values to rise, which displaces the original, usually poorer, residents.
“Little Jamaica… has been such a huge part of my childhood and my adolescent experience,” said Mark. “...To know that it can be so easily dismissed as not relevant or not important by our city, by our province, especially our province — the fact that they’re willing to watch that fade away — is not okay with me.”
Others attended the event out of interest in the topic.
James Glaser — a fourth-year student studying sociology — said he came because of a class he took a year before that sparked his interest in housing and its effects on his generation.
“I think housing is something that’s going to affect our generation the most because we’re the ones who are going to bear the consequences of all these barriers that are coming up,” he said.
Glaser added, “We’re going to be the ones who aren’t able to afford it, and because the system that we’ve lived in for so long is based on owning a home as your ticket to financial security and financial freedom… we either need to find a way to fix the system and go back to the way it was, or fix the system in a way where… we don’t see housing as a ticket to financial freedom, but more as a human right.”
The
AUDREY KIM/THE VARSITY
JAYLIN KIM/THE VARSITY
UTSC officially installs 12th Principal and U of T Vice-President Linda Johnston
Governing
Council members, Toronto Mayor Olivia Chow discuss Johnston’s role in the community
Rafael Garcia Rosas Varsity Contributor
On January 31, Professor Linda Johnston was formally appointed as the 12th Principal of the UTSC campus at the Sam Ibrahim Building. This followed the departure of the previous UTSC President, Wisdom Tettey, who stepped down in April.
Johnston, a renowned nursing researcher, was also recognized as U of T’s new vice-president.
The Vice-President and Principal are responsible for administrative decisions including the budget, appointments, promotions, and managing the UTSC campus.
Johnston has served as the acting vice-president and principal since January 1, 2024. On June 27, 2024, the Governing Council officially approved her appointment.
Before taking on this role, Johnston spent over nine years as the dean of the Lawrence Bloomberg Faculty of Nursing at UTSG. Prior to joining U of T, she led Queen’s University Belfast School of Nursing in the UK and held nursing practitioner roles in hospitals in the US, Australia, and the Middle East.
The ceremony Many university officials, faculty, staff, students, and Toronto politicians attended the event.
The event began with Indigenous Knowledge Keeper Naulaq LeDrew sharing a short prayer,
followed by U of T’s Vice-President & Provost Trevor Young delivering a land acknowledgement.
U of T President Meric Gertler made remarks on Johnston’s ability to “[excel] in all aspects of her career,” and praised her “openness and authentic leadership style.”
Johnston was officially granted her role through U of T’s traditional “robing ceremony,” during which she received her new principal gown.
Scarborough—Rouge Park MP Gary Anandasangaree and Toronto Mayor Olivia Chow delivered speeches on how Johnston will play a critical role in advancing UTSC’s community partnerships and its impacts on the region.
Chow shared that “the city counts itself lucky that a researcher and leader known around the world for improving nursing education and patient care” stepped into the role “at a critical time.”
U of T’s Governing Council Chair Anna Kennedy, Vice-Principal Academic & Dean Karin Ruhlandt, and Chief Administrative Officer Andrew Arifuzzaman also spoke at the event.
Kennedy noted that “Professor Johnston is ideally suited to assume this important leadership role.”
“She is a distinguished scholar whose leadership is inspired by and built upon a career rich in experience from her work in teaching, research, and university administration, and she has a deep understanding of the challenges
and opportunities that exist in higher education today,” she added.
The Scarborough Campus Students’ Union President, Hunain Sindhu, was also present at the ceremony and participated in the robing tradition.
Hussain Syed is a fourth-year student studying human biology and psychology and a student representative for U of T’s Health and Wellness Centre, appointed by Johnston. Syed spoke at the event about how Johnston’s background as a healthcare professional would have “given her a deep appreciation for how fostering [a] culture of care is key to helping students reach their fullest potential.”
Concluding remarks
The ceremony concluded with Johnston delivering her installation address.
In her speech, she described the position as the highlight of her career, emphasizing that
her main goal was to create a “culture of care” during her five-year term.
In an interview with The Varsity after the ceremony, Johnston explained her vision for a campus community where people “feel valued, that they can speak up, and they’re heard, and that they feel like they’re included in decisions.”
Johnston also highlighted her commitment to advancing UTSC’s role in “optimizing the social, environmental and economic well-being of Scarborough and the eastern GTA.”
She mentioned that the Scarborough Academy of Medicine and Integrated Health, scheduled to open in 2026, will play a crucial role in providing health services, research, and further educational opportunities for the region.
“I will do my best to justify [UTSC’s] trust by continuing to focus on our core values of intentional inclusion, students as partners, reciprocity and accountable stewardship,” she concluded.
The Breakdown: U of T initiatives advancing Black representation in academia
Looking at U of T’s efforts to address anti-Black racism, increase
Eshnika Singh Varsity Contributor
Over the past few years, U of T has made strides in advancing Black representation in academia and combating anti-Black racism through a number of initiatives from the Black Research Network to the Scarborough Charter on AntiBlack racism and Black inclusion in Canadian Higher Education.
The Varsity took a closer look at some of the initiatives the university offers to support its Black community members.
Anti-Black racism and Black inclusion in academia
In 2020, former UTSC Principal and U of T VicePresident Wisdom Tettey chaired a meeting with representatives from universities across Canada to address anti-Black racism on their campuses and discuss measures to enhance inclusion. As a result, nearly 50 post-secondary institutions signed the Scarborough Charter on Anti-Black Racism and Black Inclusion in Canadian Higher Education.
The report recounts the history of racism against Black individuals and outlines the Charter’s four main principles: Black flourishing, inclusive excellence, mutuality, and accountability.
The Charter includes a variety of action steps, such as reassessing existing campus security and safety infrastructure, conducting surveys to better understand the needs of Black students and faculty, providing financial aid to support research opportunities in Black Canadian studies programs, adopting improved educational policies, and paving the way for more Black students to access higher education.
However, The Varsity wasn’t able to confirm UTSC’s progress on resolving the charter’s recommendations.
The Black Research Network
The Charter led to the establishment of the Black Research Network (BRN) in October 2021. This was done alongside the efforts of U of T’s
Anti-Black Racism Task Force — which was in action during the 2020–2021 academic year and reviewed the university’s practices to address anti-Black racism and promote Black inclusion at U of T.
The BRN is one of U of T’s Institutional Strategic Initiatives, which aims to “launch, grow, and sustain large-scale interdisciplinary strategic research networks.” The network is led by Enid Montague, an associate professor in the Faculty of Applied Science and Engineering, who oversees a core team and steering committee, consisting of seven U of T community members.
The network aims to increase visibility for the research accomplishments of Black U of T scholars, sustain a network of Black scholars, and facilitate research engagements across the university and internationally.
On its website, community members can navigate the “Researcher Map” to search for Black scholars across U of T, with expertise in distinct fields.
The BRN’s mission aligns with the recommendations of the Anti-Black Racism Task Force and the Charter. It’s also Canada’s first research initiative aimed at prioritizing Black academic research access.
It provides funding, mentorship, and academic platforms for Black researchers, ensuring their voices and work are prominent across disciplines.
Since its inception, BRN members have been awarded Canada Research Chair positions by the Government of Canada, initiated the Empowering Black Academics, Researchers and Knowledge creators program to elevate Black voices in research on childhood disabilities, and created the Black Graduate Scholar Award in Geography & Planning to award Black students research in the field.
The BRN is set to host the BRN Research Symposium on April 14, where researchers from various fields across the three campuses will present their multidisciplinary research in STEM, social sciences, and the humanities.
research opportunities
Reducing barriers to graduate school
In 2017, U of T launched the Black Student Application Program (BSAP) to increase diversity within the Faculty of Medicine.
The program aims to address the underrepresentation of Black students in medical education and the healthcare field by providing a dedicated application stream for Black applicants.
In 2016, only one Black student was enrolled in the U of T Temerty Faculty of Medicine’s MD program. Since the launch of BSAP, the Faculty of Medicine has seen an increase in Black students, with 14 students admitted in 2018 and 15 in 2019.
In response to the program’s success, U of T later expanded the BSAP to include students aspiring to enter the Faculty of
Law or the Master of Social Work program. Announced as part of the university’s broader efforts to promote equity and inclusion, BSAP allows applicants to self-identify as Black and have their applications reviewed by a panel that includes Black faculty members and community representatives.
In 2021, a group of masters of business administration (MBA) students at the U of T Rotman School of Management recognized a lack of representation in their classes and urged the university to reduce the barriers to higher education. In response, U of T established the Black Leadership Scholarship — first known as the Morning and Evening MBA Black Students Advancement Scholarship. This scholarship aims to help cover the high financial costs associated with pursuing an MBA at U of T.
KRISTAL MENGUC/THE VARSITY
U of T President Meric Gertler delivers remarks at Johnston’s installation ceremony. RAFAEL GARCIA ROSAS/THEVARSITY
President
UTSU 2025–2026 Candidate Profiles
In her interview, Melani Vevecka — a thirdyear student studying political science and evolutionary anthropology — discussed her previous leadership experience that would assist her as president. Vevecka worked as an executive assistant for the Prevention, Empowerment, Advocacy, Response, for Survivors (PEARS) Project and as an evolutionary stream representative for the Anthropology Students’ Association.
The main focus of her campaign is on improving communication — both enhancing the flow of information from the UTSU to the student body as well as providing clubs, organizations, and individual students with more access to the union.
She plans to have bi-weekly office hours with students and learn more about the issues that they want the union to address. Vevecka also wants the student body to become more aware of the student programs offered by the union. “I think one thing that I want to improve is having more visibility [and] recognition for people to take advantage of
on include creating a comprehensive system for students to get involved in clubs, establishing a TTC subsidy program for commuter students, and introducing a retroactive Credit/No Credit (CR/ NCR) option.
Her aim with the last program is to allow students to explore various options with their degree before committing to a specific program of study. “I do think that people grow up. They find new passions, and they [discover] new interests — what you did in first-year doesn’t necessarily serve you in your fourth- [year].”
President
Paul Gweon
Paul Gweon is a third-year student studying political science and philosophy. He is currently the president of the Woodsworth College Students’ Association (WCSA) and the chair of the UTSU Senate’s Governance Committee. In his interview, he explained that the latter experience familiarized him with the union’s policies.
Gweon’s campaign focuses on holding the UTSU and its executives accountable.
“Campaign promises sometimes are not met when [executives are] elected,” he explained. “My job as president [would be to] make sure everybody’s promises are kept [and] help them accomplish these promises.”
In addition, he emphasized the importance of balancing long-term goals with short-term gains.
Noting the failed 2017–2018 UTSU referendum to increase student fees to fund a U-Pass and the continued lack of a U-Pass at UTSG, Gweon explained that a short-term approach, such as partially reimbursing TTC passes like the WCSA, would benefit students more immediately.
problem we have… We have to approach [it] in another way.”
When asked about what aspects of the UTSU he’d like to improve, Gweon emphasized a need for more transparency, pointing out that students had mixed reactions to the current union’s Annual General Meeting and were confused about where expenses were allocated.
Additionally, he feels the UTSU needs more engaging events. “Student engagement can be step number one for better governance,” he said.
Leli Gardapkhadze is finishing her third-year of studying criminology and sociolegal studies and history, and European affairs — in addition to completing a certificate in international affairs.
Gardapkhadze said her work as a project manager at the Youth M-Powerment Global Network — a non-profit organization dedicated to empowering youth through scholarships, fellowships, and internships — has helped prepare her for this position.
Gardapkhadze’s platform has three goals: student empowerment, advocacy, and expanding opportunities. She wants students to “have a say in the policies” at U of T. If elected, Gardapkhadze will advocate for mandatory academic advisory checkins for students and an improved course enrolment system.
Additionally, she wants to “push for creating new opportunities like grants and scholarships that could aid students in terms of finances” and “intro duce a TTC fare specifically for U of T students.”
Throughout this academic year, UTSU’s current VP PUA Avreet Jagdev, has been advocating for a similar initiative — the TTC free pass program that would cover students’ TTC tickets for a 15-to-20week duration.
Finally, Gardapkhadze plans to create more scholarship opportunities for students by leveraging her connections with representatives of the municipal, provincial, and federal governments that
Damola Dina is in her third-year, studying political science, critical studies in equity and solidarity, as well as women and gender studies. Dina is currently the president of the Black Students’ Association and a former executive member of U of T Students for Choice.
In her interview Dina emphasized that, “You can’t thrive as a student [if] your basic needs aren’t met.” Noting that U of T is a commuter school, Dina outlined her plans as VP PUA to lower meal plan costs, work toward a free transit system for students, and follow through on establishing new student residences.
Further, Dina plans to amend the current CR/ NCR system. Since “the university understands that there is a need for a pass-fail system,” she
hopes to continue these efforts as VP PUA, while also improving the union’s transparency. She plans to revisit policies — including anti-
“It’s your union, your voice, and your power,” said Sonak Saha — a first-year student who plans to study philosophy and political science — as his campaign slogan. Saha told The Varsity that he decided to run for VP PUA when he attended the UTSU’s annual general meeting in October as a member of U of T Student Strike for Palestine (SS4P).
During the AGM, a member of SS4P asked if the UTSU would support the international university strike for Palestine in November 2024. Saha said the UTSU allegedly never responded to SS4P about the strike, and he felt that student concerns were being dismissed.
“I want students to actually feel like UTSU is not just some random organization that they follow on Instagram… but something that they can interact with, and they know and feel they have a say in,” Saha explained.
decentralize the UTSU’s decision-making and introduce more referendums on contentious issues, as well as hold mandatory town halls before decisions are made.
Saha has experience as a Warrant Officer for his Air Cadets squadron, where he was in charge of 60 cadets, and as a House Representative on the Woodsworth Residence Council, where he represents his house and helps with events.
Public and University Affairs
VP Public and University Affairs VP Public and University Affairs VP Public and University Affairs
Saffiya Ramhendar-Armogan — a third-year political science and criminology student — hopes to improve “the youth experience for students and build more of a community.”
At U of T, she has been a mentor for stu dents at Woodsworth College and is currently part of the Vice Provost, Students Advisory Group.
Ramhendar-Armogan’s campaign focuses on advocacy and transparency. She wants to create more opportunities for student feed back such as “a feedback website” or town halls where students can speak to the union about issues affecting them.
She also wants to improve academic policies, such as implementing clearer guidelines around artificial intelligence use; reducing wait times for accessibility services and mental health services; and improving transit access through a university pass.
program wouldn’t likely happen in the 2024–2025 academic year.
“I feel like it’s really important for students to have a say in the administration of the university, and sometimes it feels like we’re not necessarily being considered,” she told The Varsity “I want to run for this role [because] I feel like students need to have their voice heard.”
Olga Fedossenko News Assistant
Urooba Shaikh
UTSC Bureau Chief
Urooba Shaikh UTSC Bureau Chief
Nora Zolfaghari Associate Senior Copy Editor
Isabella Reny Deputy Senior Copy Editor
Ajeetha Vithiyananthan Managing Editor, Internal
Leli Gardapkhadze
Sonak Saha
Damola Dina
Melani Vevecka
After serving as an executive member of the UTSU for three consecutive years, Elizabeth Shechtman is “eager to continue building on [her] successes” as she runs for re-election.
A fourth-year economics and bioethics student, Shechtman was the union’s 2024–2025 VP Finance and Operations, 2023–2024 President, and 2022–2023 VP Student Life.
Among her achievements over the past three years, Shechtman mentioned the launch of MyUTSU — a platform for student groups to manage activities, book spaces, and secure funding. She also mentioned how she increased awareness about Empower Me — a program that offers students in-person mental health services.
Shechtman’s campaign focuses include building a café at the Student Commons, where “student employment is very much happening.”
She also hopes to fill all 50 seats on the UTSU’s Student Senate — the union’s governance organ
five days a week for students, instead of only on Fridays, so students can “just come in [and] pick up things as they go, without having to sign up for anything.”
Shechtman added that throughout her time as the VP Finance and Operations, the union has kept their levy increases minimal. However, she stated that the union — and herself, if re-elected — hope to raise the orientation levy “to host bigger events.”
Yağmur Yenilmez is a third-year student studying economics and computer science while pursuing a certificate in business fundamentals.
In her interview, she mentioned she “was always really into finance,” and served as UC Lit’s Finance Commissioner during the 2023–2024 academic year. Additionally, she is the youth representative for the United Nations and the vice-president of the Turkish Student Association.
Yenilmez’s campaign focuses on transparency, as she wants to ensure that students know how the union uses their student levy. She plans to use her skills in computer science to build an artificial intelligence website that would ensure easy access to the UTSU’s financial information. The UTSU currently has a website where they upload budget documents, but it has not been updated since August 2024. She also mentioned that the platform would reduce the UTSU’s operational
Winston Zhao — a second-year management specialist focusing on marketing and economics — said his experience as a community resource specialist at the UTSU Community Hub help desk motivated him to run.
“I know which services are used more and which are more important to the students,” he explained in his interview. “[As VP], I want to be on the back side of things and have more of a general understanding of the finances.”
Zhao emphasized that his campaign’s overall theme is transparency and has “three pillars”: communication, allocation of budget, and accountability.
Whether it’s transparency in informing students about what the executives are working on or what promised project they were unable to accomplish, Zhao reiterated that
“something I want to push is accountability in what the executives do.”
Zhao recalled when the UTSU announced its changes to students’ mental health coverage, and how he wants to be more transparent in internal communication: “I didn’t find out about it until the day the students found out about it… I couldn’t provide the support that I was
Hala Marouf is a third-year student studying philosophy and English. She is currently the executive assistant to the UTSU’s VP E. Motivated by the ability to “allocate resources where they’re most needed,” her platform is focused on advocating for individual students while strengthening grassroots, student-led equity organizations.
Marouf identifies food insecurity, safety, genderbased violence, and accessibility as key campus issues.
Hunar Miglani, a second-year student studying political science, economics, and statistics, told The Varsity that her combined experiences as a student with disabilities and an international student have motivated her to run for the position.
“I see people talking about why [they weren’t] able to partake in a certain event [or] attend a certain networking [event]… People are voicing these concerns, but nobody is hearing them or even willing to give them an opportunity to express their grievances.”
She plans to support student initiatives like Regenesis Market and Food Coalition and expand the food bank. She would also like to develop the rideshare program for safer and cheaper student transportation; enhance UTSU’s partnership with Downtown Legal Services; and provide additional support after students exhaust institutional resources like the Anti-Racism and Cultural Diversity Office or Accessibility Services.
Her campaign revolves around making UTSU’s social events more accessible and visible.
Miglani hopes to spread more awareness of resources for students with disabilities, such as the mental health coverage students pay in
Inclusion experiences to being the VP Funds of the UTSG chapter of Enactus, a global entrepreneurship group, and an Assistant Program Director and admissions officer for LaunchX — a summer program for high school students interested in entrepreneurship.
As a neurodivergent, queer, and racialized person, fourth-year bachelor of information student Sammy Onikoyi has “an intimate perspective on how equity, or the lack thereof, disappoints so many.”
“I have a connection to communities that occupy [several different identities] and [I] want to be a voice for them,” said Onikoyi in an interview The Varsity.
Throughout her time at U of T, Onikoyi has recognized institutional shortcomings in supporting students with disabilities and mental health struggles. As a student with ADHD, she hopes to collaborate with Accessibility Services to advocate for disorder-specific accommodations and move away from the “cookie-cutter” approach the office currently takes.
wishes to advocate for accessibility — such as extensions on assignments — and institutional supports — like solidarity statements.
Lastly, she emphasized outreach as a priority, noting students’ lack of awareness of available services within the UTSU. “I want to make that clear — you are entitled to this… you deserve this,
Onikoyi also criticized U of T’s needs-based grant, arguing that bursaries should be an ongoing initiative rather than awarded per semester.
As a Nigerian student, she recognizes the importance of fostering strong community
student groups to address their specific concerns.
Thanks to her work as a vice-president of the Nigerian Students Association and her efforts fundraising for the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health and the New Democratic Party, Onikoyi said she has experience making decisions that directly “influence on something that would impact a real person’s life, whether it be school, or whether it be the funding.”
students to voice concerns, such as about where the UTSU budget should be spent.
Kyla Cassandra Cortez Managing Editor, External
Mashiyat Ahmed Associate Science Editor
Kyla Cassandra Cortez Managing Editor, External
Ajeetha Vithiyananthan Managing Editor, Internal
Olga Fedossenko News Assistant
Zolfaghari Associate Senior Copy Editor
Aliyah Kashkari is a third-year student studying work and organizations, drama, and political science. Feeling underrepresented as an Arab student at U of T, Kashkari decided to run for the UTSU’s VP SL to “make sure that every student [… feels] represented” and “their ideals are valued.”
This year, Kashkari has served on the UTSU’s Student Senate, which gave her “insight within the student government and decision making.” She is also a director of social events for her sorority, Delta Delta Delta.
Kashkari said that the number one goal of her campaign is to increase student visibility by “reactivating the VP SL Instagram and expanding clubs fairs to its fullest potential to help students discover and connect with the clubs.”
they need to thrive.”
Finally, Kashkari wants to foster a “stronger sense of community within the campus” through “encouraging more collaboration between clubs
Juan Diego Areiza
Juan Diego Areiza is a fourth-year student studying global health, critical equity studies, and immunology.
Areiza has worked as a community resource specialist at the UTSU for the past two years and currently serves as president of the Organization of Latin American Students. In his interview, he said that these roles have equipped him with front-facing skills and an equity lens.
His campaign focuses on two central goals: improving student representation and increasing the UTSU’s recognition among students.
Nehir Arpat is a second-year student studying psychology and cognitive science in the computational cognitive stream. After reflecting on her experiences as a first-year international student — feeling isolated and unsure how to become a part of the student community — she is motivated to run for VP SL to build a sense of community and home among students.
In her interview, Arpat said she wishes to help students beyond their academics and with their personal growth. She noted that most UTSG students are not a part of or regularly attending clubs, despite it being a major part of student life. Thus, she intends to help promote clubs on campus. In addition, she wishes to bargain for student discounts at stores near campus to help ease the cost of living.
Arpat also plans to engage students by being more active on the union’s Instagram account, such as through doing Q&As, as well as holding more events for first- and second-year students after Orientation Week, as she feels that “not a lot of people know how important the union is and how much power of change [it] holds.”
For the first, Areiza plans to organize one large-scale student life initiative per semester aside from orientation, including a “culture fest” where people from minority groups on campus can showcase their heritage. Areiza explained that the UTSU must collaborate “with student groups to highlight their culture [and] identities
Having served as UTSU’s VP PF for the past academic year, Erica Nguyen is running for reelection because she believes “there’s a lot of work that needs to be continued.”
“I’ve learned a lot more about the other faculties besides my own, and it’s been really interesting to hear about the different issues and problems that we come across,” said Nguyen, a fourth-year student studying design and visual communications. “I feel like we really need to tackle them moving forward.”
Sneha Bansal, a second-year student studying ethics, society and law, and human geography, was inspired to run in the election after seeing the union’s current VP SL, Tala Mehdi, in action during Orientation Week, where Bansal also contributed as an orientation coordinator for Woodsworth College.
Bansal is also an administrative director on the Woodsworth Residence Council and VP of Sponsorship on U of T’s Trek for Teens: a non-profit organization that raises funds and awareness for youth experiencing homelessness in Canada.
Nguyen’s campaign this year focuses on advocacy and communication. If reelected, she plans to streamline “communication between students and administration” as she believes professional faculty-student voices are “unheard on campus,” and “not the number one focus.”
She hopes to hold regular meetings with professional faculty members to connect with
financial aid survey she created during her current term. She said she’s been collecting data on the “hidden costs that [specific] professional faculty students have,” such as art supplies for architecture students and lab materials for nursing and medical students.
Nguyen hopes to use her survey findings to “push for further financial aid.”
Bansal’s platform focuses on raising awareness about UTSU’s resources for clubs and attracting a wider range of clubs. She also seeks to cater the events hosted by the UTSU to UTSG’s diverse student community.
Vivian Nguyen, a third-year architecture student at the Daniels faculty, is passionate about advocating for students in professional faculties because she feels they are often overlooked.
Reflecting on her own experiences, she remembers struggling to find clear information about how Daniels differed from the Faculty of Arts & Science when she started at U of T. She wants to improve access to resources and ensure students understand what benefits the UTSU fees provide.
As a former Orientation Week leader, Nguyen has firsthand experience helping first-years transition into life at university. Her campaign focuses on two key goals: addressing professional faculty-specific concerns and fostering cross-faculty connections. She hopes to improve course enrolment, ensuring that required courses are prioritized for students in their respective programs. “I find that certain required courses aren’t being put as a priority or aren’t being blocked off for at least the first few days for students in the program to register into them.”
enrolment into certain courses depending on their program and year of study.
Nguyen also wants to “provide more opportunities for students to connect with other peers outside of their faculties.”
“I feel like it’s important for students to interact with different ideas and people beyond their program or faculty,” she added.
Vice-President,
If elected, Bansal also plans to deal with the
Ajeetha Vithiyananthan Managing Editor, Internal
Razia Saleh UTM Bureau Chief
Olga Fedossenko Assistant News Editor
Olga Fedossenko Assistant News Editor
Olga
VP Student Life
Student Life
Business & Labour
U
February 25, 2025
thevarsity.ca/category/business biz@thevarsity.ca
of T unions pursuing damages from Ontario government in wake of Bill 124
The university’s labour contracts allow them to avoid making retroactive payments
Rubin Beshi Business & Labour Editor
CUPE 3902, among other unions representing workers at U of T, is pursuing damages in court against the Ontario government to secure retroactive pay increases following the repeal of Bill 124.
Bill 124, which capped public sector employee wage increases at one per cent annually starting in June 2019, was deemed unconstitutional by the Ontario Court of Appeal and repealed in February 2024. Since then, the Ontario government has renegotiated union contracts and paid over six billion dollars in retroactive wage increases to affected workers. However, most of these payments have gone to unions with reopener clauses in their contracts — clauses that allow parties to renegotiate specific terms due to a change in circumstance.
None of U of T’s contracts with unions contain reopener clauses — hence why these unions have taken the Ontario government to court.
The Varsity examined the Ontario government’s response and the unions’ efforts to negotiate compensation in the wake of Bill 124’s repeal.
Ontario government’s retroactive pay increases
By fall 2024, the Ontario government had largely distributed settlement packages to unions with reopener clauses in their contracts, such as the Ontario Nurses Association, AMAPCEO, Ontario’s union for government professionals, and Canadian general trade union Unifor.
However, the process of providing retroactive pay for unions without reopener clauses has proven more difficult. In these instances, unions have been encouraged by the government to request renegotiations with their employers, who then need to seek approval from Ontario’s
Treasury Board — which is responsible for reviewing all government spending and approving labour contracts — before any back pay agreement can be reached.
In an interview with Global News over the summer, CUPE Ontario President Fred Hahn stated that many workers have found this renegotiation process confusing and frustrating. Hahn further claimed that some employers have
Bill 124 moderation period.
Jennifer Harmer, a PhD candidate at the Centre of Industrial Relations and Human Resources, believes that the university is “taking a wait and see approach” to whether the Ontario government will ultimately mandate the university to pay retroactive wage increases before taking any further action.
In an email to The Varsity, Harmer explained
“None of U of T’s contracts with unions contain reopener clauses — hence why these unions have taken the Ontario government to court.” ” “
told CUPE members that they simply don’t have the money to renegotiate.
U of T’s labour contracts
A report to the Business Board about the university’s recent collective agreements noted that the absence of reopener clauses means it has “minimal responsibility” for the financial damages caused by Bill 124. As a result, the university has resisted “significant union pressure” to provide retroactive pay to cover losses workers sustained during the three-year
that all public universities in the province are funded and directed through government legislation through the Ministry of Colleges and Universities. Additionally, the Ministry of Labour, Immigration, Training and Skills Development supervises labour relations between unions and universities, in particular.
“This could influence the university employers[’] ability to negotiate with unions,” she wrote.
For example, the government may constrain the ability of publicly funded universities to generate revenue and place heavy pressure on
them to cut costs. “Unfortunately, the cost of labour is a frequent target,” Harmer wrote.
The Business Board report noted that the absence of reopener clauses in their union contracts, coupled with high inflation, meant that “the University spent significantly less on labour costs relative to inflation for the 6 years that include the Bill 124 moderation period, as compared to previous years, since at least 2005.”
Since union contracts with the university don’t include reopener clauses, unions have now been forced to seek alternative ways to recover lost wages — in this case, through the courts.
In an email to The Varsity, CUPE 3902 President Eriks Bredovskis wrote that CUPE 3902 — which represents U of T’s sessional lecturers, postdoctoral researchers, and teaching assistants — has been pursuing remedies through the court system alongside its “sibling CUPE Locals and other public sector unions.”
“Our union leaders are leading the charge in the courts, and, to the best of our knowledge, we are waiting for dates for the hearing,” Bredovskis wrote.
When asked how the university is responding to legal action being pursued by unions, a U of T spokesperson wrote to The Varsity that “questions regarding legal action by unions in relation to the Ontario government are for those unions to address.”
Harmer noted that Bill 124 has “really constrained [U of T] management’s ability to negotiate with workers” and finds it “unfortunate that [the bill has] created so much confusion and backtracking in the collective bargaining process.”
When asked whether the university administration has set aside funds in the case a court orders them to provide retroactive pay increases, the university’s spokesperson declined to comment.
SIMONA AGOSTINO/THE VARSITY
February 25, 2025
thevarsity.ca/cateogory/opinion
opinion@thevarsity.ca
We need to talk about Blaccents at U of T Is ‘vocal blackface’ a thing on campus?
Nicole De Jesus Varsity Contributor
A few weeks ago, I was absentmindedly sitting in a tutorial when I heard my white TA attempt to imitate ‘jive talk’. Hearing him say “yo wassup” to imitate a Black American seemingly unprompted, quickly jolted me and my class back to reality.
Jive is a form of African American Vernacular English (AAVE) which developed during the 1930s within the flourishing African American jazz scene. It’s a beautiful collection of jargon and dialects spoken by Black people as a form of cultural expression.
In spite of this, AAVE is often viewed as simply ‘improper’ English and is even a cause of discrimination. Jive as a way of speaking has a vivid history, but it was difficult to connect its origins when my visibly non-Black TA boiled it down to phrases like “yo” and “my brothas.” The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop. I was rendered speechless.
As one of the only Black students in the room, I felt like my race was presented to a room of primarily non-Black students as a racist caricature. I felt offended; this happened in an African American history course of all places. Thankfully, the TA was swiftly replaced after that tutorial, but I noticed non-Black students on campus throughout that week who used AAVE phrases like “It’s not giving” and “I’m not tryna do that,” delivered with the flair of an American inner-city kid — definitely not the quiet Canadian suburbs they are from. I began to wonder what exactly the difference was between the racist jive of my TA and the ‘funny’ AAVE appropriated by my nonBlack peers on campus. Eventually, it occurred to me that these patterns of speech are two
sides of the same coin; at their core, they are both mechanisms to ridicule Black culture, separated only by their varying degrees of subtlety.
“
When non-Black people use blaccents by imitating AAVE in an African American accent, they typically only adapt it when they’re attempting to be funny. I find this to be quite dehumanising, and a parallel to how blackface was used in comedic settings.
”
The past and present of Blackface
In recent years, new material has emerged on the evolving form of blackface in the modern world. “Blackface” emerged in the 19th century as a minstrel performance where white actors painted their faces black to mock
African Americans. While many view blackface as an issue of the past, scholars argue that it is actually still prevalent in society — only in different forms.
American feminist writer Lauren Michele Jackson popularized the term “digital blackface” to describe the “practice of white and non-Black people making anonymous claims to a Black identity through contemporary technological mediums.” When GIFs that non-Black people use online to express their feelings are of Black celebrities, or when they represent themselves online through an emoji of a Black person, they are practicing digital blackface.
This form of blackface can be harmful since it appropriates aspects of the Black identity — such as facial expressions and jargon — and presents it as entertaining instead of a sincere form of expression. Non-Black people turn AAVE expressions into cursory jokes, which then lose their original definitions and are eventually discarded. Popular memes depict dramatic facial expressions from Black people that perpetuate stereotypes of Black people as being hyperactive and foolish. Ultimately, this dehumanizes Black people by depicting the way we speak and express ourselves — and even the way we look — as a form of comedy.
I believe the appropriation of Black expressions and language is epitomized in the appropriation of ‘blaccents,’ which is when non-Black people imitate AAVE while speaking. When non-Black people use blaccents by imitating AAVE in an African American accent, they typically only adopt it when they’re attempting to be funny. I find this to be quite dehumanizing, and a parallel to how blackface was used in comedic settings.
While I can’t necessarily say that people’s accents should correlate to their race, I think there is room for critiquing switching accents
for comedic purposes — especially when it’s a non-Black person adapting the ‘funny’ accent that references African American culture.
Speaking in stereotypes
In my own personal experience, I found that there are students at U of T who shift into a blaccent around me solely for the reason that I am Black. Although I’m from Toronto and speak in a generic Canadian accent, I find that sometimes non-Black students approach me by using AAVE and asking if I listened to the latest rap album release.
Part of me thinks that I shouldn’t be offended. There are many popular albums from Black artists and they probably asked everyone that question — plus that AAVE phrase is hip right now!
Yet, another part of me feels that I’m being categorized and addressed based on preconceived notions about my race — I must listen to certain types of music and have a certain type of accent because I’m Black. Additionally, even if these microaggressions do offend me, I feel I can’t comment on it without seeming overly sensitive and combative. They’ll say it was just a joke and it’ll get awkward. It seems better to avoid alienating myself from my peers by staying silent.
Non-Black students may be able to point out more aggressive examples of racism, but the smaller transgressions are always less obvious. Using Blaccents to sound funny is a prevalent microaggression on campus — to this Black person, it feels like vocal blackface.
Nicole De Jesus is a second-year student at Woodsworth College studying history and political science. She is the head of media of Philosophers for Humanity.
ZAINAB ABDUL/THE VARSITY
WGS1029 showed that study, through mutual learning, can be a practice toward freedom
What a Black feminist histories graduate course taught us about liberation
Professor W. Chris Johnson taught WGS1029 — Black Feminist Histories: Movements, Method, and the Archives in the fall of 2024. Over the 12 weeks, we learned the historiography and lives of Black feminists from the nineteenth century to our contemporary moment. We read Saidiya Hartman, Toni Cade Bambara, Dionne Brand, Audre Lorde, Angela Davis, Hazel Carby, and so on.
Studying Black feminism raises crucial questions: when and how do Black feminist movements and practices — which stress the intersection of racism and sexism in shaping racialized people’s experiences — evolve into living, breathing frameworks that not only shape our theoretical perspectives but help us create new ways of being and relating with one another?
We have since wondered what, exactly, about Johnson’s class left such a profound mark on us.
Although this course could have easily dissolved into just another seminar — a cycle of painfully endured readings, weeks of attendance rather than presence, a room full of bodies barely noticing one another — the course offered a space where we not only engaged with ideas but also with each other. Johnson’s classroom was a place where we could forge connections, be vulnerable, and collectively dream of freedom.
Reimagining the classroom
Johnson’s class operated beyond the usual academic disciplinary mechanisms in which students are constantly evaluated, graded, and then left to the wayside. Rather, this class had its own kind of rigour; one where we challenged
The
Jena Wouako
Varsity Contributor
each other through laughter and tears to push each other to envision a new world.
In bell hooks’ vision of education as a practice of freedom discussed in her 1994 book Teaching to Transgress, the classroom is a space for selfactualization and growth. Both educators and students engage in a collaborative process of learning and unlearning, facilitated by practices of mutual care and solidarity. As hooks explained in her book, “when education is the practice of freedom, students are not the only ones who are asked to share, to confess.”
In reflecting on the class, we also turned to Fred Moten and Stefano Harney’s concept of “study” from their 2013 book The Undercommons They argue that “study is what you do with other people.” This may sound so simple and trite, but there’s a nuance here. Study — not in the traditional academic sense which focuses on laboriously learning facts, arguments, and methods in order to march toward their own, solo intellectual pursuits — but study as the act of ‘thinking’ and ‘doing’ with other people.
Moten’s and Harney’s ways of thinking and doing prioritize the “incessant and irreversible intellectuality,” of the everyday ways of learning. This version of study occurs all the time: grandparents teaching younger family members recipes, grassroots collectives supporting marginalized communities, community groups creating study circles to understand struggles of the past, and reading groups like the Caribbean Grad Student Reading Group at U of T, which encourages students to come together and think with their ancestors.
Johnson invited us to sit with and listen to the Black thinkers and activists across the diaspora to learn from their legacy, and to continue the
rehearsals and discussions they so passionately began. We use ‘rehearsals’ here with the definition theorized by US abolitionist scholar Ruth Wilson Gilmore, who describes Black feminists’ political theorizing and movements as rehearsals — trials and errors, breakthroughs and setbacks in our efforts to build lives otherwise. We strongly believe that the pedagogies in U of T classrooms must aim to support such efforts.
In this spirit, Johnson’s classroom itself was a rehearsal space.
Recognizing oppression in its many manifestations and intersections is only the beginning, liberation demands that we dream beyond. Beyond survival. Beyond the limits imposed by colonial and heteronormative thinking and systems. Beyond the given and what we have been told is possible. But we must also study, create, and rehearse new ways of being together.
Embodying abolition in the classroom
So how do we breathe life into Black feminist theorizing within the classroom? This class taught us that it is by embracing collectivity, listening, and embracing vulnerability. We saw and acknowledged each other as our whole, complicated selves — and, just as importantly, we made space for our ancestors and their teaching.
Although Black, Indigenous, and racialized people around the world were never meant to survive or thrive under colonial structures, our ancestors laboured, dreamed, mothered, and nurtured a future where our freedom remains possible. It is in the present moment, in the small, personal spaces, that abolition must begin; in the relationships we cultivate and the care we extend to each other.
On our class’ last day together, we baked pistachio lemon crinkle cookies and brought them to share. Johnson bought treats from a bakeshop, and another student brought sambuusi — a traditional Somali fried snack. It was not just a celebration that we made it to the end of a difficult term, but that we did it together in the ways we listened to and cared for one another both within and outside the classroom.
In the quiet offering of a smile, a homemade cookie, or a Polaroid picture, we planted the seeds of prefigurative politics — the practice of embodying the values, relationships, and futures we want to create in the present moment — essential for building alternative worlds.
The stakes of this kind of study are that we demand new and more possible worlds for Black, Indigenous, and racialized people everywhere. Always.
Magdalee Brunache is a second-year PhD student in political science and a collaborative student at the Women and Gender Studies Institute. She is co-chair of the Women’s Caucus of the Graduate Association of Students in Political Science and an executive member of OtherWise e-Magazine for Racialized and Marginalized Women.
Stephanie Sawah is a first-year master’s student at the Women and Gender Studies Institute. She is a member of the Caribbean Grad Student Reading Group and an organizer with the Ripple Community Collective.
‘I want a mixed baby’ epidemic is inherently racist The new idealization of Blackness will not create a colourblind, raceless utopia
The 2013 National Geographic article “The Changing Face of America” went viral for its implications of an impending multiethnic and raceless future. The cover featured photographs and testimonies from a projected multiracial generation. Many celebrated this as a sign of an increasingly diverse, utopian future — one assumed to be inherently free of white supremacy and racial hierarchy.
However, the notion that systemic racism could be resolved simply through the growing prevalence of interracial reproduction is naive at best and harmful to Black and mixed-race individuals at worst. It also undermines Black liberation movements that have long fought for the recognition of Black people’s humanity.
I wish to highlight the problematic rise in the fetishization of mixed-race children. I see this trend primarily benefiting culturally insensitive individuals and particularly white people, while harming mixed-race children, who are subjected to objectifying gazes and unrealistic expectations.
Contextualizing the social shift
The fetishization of racialized — particularly Black — sexual partners by non-Black individuals has been prominent since the beginning of European imperialism.
With the end of World War II and the collapse of the European colonial empire, a newfound emphasis on racial integration emerged in Western countries. This shift led some white couples to adopt racialized children, but for potentially insidious reasons.
One reason interracial adoption was popular was because it painted white adopters as humanitarian, colourblind, patriotic, and revolutionary. Many couples thus sought to
use their adopted children as social symbols of cultural progressiveness, setting the stage for what would later become the fetishization of mixed-race babies.
In her 2022 article “Multiracial Bodies, Multiracial Reproduction,” political analyst Sabrina K. Harris identifies social media as a key factor in the modern fetishization of mixedrace children. As Black culture continues to gain mainstream popularity, digital visibility has
often carries ‘white saviourist’ intentions, positioning white parents as benevolent figures rescuing Black children from poverty or other hardships.
In contrast, fetishizing mixed-race children reverses this dynamic: the mixed-race child becomes the saviour, absolving the white parent of their culturally ‘uncool’ whiteness.
only intensified this trend of fetishization. Highprofile figures, such as the Kardashians, have contributed to making mixed-race children a social status symbol. Choosing to capitalize on a child’s racial identity for personal gain not only commodifies their existence but also strips them of their humanity and individualism. Whether deliberate or not, this practice has colonial and racist underpinnings.
Who’s saving who?
Both the interracial adoption trend and the fetishization of mixed-race children are rooted in performativity, though they fulfill different desires for white parents. Interracial adoption
In her article, Harris cites feminist philosopher bell hooks on the commodification of multiracialism: “[Multiracialism] becomes spice, seasoning that can liven up the dull dish that is white culture.”
As whiteness became less socially desirable over time, some white individuals began engaging with nonwhite cultures in pursuit of a perceived sociocultural ‘edge.’
Having mixed-race children can also serve as a protective shield against criticism and self-reflection. This mirrors the common “I can’t be racist, I have Black friends” defence used by non-Black individuals accused of racism. By positioning their Black children as objectified indicators of cultural diversity, rather than human beings, white parents aim to garner a cultural superiority over their ‘uncultured’ peers and can avoid taking accountability for engaging in meaningful anti-racist work — such as education, activism, or structural change.
I do not mean to suggest that interracial families are inherently problematic. The growing societal acceptance of mixed-race children marks a positive social shift toward
racial inclusion and diversity. However, with multiculturalism and multiracial families comes a responsibility to cultivate cultural and racial awareness.
Mixed-race growing pains
The consequences of racial ignorance within multiracial families seem to rarely burden the white parents; instead, they are placed squarely on the objectified children.
Growing up as a mixed-race person in a racially divisive society is confusing enough, so it’s essential that white parents equip themselves with the cultural competence to prepare their mixed-race children for the reality of their social positioning. Reporter Melea VanOstrand echoes this sentiment, reflecting on the isolation she felt during the 2020 Black Lives Matter movement, where she realized her white family’s ignorance and “colour-blind” view of the world did not align with her lived experience.
Racism will persist in many parts of the world due to centuries of social conditioning embedded in every social institution. This cannot and will not be overcome simply by an increase in multiracial children or interracial families. We can no longer justify ignorance by naivety when racialized people are more at risk of violence with each passing day.
As a mixed-race Canadian, I can only hope that the so-called progressives will realize that eliminating racism and white supremacy from our societies is a complex challenge, one that cannot be solved by simply producing more mixed-race children. It will require significant, meaningful effort and mobilization by everyone — especially those who perpetuate implicit and explicit racial fetishization and objectification.
Jena Wouako is a third-year student at UTM studying criminology, law & society.
Magdalee Brunache & Stephanie Sawah Varsity Contributors
Being Black on a Canadian campus can be incredibly isolating
Omolola Ayorinde Varsity Contributor
Being Black on Canadian university campuses, such as at UTSC, presents challenges that are often systematically rooted in the structure of higher education.
The first day I stepped onto campus, I felt a mix of excitement and apprehension. At 21, I had already lived and worked in Canada for three years, but stepping into academia as a Black student from Nigeria felt like an entirely different world.
I faced struggles back home as a woman in engineering — discrimination was no stranger to me as I had to work twice as hard to be taken seriously in Nigeria. After arriving in Canada, I feared being Black would add another obstacle where I might be overlooked, underestimated, or even outright dismissed.
My fears were validated in my very first class. Out of the 200 students, only four shared my skin colour. When I dared to raise my hand, my heart pounded, but the professor never called on me. Whether deliberate or not, I felt invisible.
I coasted through the first few weeks, barely speaking. However, that changed during a discussion when I found myself sitting next to a student from Ghana. Our shared cultural experiences created an unspoken understanding. Yet some Black students with a more Westernized mindset seemed to regard me as too traditional, too different. The way I spoke of my perspectives seemed to be foreign to them, making me feel as though I had to prove my worth in ways others did not.
It quickly became clear to me that being Black on campus can be very isolating, especially when university faculties lack diversity and support.
A lack of faculty diversity reveals a systemic anomaly
Lack of Black faculty in higher education
I believe a critical aspect of these challenges stems from the lack of diverse Black instructors at institutions like UTSC. A 2023 article by the University of British Columbia on racism in Canadian universities showed that the absence of Black faculty members in academia creates a disconnect between students and the academic environment. I felt this firsthand when a professor originally from Africa acknowledged my input in class with warmth and genuine interest, allowing me to gain a sliver of confidence.
This absence is not just in numbers — cultural understanding, communication styles, and perceptions of intelligence are all affected. Black faculty with diverse backgrounds can create classroom environments where Black students’ voices are heard and validated, fostering a stronger sense of belonging and academic confidence.
From my own experience, the lack of representation among faculty members leads to cultural gaps that hinder Black students from feeling fully engaged in their academic journey. When Black students have access to Black instructors, alternatively, they are more likely to feel seen, understood, and supported.
The need for Black instructors is not just important for Black students; it benefits the entire academic community by creating a diverse environment for learning. As well as allowing cultural viewpoints and opinions to be part of the academic experience.
Inclusion and cultural understanding
One major barrier to inclusion I noticed is universities’ failure to recognize the value of students’ cultural backgrounds and experiences.
In York University’s book about Canadian campuses, anti-racism advocates and faculty members found that external factors, such as household responsibilities and jobs, can impact their education — similar to my own UTSC experience. As a permanent resident working multiple jobs to pay tuition, I lack the luxury of free time, and these struggles are rarely understood by professors and classmates.
This lack of recognition extends to cultural expression, where Black students may feel their ways of communicating — whether in speech, traditions, or social norms — are undervalued or misunderstood. For instance, different communication styles and dialects such as directness or verbal expressiveness that are common in some communities may be misinterpreted by professors as unpreparedness or lack of intelligence, when in fact these are legitimate forms of academic engagement.
Growing up, I translated my grandmother’s adages into English to communicate effectively. My accent, influenced by British pronunciation, would often draw an odd look when conversing with someone from the Western community. This would diminish my confidence and heighten anxiety in my speech, discouraging me from taking part in certain conversations.
Black mental health
A 2023 study by sociologist Jada Charles about campus mental health further highlights the challenges Black students face, including academic alienation, imposter syndrome, and internalized racism. This research emphasizes the importance of diversity groups and other supportive resources on campus.
At UTSC, such resources exist, but the study
The end of Black beauty trends reflects a broader anti-Black social shift
From cultural colonization to conservative ‘cleanness’
points to a key issue: these resources are only accessible to students who have the confidence to engage with them. For Black students grappling with imposter syndrome, these opportunities may feel out of reach. As a result, the students who need support the most may find themselves excluded, which only exacerbates their struggles.
In the face of such assumptions, Black students may feel the need to work twice as hard to prove their academic worth, constantly battling the presumption of inferiority.
These biases can undermine Black students’ academic performance, perpetuating the cycle of doubt and devaluation. The emotional toll can lead to feelings of isolation, frustration, and burnout.
To address this issue, I argue that the foundation should be building self-confidence in Black students and challenging Westernized assumptions about the validity of different forms of communication.
However, additional solutions include increasing representation among faculty and student groups, expanding mentorship programs, creating safe spaces for dialogues, and shining a greater spotlight on Black student associations while advocating for their needs.
Ultimately, as Canadian universities continue to strive for greater inclusivity, they must prioritize the recruitment and retention of Black faculty. This not only supports Black students, but also enriches the academic experience for everyone, fostering a more equitable and empowering environment for all.
Omolola Ayorinde is a third-year UTSC student studying political science. She is a student ambassador for the Admissions & Student Recruitment Office at UTSC.
Iman
Sadiku Varsity Contributor
It’s official, folks. When it comes to online trends, Blackness is out. It seems that the internet’s long-standing obsession with Black fashion and beauty trends has come to an end.
Celebrities and influencers like Ariana Grande and the Kardashian family have relinquished their fake tans and surgically enlarged butts — looks that emulate Black style icons from the ‘90s, like Aaliyah and Naomi Campbell. As Black studentrun Instagram page The Darkest Hue argues, these celebrities are ditching Black aesthetics for more mature and respected public personas.
And the rest of the internet is following suit, as there has been a recent surge of cosmetic dissolutions and surgical removal procedures in the US, like lip filler dissolutions and reverse Brazilian butt lifts, also known as BBLs.
While this may seem like just another natural case of trend cycling of fashion and beauty standards, I believe this shift reflects something larger. This switch is deeply linked to an overarching cultural progression towards conservatism, elitism, and white supremacy.
Rise of the culture vultures
The 2010s saw great interest and investment in Black culture, particularly when it came to fashion and beauty trends. From big hoop earrings to sneakers, fashion trends heavily borrowed from Black culture.
With this interest came ‘culture vultures’ like the Kardashian family, who took these distinctly Black style markers and popularized them as trends in online spheres that branched beyond the Black community. They showed how, through cosmetic procedures, anyone could buy a bigger butt, fuller lips, and a year-round golden tan — features associated with Black women.
Prominent non-Black figures like the
Kardashians didn’t just popularize these trends, they profited from them. Kylie Jenner’s infamous lip kits — which seemingly promised consumers a perfect replication of her iconic pouty lip — made more than 420 million USD in their first 18 months on the market. I believe it was this massive financial success garnered by wealthy figures, like the Kardashians, that prompted many ordinary people to realize what these celebrities were actually doing — repackaging Black style with a white face and selling it at an upcharge.
As members of the Black community and primarily Black women began speaking out against the blatant appropriation of their cultures’ artifacts, the discourse surrounding ‘Blackfishing’ and cultural appropriation began to surface. This discourse prompted many to consider whether the cultural fascination with Black fashion and Black bodies was something to be celebrated or scorned.
To me, the answer couldn’t be clearer. Public figures took advantage of a longstanding system of cultural colonization that profits from Black innovation by centring white people as ‘innovators’ and erasing the Black roots of these ideas. In doing so, they perpetuated the objectification and dehumanization of the Black people from whom these ‘trends’ emerged. They essentially marketed Blackness as appealing — as long as underneath all the Black trends and clothing, you’re still white.
Commandeering conservative style
While the 2010s were all about adopting Black culture, it seems like the decline of these trends can be traced to sometime around the COVID-19 pandemic. The pandemic massively destabilized global economies including Canada’s, which saw mass economic slowdowns and skyrocketing unemployment rates.
I think the post-pandemic economic downturn similarly elicited increasingly conservative values and fashion trends, especially among young people. Support for the Conservative Party by
Canadians between the ages of 18–35 has risen to 37 per cent in 2024 — up from 21 per cent from 2015 — with Canadian youth citing the housing crisis and the economy as key concerns.
One key way that this ideological shift manifested in fashion was with an idealization of wealth and status. Amid economic insecurity, many people scramble to project a false facade of ‘quiet’ wealth and luxury.
In 2023, the internet saw the emergence of fashion and beauty trends like ‘clean girl makeup,’ ‘stealth wealth,’ and the ‘old money’ aesthetic. Kylie Jenner’s once-viral pouty lips and long eyelashes were replaced with slicked-back buns and minimal makeup. Fashion trends like big hoop earrings were traded for pearls. Preppy, Jackie Kennedy-esque looks and minimalist, ‘classier’ pieces became the new aesthetic standard.
The ideals championed by these aesthetics were ‘class’ and a kind of effortless elegance that came from looking like you’d just returned from the country club or a polo match. Though the shift felt sudden to me at the time, style analysts had seen it coming for a while.
In a 2021 interview with the Oracle Time, Andrew Goves — a University of Westminster professor of fashion design — predicted that during “times of economic downturn, high unemployment, and an uncertain future, not only do we adopt a far more traditional and formal approach to what we wear, but we also look for such conservative aesthetics with whom we want to do business.”
In a post-pandemic world, the attention economy — a market controlled by our online interests and the exchange of digital clout — coincided with the financial one, prompting people to retreat back to cultural signifiers of social and economic security in contrastingly insecure times. Much like the ethos of conservative political parties, the style community opted to look to the past for a way forward. By abandoning the ‘tasteless colours’ and ‘gaudy curves and curls’ — shedding all traces
of Blackness, celebrities and influencers could position themselves as members of the new elite, securing their power in rocky times.
It’s bigger than beauty trends
Does it really matter if we all suddenly want to look ‘clean’ and ‘classy’? I believe that it does because it implies that we all previously looked ‘dirty’ and ‘classless.’ Considering that many people participating in the new ‘preppy’ aesthetics used to appropriate ‘Black’ trends, the shift from one trend cycle to the other is effectively a shift from the practice of Blackness to the practice of whiteness. Trends like ‘stealth wealth’ and ‘clean girl’ do not just embody wealth, conservatism, and cultural elitism — they also represent whiteness. The majority of ‘old money’ families — upon whom the ‘old money’ fashion and lifestyle aesthetic is based — are white. This is a result of historical practices of oppression, exploitation, and exclusion that systematically prevented families of colour — especially Black families — from accumulating generational wealth, which led to classist segregation based on race.
Because Blackness is socioculturally positioned as the antithesis of whiteness, any trend that idolizes whiteness will exclude Black people. I think the ‘old money’ trend promotes cultural ingrouping among white people while facilitating the exclusion of Black people to a cultural out-group. These dynamics mimic the historical practices of systematic segregation and social hierarchies. By romanticizing white aesthetics and associating them with qualities like elegance and class, we are signalling our solidarity with a broader system of exclusivity that upholds racial inequality. It’s just another way society has strategically morphed to redraw the lines of the social order, leaving Black bodies out in the cold.
Iman Sadiku is a second-year student at New College studying philosophy and chemistry.
Celebrities were repackaging Black style with a white face and selling it at
Go back and get it
Deconstructing the Dundas-to-Sankofa debate
Mekhi Quarshie Varsity Contributor
Content warning: This article mentions anti-Black racism and systemic oppression.
About a week ago, I was walking a path I’ve taken for years, from the UTSC campus to the Toronto Pan Am Sports Centre. Eager to get a workout in, I had been kicking pebbles and running after them to see how far they would go.
As I turned the corner to get into the Sports Centre, I kicked a pebble onto a discoloured patch in the sidewalk that caught my eye. Upon closer inspection, I saw dark green paint etched onto the sidewalk, where the capitalized letters spelled out the N-word.
I stopped in my tracks. Questions flooded through my head: Who wrote this? How long has it been here? Should I do something about it?
To avoid drawing attention from passersby due to my visible confusion, I kept walking. After all, I had a workout to get to, and I wasn’t going to let a stranger’s bigotry ruin my evening.
As I was working out, however, I couldn’t get the word out of my head. It was like an insect I couldn’t swat away, a reminder that someone doesn’t think people like me belong here.
Unlike words etched into a sidewalk, racism remains hidden, buried under years of forgotten history. Every now and then, they become unearthed, and the horrors of their past reveal themselves. Canada’s history is no exception to these secret horrors, and one such story has been hiding in plain sight — more specifically, behind the name of Toronto’s busiest of intersections: Dundas Square.
A history mired in turmoil
The story of Dundas Square begins not in Canada, but in Scotland. At the centre of St. Andrew’s Square in Scotland’s capital Edinburgh stands the Melville Monument, a towering stone column that rises over 150 feet into the air. At the top of this grand structure is a stone figure of a man, his curly hair framing a face with a distant gaze. This is Henry Dundas, and for many, his legacy is far less ennobling than his statue might suggest.
Henry Dundas, 1st Viscount Melville (1742–1811), was one of the most prominent politicians in the British parliament during the eighteenth century: at the height of the transatlantic slave trade — the forced transportation of enslaved Africans to the Americas and the Caribbean. During this time, Britain was at the helm of the capitalist steamboat of transatlantic slavery, transporting more than three million Africans to the British colonies, making Britain the world’s largest slave-trading nation.
By the mid-to-late eighteenth century, however, the growing British abolitionist movement incited the debate surrounding the slave trade. In 1792, British abolitionist William Wilberforce put forth a motion in Parliament calling for the immediate abolition of the slave trade.
As an alternative to Wilberforce’s push for immediate action, Dundas introduced a new motion which offered that the abolishment of slavery would happen “gradually,” over the course of seven-and-a-half years. Regardless, Britain’s involvement in the transatlantic slave trade was not fully abolished until 1807. In the years before this, almost 600,000 additional African men, women, and children were forced from their homes in Africa and brought to the British colonies.
This is where the scholarly consensus splits into two camps. One camp of historians believe that the abolition of British involvement in the slave trade would have been impossible at the time, with or without Dundas’ new motion. The other holds Dundas responsible for prolonging Britain’s involvement in the slave trade.
The possibility of the latter was enough to rouse civil rights activists. In 2020, protestors with the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement in Scotland rallied against the monument’s commemoration of Dundas’ role in the slave trade, calling for it to be removed in the name of anti-racism.
But what if I told you that Canadians have our own Melville Monument, sitting right here in Toronto, right under our noses? Instead of a 150foot tower, our commemoration of Dundas is even greater: it’s a 23-kilometre roadway that cuts through various communities, businesses, and homes. You might have heard of it: Dundas Street.
Dundas Street was named after Henry Dundas by the first Lieutenant Governor of Upper Canada, John Graves Simcoe, and serves as a constant reminder of Dundas’ legacy. In 1793, when it was nothing more than a “primitive path with mud holes,” Simcoe ensured the highway was named after his friend.
Fast forward two centuries and this path has transformed into one of Toronto’s most bustling streets. This intersection, now known as Dundas Square, has become a hub for shopping, concerts, community celebrations, and theatrical events.
But some citizens have decided to dig beneath the surface to uncover the history surrounding the Square. These Torontonians believe that Dundas deliberately delayed the abolition of the slave trade to appease the pro-slavery lobby and that Toronto should not have a monument named after him.
Uncovering Henry Dundas
All it took was one small push to get the ball rolling, and I had the pleasure of speaking with the person behind that push.
Andrew Lochhead, a PhD candidate at Toronto Metropolitan University, began reflecting on monuments and their ties to racist legacies when he was researching the BLM campaign in 2020. The movement sparked widespread reactions against monuments honouring historical figures who supported such ideals.
“I would argue that Dundas Street is no different than a Confederate monument sitting in the middle of our city,” Lochhead said in an interview with The Varsity. Confederate monuments are those that honour the cause of the American Civil War, which was to defend the American citizens’ rights to own slaves. “It contributes overwhelmingly to negative health outcomes for African American people, and it authorizes higher incidences of racially motivated crimes.”
Lochhead, who studies urban environments and their role in concealing and commemorating the power of historical figures, believes that he has a personal responsibility to share what he’s learned about the name Dundas’ and its connection to the slave trade.
In 2020, Lochhead created an online petition named “Let’s Rename Dundas Street in Toronto.” He saw the COVID-19 pandemic as an opportunity for screen-locked citizens to engage civically, and the petition quickly received over 14,000 signatures in just two weeks.
“It literally went viral,” said Lochhead. “I did not expect it to initially generate the amount of conversation that it did, nor did I expect it to be so successful.”
The petition even caught the attention of prominent Canadian political figures. In the summer of 2020, then-leader of the Ontario New Democratic Party Andrea Horwath expressed her support for Lochhead’s cause in an X post. She stated that rather than try the impossible task of changing the past, renaming the Square from Dundas — a man whose actions “cost tens of thousands of lives” — was “about rewriting our present day.”
Ultimately, it was Toronto’s former Mayor John Tory who brought the issue to the City Council. Stating that the Square’s commemoration of
Dundas directly conflicted with Toronto’s value of equity, Tory took the petition to the City Council in June 2020. In July 2021, the City Council voted to rename Dundas Street.
“It really gathered some steam,” Lochhead noted. “I think that’s a wonderful win for everybody… to effect legislative change.”
The jagged path forward Deciding to change a name is one thing, but what should it be changed to? City Council left this decision to the Community Advisory Committee (CAC), which was composed of Black and Indigenous leaders, community members, business owners, and other diverse residents working and living along Dundas Street. The committee’s task was to come up with a list of potential names for other places named after Dundas — such as the subway station — in the City of Toronto.
After two years of deliberation, the board decided on the name “Sankofa Square” — pronounced SAHN-koh-fah. According to the Sankofa Square webpage, the term comes from the Ghanaian Akan language and loosely translates to “go back and get it.” It signifies growth and reclamation, using the renaming of Dundas-related assets as a way to show how a city can strive for a better future by acknowledging its past.
However, this isn’t the end of the story. Despite the 14,000 people who signed Lochhead’s petition, there were some who strongly opposed the renaming of Dundas Square.
Daniel Tate — a self-described scholar of Toronto’s live music market and an advocate for the city’s art and culture scene — is one of the many individuals who attempted to stop the renaming of Dundas Street.
In an interview with The Varsity, Tate described himself as a “vessel for all that anger” that many Torontonians feel about the renaming process.
Beyond his activism, Tate has deep ties to Toronto’s cultural history. A former concert organizer, he is also the author of two books, The Flyer Vault: 150 Years of Toronto Concert History and Stories of the Stage: 25 Years of Concert History at Scotiabank Arena, both of which document the city’s vibrant concert scene.
In an attempt to showcase his love for the culture of the city, Tate started an Instagram account that currently has over 26,000 followers and over 4,400 posts documenting Toronto’s live music scene. As a steward of Toronto’s culture, he was shocked when he learned about Lochhead’s petition to rename such an important cultural landmark for Toronto.
For him, Dundas is more than just an intersection: it represents an integral part of not only Toronto’s identity but his own.
So when Mayor Olivia Chow and City Council confirmed in December 2023 that they would be renaming Dundas Square along with other namesakes associated with Dundas, Tate couldn’t just sit back and watch. He and a friend took a page out of Lochhead’s book and started their own petition: “STOP the Renaming of Dundas in Toronto.”
Tate received over 30,000 signatories on his petition. He showed up to a Toronto City Council meeting on June 18, 2024, ready to speak. Instead of a receptive audience, he was disappointed by how his case was antagonized by the council members.
The proposal that the committee was discussing — titled “A Governance and Operational Review of Sankofa Square” — was the final step in changing the name after a series of City Council meetings. Yet, the meeting wasn’t without its controversies.
Tate showed up to City Hall with his deputation and his book of 30,000 signatures. He spoke in depth about his reasons for being against
the renaming of the square, from the cultural loss to the fact that he believes there wasn’t enough public consultation before the renaming happened. In his view, the CAC wasn’t enough.
“I was mortified that this City council would… unilaterally pave over our history and pave over a civic space that everyone has wonderful memories of, over some shoddy academic scholarship,” Tate said during the meeting of City Council.
Many counsellors, including Chris Moise, Gord Perks, and Paula Fletcher, criticized Tate’s refutation.
Fletcher noted that many names on Tate’s petition were not from Toronto but from across the province. Perks spoke about the importance of addressing anti-Black racism, saying, “I am not going to listen to a petition — and I don’t care how many names are on it — that says ‘go backwards.’”
Tate alleged that Moise in particular accused him of being a racist after his five minute speech to City Council.
“I was so shocked, I immediately confronted him about it because that’s no way to treat your constituents,” Tate told The Varsity. Despite the commotion, the motion passed 17– 6 in the council.
Tate added that the councillors’ response to his speech demonstrated that “they are arrogant, elitist people who have been up in their perch in City Council for so long unchecked.” He believes that the decision was being made without adequate public consultation.
position of power and telling [citizens] — their minions… what’s right and what’s wrong.”
“The writing is definitely on the wall”
Both Lochhead and Tate stand on different sides of the debate over renaming Toronto’s main landmark. Some strongly advocate for reexamining the historical significance of the name, while others seek to preserve the culture that has developed around it.
one historian at U of T, the answer is obvious.
Melanie Newton — chair of the Graduate Program for the History Department, professor of history and Caribbean Studies at U of T, and cochair of the Sankofa Square Community Advisory Committee — spent the better part of two years fighting for the removal of Dundas’ name from downtown Toronto.
Newton studied Dundas long before it became an X hashtag. “I always say [that] I’m an accidental Dundas expert,” Newton stated.
Newton’s research is centred around slavery in the eighteenth-century Caribbean. Her current research focuses on the Afro-indigenous group of Africans known as the Garifuna people, whose ancestry is from Saint Vincent and the Grenadines.
Coincidentally, Dundas was the Minister of War and Colonies during this time, and he was in charge of the British forces when they suppressed an abolitionist uprising by the Garifuna people. In 1796, the British troops carried out a genocidal massacre in which they killed large numbers of people and exiled survivors.
The crux of the debate around Dundas’s legacy doesn’t centre around the killing of the Garifuna people but on his addition of the word “gradually” into Wilberforce’s abolition bill.
For Newton, the nuances of the added word don’t matter — Dundas was pro-slavery even if he might have tried to end the slave trade. While slavery is the practice of owning people as property, the slave trade refers to the large-scale capture, sale, and transportation of enslaved individuals.
“His policies… clearly [made] sure that there
is a future for slavery, even if the slave trade is abolished,” Newton stated. “The writing is definitely on the wall… Everywhere… it’s in the archives, it’s in his own speeches.”
A student’s perspective
After speaking with different people on this fierce debate about the renaming of Dundas Square, I felt like a rope in a tug-of-war, pulled back and forth by opposing sides. I wondered to myself about which side of the debate an average U of T student would fall on. I decided to strike up some conversations with students in the congested halls of Sidney Smith. The conversations left me with more questions than answers.
“I don’t know why we’re micro-criticizing the successes of people long dead when we could be focusing on the current struggles that are going on right now,” Connor, a fourth-year political science specialist, said in an interview with The Varsity
Connor told me that he understands why people would want to rename Dundas Square in light of recent social divides.
“I think there was something valuable in some of these old names [of people] who were imperfect,” claimed Connor. “[They] do represent part of a timeline of progression that has ultimately been something that we can value… [Dundas] was somebody who was on the train of reform overall.”
To him, the broader accomplishments of the abolitionist movement should be highlighted, instead of the failures that occurred along the way.
Making up for the past
The conversations that I had with students, professors, and activists helped me remember two key points of contention around the Dundas debate.
The first issue is a factual one, as people disagree about whether Dundas was really complicit in the prolongation of the transatlantic slave trade. The second issue is a cost-benefit analysis. Many citizens like Tate believe that the costs of removing Dundas from the city outweigh the potential societal benefits. Is there a middle ground between these viewpoints?
I would be remiss not to touch on my own Blackness here. While the colour of my skin does not give me special insights into what happened during the slave trade — or the best way to spend the municipal budget — it gives me an emotional outlook into what this decision means for Black Canadians.
My dad, a Ghanaian man who moved to Canada in the late 1980s with his father to pursue better employment opportunities, couldn’t help but smile when he learned about the renaming. His face shone with an unfiltered happiness that I’ve seldom seen. I felt happy that I was the one to break the news to him. I felt even happier when he told me that he was going to go tell all of his friends.
My dad’s roots in Ghana are much stronger than mine. As a man who speaks Twi fluently, the word Sankofa felt like home to him.
To me, that is all that is needed to make the renaming legitimate: happiness. It’s not just about
It signifies growth and reclamation, using the renaming of Dundas-related assets as a way to show how a city can strive for a better future by acknowledging its past.
the happiness of the Ghanaian community, but about the happiness of all those whose lives colonization has disrupted, from the African continent to the Indigenous peoples of Canada. Despite the questions surrounding the history of this situation and the politics surrounding the renaming, there is no questioning the horrors that unfolded during the transatlantic slave trade. Thus, there is a duty of reparations to acquiesce to the desires of a historically marginalized group. Newton echoed this same sentiment, and you can tell through her story. She hails from Barbados, the territory of the Indigenous Kalanago and Garifuna people who suffered the genocidal violence that Dundas facilitated. She believes that her efforts to advocate for the renaming of Young and Dundas Square are an act of defiance against the unjust treatment of her ancestors.
Legacies like Dundas’, Newton exclaimed, “never have the power to destroy everybody.”
“I feel quite hopeful, that all these years later, that I, as a person from… the Kalanaga and the Garifuna, got to tell Henry Dundas, ‘You don’t belong here. The square? Yeah, this is not yours.’” Newton’s story, and the stories of the thousands who advocated for this change, prove that injustice cannot hide from the magnifying glass of historical analysis. In the world of public policy, where practicality tends to work against the desires of the people, it is easy to chastise those advocating for the name change as frivolous. This time, the voices of equity did prevail — and is that such a bad thing?
CHLOE WESTON/THE VARSITY
February 25, 2024
thevarsity.ca/section/illustration illustration@thevarsity.ca
The brief history of the steelpan
Shayna Rivelle Thompson, Varsity Contributor
This artwork represents the sensational, rhythmic energy of the steelpan. The steelpan is the only and newest instrument created within the twentieth century in Trinidad and Tobago by Afro-Trinidadians. The instrument was created by enslaved Africans — from West and Central Africa predominantly — during the transatlantic slave trade in the 1700s.
The sounds of rebellion came from old oil drums, tin pans, and a wide variety of pieces of metals when the abolishment of slavery came into effect on August 1, 1834. The bottom of the metal drums used were capable of making pitches mimicking that of other instruments leading to the gradual development of the steelpan today, where all types of music can be played and
enjoyed by any and everyone. The instrument will always represent the resistance and resilience during the carnival against the colonial powers in Trinidad and Tobago.
The kaleidoscopic setting of bold colours represents the sensation and energetic vibrations of joy that pan brings the player and the listener. All colours of the rainbow are blended with each other to show how the energy is spread to create joy. The arrangement shows how a typical steelband orchestra is arranged with many players playing different types of steel pans. The faceless personas men and women represent how anyone — from the African continent and its diasporas to even those beyond — can enjoy the musical euphoria together with the instrument.
“It’s Gonna Be Alright”
After the murder of George Floyd, the world was just quiet enough to hear Black voices declare that our lives matter, too
Suhmer Hyatt, Varsity Contributor
Bob sang to me, “No woman, no cry / Everything’s gonna be alright.” Kendrick said, “All my life I has to fight… / But if God got us then we gon’be alright.” Sasco reminded me, “We feel a whole heap of pain, cah we Black / And man a say that they put me inna chains, cah we Black / Imagine now, big gold chain full of rocks… / Remember this, every race start from the Black.”
After seeing the global Black Lives Matter protests in the summer of 2020, these songs provided me comfort. I was comforted by the reminder that there is more to the Caribbean and African diaspora than enslavement-induced generational trauma. While our history — and sometimes our present — is damaging, we have come so far. Black History does not start or end with slavery. We are our ancestors’ wildest dreams.
Arts & Culture
February 25, 2025
thevarsity.ca/category/arts-culture arts@thevarsity.ca
A celebration of Black history through music
U of T Gospel Choir shines in a night full of singing, dancing, praise, and worship.
On February 8, I enjoyed attending a musical celebration of Black history through music hosted by U of T’s Faculty of Music and the Toronto School of Theology. This event, directed by Assistant Professor of Music Education Darren Hamilton, brought together music from several eras in Black history to tell one cohesive story of faith, strength, love, and perseverance.
The first performance of the concert was “Ain’t Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me ‘Round” which was one of the many freedom songs African Americans sang during the Civil Rights era in the US.
“Ain’t gonna let Nervous Nelly turn me ‘round... / Ain’t gonna let Chief Pritchett turn me ‘round… / Ain’t gonna let Mayor Kelly turn me ‘round / I’m gonna keep on a-walkin’, keep on a-talkin’ / Marching up to freedom land.”
Those lyrics tell the story of an individual who faces resistance from numerous factors but chooses to remain undeterred and steadfast in their march for freedom. Serving as a cold open to the concert, the performance’s sombre and serene gripped the crowd's attention and set the tone for the rest of the concert.
Jumping ahead, the event's electrifying fourth performance featured Sharon Riley, a gospel recording artist honoured with a JUNO award — Canada’s premier music award recognizing outstanding musical achievements. Along with the help of the U of T Gospel Choir, Riley performed her rendition of the song “Chariot.”
Prior to the event, Hamilton provided a bit of background on Riley. He wrote in an email to The Varsity that Riley’s choir — the Faith Chorale — “Made history in the late 1990s by being the first Canadian gospel group to sign an international major recording contract.” The album — titled Life Is — appeared on that record label, earning them a JUNO award. They also previously earned a JUNO award nomination for their independent album titled Caught Up
Hamilton expressed praise and excitement for Riley and Faith Chorale. “Having performed for 30 years, Sharon Riley and Faith Chorale have made their mark as one of the premiere gospel choirs in Canada. We are excited to have Sharon perform with us, and for the first time since the choir’s inception, to be performing music by a local Canadian gospel artist as part of our repertoire,” he wrote.
Riley’s performance did not disappoint, as she delivered prayer through a song about hope and faith, with an upbeat rhythm that got various crowd members clapping along joyfully.
With heartfelt conviction, she sang, “Lord who
I put my trust / the very present help in the time of trouble / always faithful concerning me / Come rain or shine / it’s your grace I see.” She captured the audience with both her powerful vocals and the song’s message of unwavering faith. The song fit the context of the night as a celebration of Black history — one could imagine how centuries ago, the same cries to heaven kept Black men and women faithful in their hope for a better tomorrow.
The next performance — the fifth of the night — maintained the same edifying energy. The U of T Gospel Choir performed the Canadian premiere of an alternate arrangement of “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” which the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People coined as the Black national anthem in 1919. Most recently, Alicia Keys famously performed this song at the 2020 Super Bowl in the wake of George Floyd’s death and the reinvigoration of the Black Lives Matter movement. Keys bore the song as a solemn performance, in line with the socio-political climate of the time.
The version of the song performed at the concert — arranged by Brandon Felder, a professor of music and Director of Choral Studies at Bowie State University — opted for a more optimistic tone evocative of a more traditional African American chorus.
A myriad of factors facilitated this, including the traditional organ that played in the background, the rhythmic drums, and the vocal unison delivered by the choir. Other aspects, such as the use of repetition and a bit of freestyling, really helped bring forth that gospel church essence. Lastly, towards
the end of the song, members from U of T’s West African drumming ensemble joined the stage to further enrich the performance with a traditional African cadence.
After this song, a final performance led to an intermission, during which the U of T’s Executive Director of Equity, Diversity & Inclusion, Jodie Glean, delivered a statement that seemingly resonated deeply with many crowd members. She emphasized the importance of singing in the Black struggle for liberation, saying that “the tradition of singing holds a profound connection to resistance and liberation, particularly through the days of slavery and the civil rights era, [when] songs brought from Africa were used to inspire, motivate, and were also a critical means of communication for many enslaved peoples.”
Glean also underscored the deep cultural and spiritual importance of drumming and dance in African traditions. In her closing remarks, she affirmed U of T’s commitment to supporting the flourishing of Black communities through programs and initiatives that foster success and well-being.
Following the statement and intermission were six more beautiful and impactful acts presented to the audience, with two major standouts. The first standout was introducing an original song, “Do You See Them,” a song lyrically concerned with the issue of homelessness. It repeatedly asked the question, “What will you do when you see them again?”, referring to its subjects.
At the concert, Hamilton described how he and PhD candidate of musical arts Aaron Manswell, had worked on this song for quite some time. Hamilton also relayed to the audience that the U of T Gospel Choir is currently in the process of recording the song to be released as the first official song for U of T’s Faculty of Music.
In the same email to The Varsity, Hamilton wrote: “Manswell and I were interested in how we might compose a piece that intersects with a biblical message and common issues in society, namely poverty and homelessness.”
After the penultimate performance of “Do You See Them?” the U of T Gospel Choir performed “Great Expectations” by gospel musical artist JJ Hairston. Of all the performances on the night, this one stood out to me as the most interactive and lively. Hamilton prompted crowd members to stand up and sing — most, if not all, abided — the night ended in jubilee and hope, as the crowd joyfully shouted out their own personal great expectations with a sense of hopefulness that can only be found in a church.
With this final performance, I remembered something Hamilton shared in his correspondence with The Varsity. He wrote that “Black music… is often not given the credit or recognition for its contributions to various genres of music… I would encourage Black musicians and scholars to explore as much Black music as possible, not on a surface level, but on a deeper level of seeking to understand the historical, social and cultural context of the music.”
“the tradition of singing holds a profound connection to resistance and liberation, particularly through the days of slavery and the civil rights era”
Damola Omole Associate News Editor
Sharon Riley’s performance did not disappoint. COURTESY OF KAREN E. REEVES
The first performance of the night was “Ain’t Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me ‘Round.” COURTESY OF KAREN E. REEVES
Why must Beyoncé compete when Taylor Swift doesn’t compare?
On Black excellence and white mediocrity in music
Josephine Graham Varsity Contributor
For years, the Beyhive and Swifties have been at each other's throats. It’s been noted that we shouldn’t pit Beyoncé and Taylor Swift against each other, and maybe they’re right. Not only because it’s damaging for women to be in career competition but also because it’s damaging to extraordinary Black artists everywhere to be put in the same bracket as their mediocre white counterparts.
To equate Black excellence with white mediocrity — to suggest there is even a competition — is to confine Black art within a framework that was never built to measure its brilliance. White metrics cannot and will not account for the superiority of Black art. Swift is the locus of this metric, and like many Black musicians, Beyoncé is off the scale.
It took Beyoncé 25 years after her first Grammy nomination to receive the most prestigious Grammy Album of the Year (AOTY) award for Cowboy Carter. On the other hand, Swift received the same award only two years after her first nomination. I respect Swift for the middling artist she is; she’s not an impressive vocalist or dancer, her sound is boringly consistent, and I find her lyricism repetitive. However, I can’t name a single white artist who touches Beyoncé’s vocal range, performance stamina, innovative sound, and rhythm on stage. Of course, art is subjective, and awards are losing significance for Black artists who recognize their industry's biases against them.
Take Beyoncé; after four AOTY losses despite deserving it at least twice in my opinion, her long-
overdue win for Cowboy Carter felt hollow. Beyoncé herself even seemed more surprised and affected by her Best Country Album win. She’s the most Grammy-awarded artist in history, and the moment seemed more embarrassing for the Academy than celebratory. But if even Queen B can’t avoid being overlooked, how powerful are the discriminatory structures at play?
After her historic win for Cowboy Carter as Best Country Album, Beyoncé said in her acceptance speech, “Sometimes genre is a code word to keep us in our place as artists.” That “us” doesn’t apply to Swift, who the country community embraced with open arms. Despite Swift being born in Pennsylvania, moving to Tennessee to launch her country career, and blending pop into her sound, Swift was never booed at the Country Music Association. Beyoncé was.
Beyoncé, who was born and raised in Houston, with a country accent so strong that the intolerant public used to call her ‘stupid,’ faced rejection instead of acceptance. That “us” includes every Black artist denied awards recognition because they did not fit the whitewashed image of musical genius in a white-dominated genre.
The industry uses terms — sometimes ill-fitting — like R&B, Hip-Hop, Urban, and Rap to exclude Black artists from the main categories historically reserved for white winners. Beyoncé lost AOTY for Lemonade, but rest assured, it won “Best Urban Contemporary Album” — whatever that means. These deliberately racialized genres separate Black musicians from the mainstream and send a clear message: Black musicians are defined by their Blackness— or rather, their subjectivity as musical
artists is confined to their Blackness— while white musicians remain the default, needing no label to qualify their achievements.
As Black country icon Linda Martell aptly put it on Cowboy Carter, “Genres are a funny little concept, aren’t they?”
There is a contradiction in the fact that Beyoncé holds the most Grammy wins of any artist yet only recently won the coveted AOTY. It’s the same contradiction seen in music legends like Bob Marley, Diana Ross, and Jimi Hendrix, who never won a single Grammy during their careers — only to receive the Lifetime Achievement Award once they were either out of their prime or posthumously. The industry is often late in acknowledging and celebrating Black art in its present tense. Black artists don’t exist in a meritocracy.
Another Notes app apology?
Beyoncé’s achievements are often preceded by “first Black woman” — the first to win Best Country Album, top the Billboard Country Albums chart, headline a stadium tour, and headline Coachella. Yet, the inequities in the music industry have never diminished Black artistry.
Lyrically dissed in “Spaghetti,” Beyoncé still excelled artistically beyond the “No sauce” having “Plain Jane(s)” of the music industry, breaking barriers along the way. So, why frame Beyoncé and Swift as rivals simply because white metrics deem them equivalent? Why push a hegemonic narrative that reduces Black excellence to competition with white mediocrity?
Despite the efforts, the tired white comparison will never defile Black stardom.
Unpacking this exhausting and endlessly recurring cycle on social media
Saeeda Saeed Varsity Contributor
It’s a tale as old as time. An influencer is catapulted into public consciousness, capturing the hearts of millions across social media. They seem relatable, down to earth, and surely not another racist. But, just like the influencers before them, it’s eventually exposed that they are, and an apology is delivered via Apple’s Notes app.
The origins of this method of apology date back as early as 2015. Filled with buzzwords like “accountability,” “responsibility,” and “growth,” the technique became a tool for celebrities and influencers to engage in performative sincerity in exchange for forgiveness from their audience.
By quickly typing 250 words into their Notes app and posting a screenshot to their Instagram story, they effortlessly absolve themselves of even the most nefarious behaviour and the guilty influencer goes back to their regularly scheduled posting of get-ready-with–me’s, days in their lives, and their “Sunday resets.”
A relevant example is Trisha Paytas, a popular American media personality. There is no end to the videos depicting her spewing bigotry and racism. However, she is now even more popular than ever, with over two million followers on her Instagram alone. James Charles, another popular social media influencer, posted multiple now-deleted problematic — if not blatantly racist — tweets. But since resurfacing into the public consciousness, he — like Trisha — now seemingly enjoys more popularity than ever before.
The curious case of Brooke Schofield A most recent case study of this ‘Notes-app apology’ phenomenon is Brooke Schofield, a 28-year-old influencer who recently rose to fame from her Cancelled podcast with internet
personality Tana Mongeau. Between 2012 and 2015, she published several racist tweets on X — including one defending the killing of Trayvon Martin — all of which have since been deleted.
This was seen before with many other influencers and celebrities; think Jeffree Star, James Charles, and Sabrina Claudio. The typical brigade of fans rallied to Schofield’s defence, citing her youth as an excuse. One commenter, when discussing Schoffield’s old tweets, stated that the tweets were “literally from 2013 y’all are fuckin’ annoying.”
In contrast to Schofield’s young age at the time, it is important to note that people of colour (POC) have often endured bigotry for years by their
Experiences of prejudice infiltrate the daily lives of POC as they navigate systemic discrimination, racial profiling, and the unspoken rules of codeswitching.
Additionally, a two-part study published in Humanities and Social Sciences Communications journal found that experiences of explicit racism, such as “racial slurs, threats, and acts of racial brutality” showed links to externalizing symptoms such as aggression, impulsivity, defiance, and increased anger. In contrast, subtler forms of racism, like “being stared at by strangers” or their “ideas or opinions being minimized, ignored, or devalued,” showed links to greater
In the social media ecosystem, such prejudice becomes so organically ingrained that POC youth begin to see it as natural — just another part of life — and an unavoidable reality rather than something to be challenged.
In Schofield’s case, the culture of brushing over racist histories failed to perpetuate itself entirely. Many creators — specifically Black TikTokers like @asinderellastory and @ry2ky — expressed frustration towards Schofield and others who faced similar racial controversy. Their concerns lay in the exhausting and endlessly recurring cycle on social media, on which we platform influencers, watch problematic posts resurface, and sit through the same recycled half-hearted
Despite the temptation, blame cannot be solely placed on these influencers. Social media platforms also play a large role in amplifying the voices of individuals with bigoted pasts. For example, shortly after Elon Musk took over X, the use of slurs on the app increased from ranges of 23–67 per cent.
Additionally, public figures such as Andrew Tate, who had their X accounts removed due to controversial tweets have had those accounts reinstated in recent years. Scandals no longer carry the sacrilegious weight they once did in influencer and celebrity roles; their consequences now tend to be minimal and short-lived.
With Schofield back in the limelight, her controversies are no longer a focus. James, Jeffree, and Trisha are all thriving across every major social media platform, each boasting millions of subscribers. Brands still work with them, and PR packages continue to flow. With every post, they seem to only gain more engagement, their influence growing stronger on whichever platform they dominate. We require a fundamental shift in how we educate youth about race and address the issues faced by those impacted by such bigotry. A Notes app apology is just not enough.
XIN-WREN SHAN/THE VARSITY
Breaking language barriers: The power of translation in cultural preservation
My journey bridging linguistic and cultural divides through translation.
William U. Ferreira Da Silva Varsity Contributor
As a French-Brazilian who speaks five languages, people often think communication comes easily. The truth is juggling languages and expressing ideas can be harder than imagined.
To all the bilinguals and polyglots out there — I’m sure you’ve experienced this before: you have a word at the tip of your tongue in one language, but you need to say it in the other and just can’t. This phenomenon is well known among those who bear the knowledge of speaking multiple languages. Regardless, we usually carry on with these languages daily with little trouble.
But what happens when you take it a step further? When do you share your gift of speaking languages with the rest of the world?
That step happened to me last year when I decided to translate a novel written in Portuguese to both French and English. I was honoured to help translate a book written by Gláucia Regina F. Da Silva, a psychologist who has long advocated for mental health awareness and led a non-governmental organization in São Paulo, Brazil, for over 10 years.
The challenges of translations
This novel — titled Uma Jornada de Amor e Aprendizagem in Portuguese or Un Voyage d’Amour et Apprentissage in French— narrates the everyday life of a Black family, exploring themes of interrelationships, wellbeing, and positive parenting. Through this work of translation, I’ve seen translation not just as a linguistic task but as an act of cultural preservation — one that ensures narratives remain authentic while becoming accessible to a wider audience.
In an interview with The Varsity, Da Silva explains her book and its main objectives
in French, stating that, “Mon objectif était d’aider les parents à mieux comprendre les besoins émotionnels de leurs enfants et à cultiver des relations plus harmonieuses et intentionnelles” (My goal was to help parents better understand their children’s emotional needs and foster more harmonious and intentional relationships).
The translation process for the novel involved more than just converting words from one language to another. It required a degree of cultural understanding to ensure that the message retained its original meaning and emotional impact. Some phrases — particularly those related to conscious parenting — had no direct equivalent in some target languages. In these cases, the translation had to be adapted rather than translated literally to preserve the essence of the text’s original meaning.
Additionally, certain cultural perspectives on discipline and parental authority must be carefully balanced to remain faithful to the original intent while making sense to a different audience. Beyond the important devotion to linguistic accuracy, the translation process also required translators to convey the emotions, values, and deeper messages of the novel.
Da Silva went on to say that, “Par exemple, certaines expressions autour de l’éducation bienveillante n’ont pas d’équivalent exact dans toutes les langues. Il a fallu reformuler certaines phrases pour qu’elles gardent leur essence sans perdre leur signification pour les lecteurs d’une autre culture” (For example, some expressions related to gentle parenting do not have an exact equivalent in all languages. It was necessary to rephrase certain sentences so that they retained their essence without losing their meaning for readers from another culture).
Translating any text — whether an article or a novel — requires cultural sensitivity and careful navigation of nuanced concepts.
In this way, the process for Da Silva’s book ensured an accurate rendering of ideas like conscious parenting and discipline, making the book accessible to a wider audience. Beyond broadening its reach, the translation also fosters meaningful discussions about conscious parenting within Black communities, amplifying their experiences within the global conversation.
Translation and representation
As translators, it is important to stay updated with any terms added in the languages we work in. This way we can guide readers into an up-to-date translation while maintaining the original meaning of the message being delivered.
“Translation, in this sense, is an act of cultural preservation and empowerment...”
A prime example of this is Úrsula , a novel written by Maria Firmina dos Reis, who broke new ground in Brazil’s literary scene and revolutionized history — particularly within the Afro-Brazilian diaspora. Set in the nineteenth century, the novel explores themes of slavery, oppression, and resilience through the story of its titular character, Úrsula, and the enslaved people around her.
Úrsula gave a new voice to the AfroBrazilian experience, critiquing the brutal realities of slavery to not only mark a milestone in Brazilian literature, but also become a powerful testament to the strength and agency of the Afro-Brazilian diaspora.
In Úrsula, the resistance portrayed is not just against the institution of slavery, but against the systems that sought to strip people of their humanity. The novel gives voice to characters of African descent who resist the dehumanizing forces of slavery in
various ways. From subtle acts of defiance to outright rebellion, these characters fight to maintain their dignity and assert their right to freedom. Their resistance bore a testament to the strength of those who lived under oppression but never accepted it, and the novel played a crucial role in shaping nineteenth century abolitionist discourse. Racial identity in Úrsula links itself to this resistance. The novel highlights the complexity of Afro-Brazilian identity, showing that even within the brutal confines of slavery, characters strived to preserve their sense of self and their cultural heritage. Through their experiences, the novel critiques the rigid racial hierarchies of nineteenth-century Brazil, challenging the dehumanizing stereotypes of Afro-descendants. The novel makes it clear that slavery not only oppressed bodies but also sought to erase cultural identities.
Yet, through acts of resistance and selfpreservation, Úrsula ultimately affirms the humanity, worth, and identity of AfroBrazilian people — pushing for a broader understanding of racial equality. It also gave a stepping-stool for the native speakers to reclaim their history in their own linguistic and cultural framework, strengthening the African diaspora. From Úrsula’ s lessons, the work of translation exemplifies how a simple text can not only inform, but also empower marginalized communities by reinforcing their cultural and linguistic heritage.
Just as actress Lupita Nyong’o speaks of the power of seeing someone who looks like you achieve the impossible, I’ve come to understand the profound impact translation can have in making stories from underrepresented communities more visible and accessible. In translating Uma Jornada de Amor e Aprendizagem , I realized that the work went beyond converting words between languages — it meant breaking down barriers and fostering understanding.
As I carefully navigated the nuances of language, I felt myself helping to preserve and amplify the voices of Black families whose stories deserve to be heard on a global scale.
Translation, in this sense, is an act of cultural preservation and empowerment, allowing important narratives from Black history and culture to reach broader audiences and inspire change. Let it remind us that when we share these stories, we do not just translate words — we make history more inclusive and shape a more informed future.
Black women are losing the “skinny-off”
Grappling with the phenomenon of thinness at U of T
Content warning: This article discusses body image issues.
Walking around U of T, it feels like everyone’s having a thigh-gap off with each other. It doesn’t escape me the way the cultural zeitgeist has shifted from the curvy beauty standard of yesteryear — the round hips and a fat ass — to the long-prevailing “cocaine skinny” beauty standard.
I can’t ignore how mainstream beauty culture is regressing towards thinness as an ideal, especially for young women. The recent antagonism towards Brazilian butt lifts (BBLs), suggests that the sentiment will soon follow suit toward naturally curvy bodies as well. Meanwhile, online trends glorifying thinness as ideal, even ironically, trickle down to inevitably underpin the on-campus beauty standard.
This standard, largely shaped by the overwhelmingly white and East Asian demographics on campus, feels at odds not only with the very recent trend of curvy bodies, but also with the Black community’s long-established feminine beauty standards. As scholar Germine H. Awad and her co-authors found in “Beauty and Body Image Concerns Among African American College Women,” the dominant body shape ideal amongst Black women is a curvy one.
I’m sure I don’t need to go into explicit detail about this, considering many hit songs from 2010 onward showcased the “Black beauty standard” in their music videos. Remember Tyga’s “Taste” featuring Offset? YG’s “Big Bank” with 2 Chainz, Big Sean, and Nicki Minaj? In plain terms, the standard was bouncy bootylicious thickness.
I can’t pretend I didn’t feel a certain safety in those aesthetic norms. Sure, all beauty standards diminish women, but there was something almost compassionate about an ideal that didn’t
outright punish you for being a little bit bigger — especially when compared to the lifelong trauma the Paris Hilton skinny era inflicted on millennial white women. Today, those millennial women are on TikTok, complaining how the “low rise is back in.”
Meanwhile, over on our side, Black cultural standards made it so that many Black girls growing up didn’t share those anxieties nearly as much as non-Black women. A 2004 study found that Black women were more satisfied with their body size, thought of themselves as more attractive, and were less likely to have suffered a past eating disorder than white participants. In many ways, it felt comforting to think I belonged to a community which shielded me from that particular infliction of body obsession and anxiety.
But don’t misunderstand me: where the Black community reveres certain features, it also punishes others, like being thin or ‘flat.’ I mourn for the Black girls who’ve had to navigate their self-esteem under the cruel pressure of living up to our own imagined ideals.
While some of us luxuriated in the certain grace of knowing we weren’t automatically branded as grotesquely undesirable for our butt looking big in jeans — unlike the women of the early 2000s — I realize now that my comfort in that protection, and by proxy, my body confidence as well, only extended as far as my community’s reach.
Coming to U of T, where Black people on campus are scarce and any Black students I met seemed shy, meant facing ideal body types from every other demographic but my own. Over time, that exposure started to chip away at the selfassuredness I naively believed occurred innately.
I mean, seriously, I knew something was wrong with me when I turned around in the mirror, saw my ass, and thought, “It’s a bit big. Too big.” In the eighth grade, girls lined up to ask me for my squat routine. After four years at U of T, I’m standing in the mirror trying to push my thighs apart to form a fake thigh gap like it’s the 2014 Tumblr era again.
I’m not the only one who noticed this friction between the beauty ideals of the Black and the non-Black communities at U of T. While perspectives varied, a common note ran clear: our campus, a microcosm of social hegemony, embodied a metaphorical dollhouse in which Black beauty ideals got swallowed by a larger population keen on discarding our bodies as “obsolete” or “no longer trendy.”
Joanna Taiwo, a third-year psychology student at UTSG, described this feeling when she found herself being the only Black student in a room: “When I walked into the room, I immediately noticed that I was the only Black person there. As I sat down, I found myself looking around silently, comparing myself to everyone else: how they looked and how they carried themselves, and I felt like it was one of those moments where you become hyper-aware of how different you are from the people around you.”
Taiwo pointed out that at UTSG, the East Asian and the white communities make up a significant portion of the student demographic. She said, “I’ve noticed that the East Asian beauty standards prioritize being as thin as possible, which is quite different from the main beauty standard in the Black community, where we like curves… I sometimes feel that my body, my features, and my presence don’t quite fit the unspoken standard that I see around.”
I also spoke to Betty Idan, a third-year UTSG student studying information science, who pointed out how isolating it can feel to be one of the only Black students in a room. “I don’t
see Black people taking enough space at U of T,” she explained. She said that when attending extracurricular club meetings, she feels the difference, “I’m the only Black girl there… It does impact people’s self-confidence and self-image because they don’t feel like they can take that space.”
But positively, Idan voiced that, “For me personally, it doesn’t really impact my self-image or my confidence.” When asked if she noticed a beauty standard on campus, Idan described the dominant aesthetic on campus as “very petite, very dainty, on the skinnier side.”
After reflecting on what I’d observed and received from the Black students I interviewed on campus, I realized I wasn’t alone. Beyond selfindulgent navel-gazing, speaking to other Black students about my convictions felt like a real reflection of our social condition; the Black body getting consumed and aesthetically obliterated by the dominant, thin ideal of non-Black beauty.
While many of us grappled with this phenomenon in our own ways, many of the interviewees recommended finding a Black community as a lifeboat. In this process, it’s dawned on me that amid the social erasure of Black bodies, we, as Black people, find each other. It is in this moment of crisis that we see, affirm, and define ourselves in ways the world refuses to.
Sammy Onikoyi is a Vice-President, Equity candidate for the 2025–2026 University of Toronto Students’ Union.
Artificial intelligence (AI) and machine learning technologies are progressing at an unprecedented rate, particularly over the last decade in industries such as healthcare, finance, and energy.
These areas benefit from massive amounts of data that can be sorted and analyzed using AI, but how well do AI tools perform when faced with choice? How does AI assess the difference between right and wrong? At what point should AI be deployed in industries like law?
The decision to apply AI in law requires careful consideration of AI’s capability to discern and navigate complex ethical dilemmas. It also involves understanding the legal, social, and practical implications of its use and its consequences for society. To effectively implement AI in law, algorithms must account for existing racial bias.
Line between technological advancement and ethical responsibility
The debate over whether AI should be used for efficiency or to influence moral judgments is central to discussions about actuarial risk assessments in criminal administration. Actuarial risk assessments rely on historical data to estimate the probability of future events, often focusing on patterns in behaviour. Factors such as criminal history, employment, and substance
abuse are assigned numerical values based on a ‘risk scale’ designed to measure an offender’s likelihood of reoffending.
Can AI tools — which use algorithms to assess individuals’ projected risk of criminal behaviour — enhance the efficiency of judicial decisionmaking? The algorithm incorporates ‘normative judgments’ — evaluations of the rightness or wrongness of an action — in its prediction. This is intended to reduce the influence of subjective biases, including racial biases, in sentencing individuals.
These tools may help identify individuals who need frequent carceral supervision — such as individuals with a high risk of re-offending — and those who could benefit from alternative interventions, such as rehabilitation programs or restorative justice approaches. Carceral supervision refers to detaining individuals in prisons, jails, and other correctional facilities as a form of punishment.
In principle, if AI tools assess a defendant’s reoffending — whether low, medium, or high — judges are more likely to arrive at a sentencing decision deemed ‘objectively correct,’ or the most fair outcome. In a 2021 article, Indiana University’s law professor Jessica Eaglin states that AI tools could reduce incarceration by
consistently predicting who actually needs carceral supervision.
Over time, this methodology could shift the justice system from a punitive, incarceration-based approach to a more rehabilitative, individualized model. However, current risk assessments reinforce a racialized view of crime as seemingly neutral. This impacts fair decision-making as it fails to take an individualized approach to justice.
In his 2020 article published in ACM Digital Library, Harvard University PhD candidate Ben Green argued that “algorithmic fairness narrows the scope of judgments about justice.” Essentially, risk assessments and other machine learning models promote criminal punishment by perpetuating the existing carceral practices that are overdue for reevaluation.
While AI tools aim to reach the ‘right’ decision within given constraints, they have yet to fully capture the moral weight of ethical decisions, which are shaped by intangible human factors in the decision-making process.
Critical race theory and its impact on law and technology
The use of AI tools in areas like criminal administration, law enforcement, and surveillance often aims to achieve specific
goals like actuarial risk assessment. However, this approach overlooks the ethical dilemmas they present, which in turn reinforce existing systemic racial hierarchies in society.
Eaglin suggests that race and technology should be viewed as co-productive forces in achieving substantive justice. As critical race theory posits, race is a social construct shaped by people's lived experiences and interactions, reinforced by institutional structures that perpetuate societal norms and racial categories. Technology must be understood in the same way, as it possesses its own political dimensions that either uphold or challenge racial hierarchies.
We must look beyond the algorithm and question how AI tools are designed, and who holds discretion over the subjective choices that shape their use in sentencing.
Understanding race and technology as a social phenomenon invites a more critical perspective on AI tools’ presumed objectivity. This is especially important for vulnerable populations, such as Black, Indigenous, and people of colour, who are susceptible to wrongful convictions.
In 2019, Statistics Canada reported that “nearly one in five (18 per cent) Black people reported having ‘not very much’ or ‘no’ confidence in the police, which is more than double the proportion among the nonIndigenous, non-racialized population (8 per cent).”
These numbers are part of a larger conversation about how law, as a system of societal norms and legal entities, contributes to the social construction of race — a process mirrored in the technologies shaping our daily lives. Eaglin suggested that the challenge isn’t to restrict AI through law but to examine how law presents conflicting moral imperatives for the tools currently in use.
Sammy Onikoyi Varsity Contributor
Jeevandeep Bajwa Varsity Contributor
ELENA OSIPYAN/THE VARSITY
DOWON KIM/THE VARSITY
February 25, 2025
thevarsity.ca/category/science science@thevarsity.ca
The struggle is real, but the diagnosis isn’t
When ADHD goes unseen in Black women
Joanna Taiwo Varsity Contributor
ADHD has long been misrepresented as a condition that primarily affects hyperactive boys. Traditionally, it is diagnosed based on behavioural symptoms of inattention, hyperactivity, and/ or impulsivity. However, emerging research suggests that ADHD symptoms and prevalence differ by sex, yet these differences remain poorly understood by both scientists and the public.
What happens when the symptoms don’t fit that stereotype: when they appear in a Black girl quietly daydreaming in class or struggling to meet deadlines? The consequence is years of academic, personal, and mental health struggles — many of which could have been prevented with proper diagnosis and support.
This erasure of experience with ADHD leads to dysfunctions in development with social, emotional, personal, or occupational hindrances and years of silent struggles that an early diagnosis and support could have helped manage.
Is this a widespread failure of awareness? Or a system’s inability to see Black women in the first place?
The strong Black woman myth Black individuals and women are often overlooked, misdiagnosed, or dismissed by medical and academic professionals when it comes to ADHD diagnosis and awareness. Black women with ADHD thus face a double layer of invisibility. Not only are Black women with ADHD frequently dismissed by the same professionals because their symptoms don’t align with the dominant, men-centric hyperactive stereotype, but they also experience an added layer of racial bias — where struggles with focus, organization, and emotional regulation are seen as personal failings rather than signs of a neurodevelopmental disorder.
A 2024 analysis of 849,281 ADHD patients revealed that Black women were less likely to be diagnosed with the disorder, making up 1.62 per cent of the study.
The “strong Black woman” stereotype paints Black women as resilient, self-sacrificing, and emotionally unbreakable. While often seen as empowering, it discourages vulnerability. This
makes it harder for Black women to acknowledge their struggles or seek help in an environment already hostile to racialized individuals.
Growing up, whenever I struggled to focus, missed a deadline, or felt overwhelmed, I told myself to work harder. I didn’t allow myself excuses — only the belief that I needed to be stronger, more disciplined, and in control. Even as I struggled through my first year at university, overwhelmed by unfinished tasks and mental exhaustion, I hesitated to seek help. Asking for support felt like admitting a weakness — something I had been taught we weren’t supposed to do. I had internalized the “strong Black Woman” stereotype.
The stereotype demands resilience, leaving little room for the realities of neurodivergence. For example, ADHD paralysis is one of the most draining yet overlooked symptoms — a neurological shutdown that can leave people unable to start, prioritize, or complete tasks. For Black women, however, ADHD paralysis isn’t just about struggling with tasks; it’s also about the struggle of being dismissed by doctors, teachers, and family.
The gifted kid to failed adult pipeline
A widely known phenomenon among those with ADHD is the ‘gifted kid-to-failed adult pipeline,’ which describes the challenges faced by individuals labelled ‘gifted’ in childhood, but who struggle significantly in adulthood when the structured support of school disappears.
In elementary school, gifted students are recognized for intelligence, curiosity, and quick learning, masking their ADHD symptoms and excelling in subjects that interest them. The major shift occurs in college or adulthood when external structures fade, workloads increase, and the need for self-discipline becomes more pronounced. Individuals with ADHD then often struggle with chronic disorganization, maintaining routines, and executive function, making daily life and career stability challenging.
Childhood coping mechanisms — such as fidgeting to maintain focus or heavily relying on structured routines imposed by caregivers — become insufficient over time. Many individuals with ADHD spiral into self-doubt, burnout, and the crushing realization that something is no longer working.
I was recognized for my academic abilities from a younger age, and I continued to do well through high school. But structure was everything for me. Until high school, strict rules and parental oversight kept me in check: assignments were due, attendance was mandatory, and consequences were immediate.
Then university came, and everything was on me. Living away from home made it harder. No one cared if I skipped class, forgot an assignment, or missed a deadline. No phone calls home, no enforced structure — just me, struggling to keep up in a system that assumed I knew what to do.
When Segi Oduwole — a fifth-year student studying environmental studies and human geography, diagnosed with ADHD — started struggling in university, people around her insisted it was just a rough transition, not a sign of something deeper.
“It was hard to be taken seriously when I’d already gotten into U of T. I hadn’t really needed help for most of my life. So it was just everyone saying, ‘well, this is a new experience. Of course, it’s going to be hard. That doesn’t mean you have a different type of brain, it just means this is a new environment, you’re new to the city,’” Oduwole explained in an interview with The Varsity
It’s worth mentioning that as per a 2018 article in the Canadian Journal of Disability Studies, Black gifted kids only make up three per cent of Toronto District School Board’s (TDSB) gifted student population, despite 11 per cent of TDSB students being Black. It’s possible that Black students are not accurately recognized for their abilities, due to the same biases that keep so many Black individuals from proper diagnoses.
Black U of T students on navigating ADHD
Getting diagnosed with ADHD later in life often brings relief, but also grief.
Many people mourn the life they could have had: years of self-doubt and burnout that could have been avoided with the right support. For Black women, this grief is compounded by the reality that the system was never built to see us.
Proper care goes beyond just a diagnosis; it means having healthcare providers who are equipped to identify ADHD in women, particularly in Black women, beyond the stereotypical hyperactive presentation. It includes accessible, affordable diagnostic
services, therapy that acknowledges cultural factors, and academic and workplace accommodations that consider ADHD-related differences in learning, memory, and attention. It means creating environments where we don’t have to constantly prove our struggles just to be believed.
Students with ADHD continue to face challenges in self-advocacy within a system that fails to recognize their needs. Sammy Onikoyi — a thirdyear student studying information technology at the Faculty of Information and recently diagnosed with ADHD — and Oduwole both faced numerous obstacles in navigating this system.
Onikoyi spent months battling internalized shame before seeking a diagnosis, only to pay $2,000 for an assessment which wasn’t even required for accommodations. Oduwole pushed past family and cultural expectations that dismissed her struggles as mere adjustment to a new environment.
Both faced unclear guidance, inaccessible resources, and the burden of self-advocacy in an institution that often failed to meet them halfway.
U of T has long faced criticism for its limited mental health resources, leaving many students struggling to find adequate support. However, when it comes to ADHD accommodations, Accessibility Services is one area U of T gets right.
After obtaining the required documentation from a licensed healthcare practitioner, students can access support such as extended deadlines and scheduled breaks during tests, among other accommodations.
The staff at Accessibility Services are welcoming, and for many students, these aids greatly ease the challenge of navigating academics with ADHD. Doctors at the Health & Wellness Centre can also provide disability documentation when appropriate. However, the wait times can stretch for weeks, even months — just one example of the broader challenges within U of T’s mental health system.
For students from immigrant families and racialized backgrounds, mental health conversations are often met with skepticism, further complicating access to support. Despite these barriers, Oduwole and Onikoyi have one message for others with ADHD: you are not alone. Finding the right support can be the difference between just surviving and truly thriving. However, for many, that support remains out of reach — not because they don’t need it but because the system makes it so difficult to obtain.
A scientific history of romance and rebellion
How the human heart has come to represent life, love, and liberty
Throughout time, the human heart has been a source of wonder and fascination. Essential for sustaining life, the heart has also become a powerful symbol of romantic love and intense emotion across societies and cultures. Phrases like ‘my heart sank,’ and ‘I gave you my heart’ emphasize its prominence in language.
But how did an internal organ come to represent life’s most nuanced emotions? What distinguishes the heart from other vital organs, like the liver and kidneys? And what happens when scientists, with good intentions, begin to probe something that many consider sacred?
A tale as old as time: tracking the heart’s enduring power
Ancient humans first deciphered the heart’s significance through pulse-taking. In the Epic of Gilgamesh — one of the world’s oldest written works recorded 5,000 years ago in Mesopotamia — the hero, Gilgamesh, confirms the death of his friend by saying, “I touch his heart, but it does not beat at all.”
The recognizable thud of the human heart provided a tangible and widely applicable form of medical diagnosis long before anatomical dissections became the norm. It was quickly established that a racing heartbeat corresponded
with the intensity of activities; an accelerated heartbeat corresponded with intense activity, while a slowed heartbeat indicated a lack of it. Humans understand the heart’s importance through the pulse’s connection to a wide range of conditions, from chronic anxiety to breathing disorder sleep apnea, both medical issues marked by variations in pulse rhythm and speed.
Yet, the heart’s influence extended beyond physiological curiosities. Transforming from a beacon of physical health to a representation of emotional connection, the refinement of the heart’s symbolism can be traced back to the early 1300s.
In the Romance of Alexander, a medieval French manuscript adorned with colourful imagery, a woman is depicted holding the heart of a man who sits before her. He touches his chest to indicate where the gift came from. With the heart having cemented its status as a vital organ, receiving it as a present from a loved one came to symbolize the sacrifice and selflessness that define unconditional love.
Imagery of the heart soon blossomed throughout Europe, appearing on brooches, painted on canvases, and engraved on tombstones.
How the heart’s symbolism became an obstacle for science
Emotional metaphors of the heart soon became an impediment to scientific research in the late 1800s. Connotations of the heart as a window
to the soul led to an ethereal veil of sacredness and fragility being placed upon it. As its symbolism became etched into religious traditions, meddling with the heart came under scrutiny by many in the scientific community. Prominent German surgeon Theodor Billroth was quoted saying, “A surgeon who tries to suture a heart wound deserves to lose the esteem of his colleagues.”
As the organ’s symbolism persisted, the ethics and even the necessity of cardiovascular surgery fell into question: the heart was deemed sacred, and medically exploring the heart was deemed inappropriate. Consequently, medical innovations in heart surgery slowed in the early 1900s. Few surgeons rose to the challenge of grappling with the wounded heart and the weight of its sociocultural significance. Those who attempted to perform heart surgery were often ridiculed by the rest of the scientific community, with successful operations dismissed as anecdotal or miraculous.
Groundbreaking pediatric operations performed by Dr. Robert Gross and Dr. Alfred Blalcok in the mid-1900s helped establish cardiovascular surgery as a viable and essential option for heart patients. A string of successful procedures paved the way for the world’s first successful heart transplant, performed by South African surgeon Dr. Christiaan Barnard in 1967. This led to an unprecedented media frenzy as the world buzzed with the newfound possibility of “spare part surgery.”
Heart transplants changed more than just medicine
Yet, ethical dilemmas quickly arose as the social dynamics surrounding the transaction of such a priceless ‘gift’ were considered. The intimacy entangled within transplant surgeries cannot be ignored. With the most symbolic organ of the human body involved, an emotional connection between patient and donor is inevitable. How can one just move on after receiving an entire heart from a stranger? The surgery involves an emotional transaction, as the donor’s death saves the patient’s life.
The heart’s enduring symbolism, combined with its medical allure, made heart transplants a liminal tool for social change, challenging widespread socially constructed differences between people. For example, ideas of inherent biological differences between races were contested through the medical miracle of heart transplants after Dr. Barnard conducted his second heart transplant between a mixed-race man and a white patient.
The combined effect of a cardiac operation’s innovation along with the heart’s long-standing emotional symbolism emphasizes the organ’s prominence in culture and conversation today. Tracing the development of its symbolism reveals the heart as a crucial subject of human nature, as it floats past the barrier of physical anatomy and into the realm of our cultural consciousness.
Mehar Singh Arts & Science Columnist
XIN-WREN SHAN/THE VARSITY
Dr. Kaajal Abrol talks women’s reproductive health at TEDxUofT
Destigmatizing infertility and getting proactive about your body
Emma Appathurai Varsity Contributor
On January 26, the TEDxUofT student team organized a conference, themed “Mosaic,” where a diverse group of speakers and performers shared their experiences and perspectives on contributing to Canadian culture.
Among the speakers was Dr. Kaajal Abrol, a Toronto-based fertility specialist. As a graduate of McMaster School of Medicine, Dr. Abrol completed her residency in Obstetrics and Gynaecology and fellowship in Gynaecologic Reproductive Endocrinology and Infertility at U of T. She aimed to educate young people who are able to get pregnant through her TEDx talk, encouraging them to proactively learn about their reproductive health and take control of their fertility timeline.
Subliminal messaging and perception of fertility
Dr. Abrol began her presentation by addressing the constant influx of messages women receive about their fertility — that they won’t be able to get pregnant past the age of 30, or that if they’re any older than 18 their body is long past its prime. She pointed out that the conversation surrounding fertility remains the same as we age, even though our reproductive systems change. According to her and the World Health Organization, one in six people face difficulties getting pregnant. Infertility is now classified as one of the most common
medical conditions for people of reproductive age.
Dr. Abrol has worked with women at every stage of life and has seen firsthand how the constant subliminal messaging targeted at young people about avoiding unplanned pregnancies has led to a lack of knowledge about the next phase of fertility.
“I’m healthy, I feel young. [I] thought I could get pregnant whenever I was ready,” one patient mentioned to her. Another told her, “I thought IVF [in-vitro fertilization] could help me, regardless of my age.”
As a fertility specialist, Dr. Abrol has encountered countless patients who were caught off guard by fertility challenges, all because they assumed everything would be fine. Her advocacy work, through lectures and her podcast, aims to dispel myths about fertility and share her knowledge with those who need it the most.
Taking a look at the numbers
To make the abstract concept of fertility more comprehensible, Dr. Abrol broke down the exact timeline of fertility health. At birth, an individual has about two million eggs, or ova. By puberty, this number decreases to 300,000–500,000. By age 30, it’s reduced to about 25,000. Understanding these numbers is crucial as it helps an individual assess the health and quality of their ovarian reserve, which can impact procedures like egg freezing or IVF — the process of retrieving eggs to fertilize outside the body.
She explained that the key tests for ovarian reserve include testing Follicle-Stimulating Hormone (FSH), Antral Follicular Count (AFC), and measuring Anti-Mullerian Hormone (AMH) levels.
FSH is a hormone the brain releases to stimulate the ovaries to mature an egg for ovulation, while the eggs in the ovaries produce AMH. AFC is an ultrasound-based test that determines the number of eggs remaining in the ovaries.
FSH levels would be low in a healthy reproductive system, while AFC and AMH levels would be higher. According to Mount Sinai Hospital, as a cis woman ages, estrogen production decreases, resulting in higher FSH levels, which is perfectly natural with age. Dr. Abrol also noted that the average age of menopause — when the menstrual cycle typically comes to an end — is 51.
Dr. Abrol’s lecture aimed to educate the audience about what constitutes a normal menstrual cycle so that we can take action when things deviate from the norm. She goes into more detail on these topics in her podcast, Fertility Doc Talk, where she answers some of the most commonly asked questions.
Is the three-body problem unpredictable?
Even the most chaotic systems follow a pattern
Alternative reproductive routes
Dr. Abrol also explored how we should approach our own fertility. As she was speaking at a university, her advice was primarily geared toward people in their 20s and 30s who want to have children in the future. Being proactive and getting tested can have enormous benefits in terms of planning ahead — such as egg-freezing.
Egg-freezing involves removing a number of eggs from the ovaries and prompting them to mature, saving them for when you’re ready to have children. When that time comes, the eggs are thawed, fertilized, and implanted through IVF. Dr. Abrol pointed out that IVF is not always effective; it simply offers a better chance of having children later in life. Overall, it is a safe and powerful tool for navigating careers and relationships as young adults.
Dr. Abrol’s objective of raising awareness about reproductive health and encouraging earlier conversations speaks to the broader need for more accessible education about fertility and how it changes over time. In her words, “Informed individuals are empowered individuals.”
Did watching Netflix’s 3 Body Problem make you think about chaos? The 2024 series, based on Cixin Liu’s novel of the same name, explores the unpredictable weather on a fictional planet orbiting within a three-body system of three stars.
I turned to my friend Deepayan Banik, a U of T PhD student researching extrasolar planets. Together, we realized that while the series masterfully introduces viewers to Trisolaris, the fictitious planet, it presents the three-body problem from a narrow perspective.
The three-body problem refers to the issue of predicting the path of three celestial bodies in a closed system. While Newton’s law of universal gravitation can predict the exact paths of two bodies, it becomes significantly more difficult when a third body is added to the mix.
It turns out that the presence of three stars in a system doesn’t automatically lead to unpredictable, chaotic conditions. Take the planet Proxima Centauri b: this exoplanet, as in from outside the solar system, and the closest one to Earth, is part of a three-star system — yet it maintains a stable orbit, seemingly contradicting the experiences of Trisolarans.
To explore this, we’ve examined why predicting
the behaviour in a three-body system is difficult. U of T Computer Science Professor Steve Easterbrook’s book Computing the Climate profoundly shaped our understanding of the three-body problem’s impact on both celestial mechanics and climate science, inspiring the perspectives presented here. Easterbrook is a professor who aims to make computer science more accessible, whether it’s about the climate or the chaos all around us.
What makes the three-body problem so difficult to solve?
In 1889, to celebrate the birthday of King Oscar II of Norway and Sweden, astronomers proposed a prize for anyone who could provide a precise analytical solution to the three-body problem.
The prize was eventually awarded to Henri Poincaré, a mathematician and theoretical physicist, not for solving the problem but for demonstrating that a general analytical solution does not exist. Instead, an infinite number of solutions are possible.
Finding a specific solution to the problem requires effort, but it is not impossible. For example, the discovery of Neptune in 1846 — linked to a three-body solution involving the Sun and Uranus — predates the prize!
It requires a lot of math to solve even one specific three-body system. Thankfully, we have
powerful computers today. Additional challenges arise from the imprecise knowledge of the system’s initial conditions.
In physics, chaos refers to systems that are governed by laws that apply at any moment in time and are also extremely sensitive to changes in conditions like temperature, pressure, and speed — tiny differences can lead to significantly divergent outcomes.
This concept parallels the distinction between weather and climate predictions. Short-term weather forecasts can be unreliable due to minor measurement errors that amplify over time, resulting in significant variations. However, when examining long-term patterns, these variations average out, allowing for more reliable climate predictions. This chaotic sensitivity to initial conditions is what makes the three-body problem both fascinating and formidable to solve.
From 1889 till now, a generalized solution to the three-body problem is still unknown.
Chaos in the real world
Chaos is everywhere — in human or insect populations, irregular heartbeats, financial markets, group dynamics, weather prediction, and space missions. Essentially, chaos appears in any system that can be mathematically modelled using nonlinear equations.
If you want to explore one of the most intuitive
chaotic systems on a computer, our very own Physical and Environmental Sciences Professor Hanno Rein co-developed ReboundX, a library of code that simulates the physics of the threebody problem. It allows researchers to add new effects to planetary system models, which help scientists study planetary motion.
As for Trisolaris, whether such a planet could actually exist is a common question in astrophysics, especially given that over 5,000 exoplanets have been observed so far. Thanks to NASA’s space satellites — including Kepler, the Transiting Exoplanets Survey Satellite, and now the James Webb Space Telescope, which are in risky orbits around the Earth and the Sun — we can study these exoplanets from thousands of light years away. Understanding a planet like Trisolaris would require knowledge of how it orbits its star and its climate patterns, both of which independently exhibit chaos.
Like the climate-weather analogy, there are numerous other instances where we know the statistics, but not the exact law. We have a rough idea of how long we might live on average, but can we pinpoint exactly when the inevitable will occur? With the recent progress of artificial intelligence (AI), we often talk about AI taking over humanity — but what other paths could it take? Could such a model be chaotic? Perhaps! Or perhaps not!
Harshit Gujral & Deepayan Banik Varsity Contributors
Dr. Kaajal Abrol took to the TEDxUofT stage to discuss fertility and reproductive health. COURTESY OF SEASON XIANG CC TEDXUOFT
JISHNA SUNKARA/THE VARSITY
Sports
February 25, 2025
thevarsity.ca/section/sports sports@thevarsity.ca
In conversation with Varsity Blues men’s track and field captain
Phikelela Moyo discusses the convergence of his athletic, academic, and career aspirations
Caroline Ho Associate Sports Editor
Many U of T athletes pursue academic disciplines that align with their athletic experiences. For instance, the kinesiology program is a popular choice among Varsity Blues, providing students with practical opportunities to bridge academic disciplines and athletic experiences through studying human movement and mechanics.
However, as a student pursuing a psychology specialist and a statistics minor, Phikelela “PK” Moyo takes a different approach. In an interview with The Varsity, the men’s track and field captain details the ups and downs throughout his athletic journey, as well as how his athletic experiences have contributed to his academic and career aspirations.
Beginnings in athletics
Moyo’s journey in track and field began around grade four when he joined his elementary school’s team. In addition to track and field, he was a member of the soccer team. “I knew that I was fast [through playing soccer]… I was not really enjoying the sport, but I did enjoy running.”
It wasn’t until grade eight that he decided to seriously pursue track and field and joined his local track club, the Oakville Legion Track and Field Club — now renamed the Oakville Renegades Track Club — deciding in grade 11 that he wanted to run at the collegiate level.
With the COVID-19 pandemic interrupting his formal training that year, Moyo trained diligently, setting a goal to make it to the provincial Ontario Federation of School Athletic Associations (OFSAA) Track and Field Championships in grade 12.
“[I wanted to] use that [as an opportunity] to find universities that I would be interested in going to, which ultimately landed me at U of T.”
Collegiate athletics
In grade 12, Moyo committed to an NCAA Division 1 (D1) college in the US. However, he declined his acceptance at the last minute, opting to attend U of T instead.
“Although I was going D1 and that’s what I wanted to do, [I thought that] it was not very sustainable… I would rather prioritize my education over my sports because you can do sports anywhere, but [your school] matters.”
It was not until he tried out for the team and joined as a walk-on that he realized the depth of talent on the Blues’ track team. “I think when I came in, we were ranked second or first… I feel like I got the best of both worlds.”
Moyo contributed to the team’s success in his freshman year, placing seventh in the 60m dash at OUAs in under seven seconds. He also was a part of the Blues’ 4x200 metre relay team at U SPORTS, which placed sixth. Then, he captained the men’s track and field team in his second year, where they achieved a team U SPORTS silver medal.
Leadership and captaincy
As captain, Moyo has described keeping team morale high as a key aspect of his role. For him, it's important that “people don’t feel discouraged about getting hurt and things like that. I’ve also been in that position, so I know what it’s like to feel left out or down because of an injury that took you a week or two back.”
Moyo’s inspiration is track and field icon Trayvon Bromell — who shares the same faith and religious values — and takes inspiration in his ability to cope with setbacks and pushing through despite encountering various injuries. “I was close to quitting track multiple times, but I know I can keep pushing because others have been doing that at a higher level.”
Another athlete he regards as an inspiration is Shaun Maswanganyi, a South African sprinter who recently won a silver medal at the 2024
individual event.
Regarding his goals beyond athletics, Moyo has plans to leverage his athletic experience and connections gained through track and field to supplement his career aspirations, offering an introspective approach to bridging academic, athletic, and career pursuits.
you push through that. [The same goes for] assessments; they don’t always go your way, but… life keeps going.”
The Varsity wishes Moyo and the Varsity Blues Track and Field Team good luck at the upcoming OUA and U SPORTS final competitions!
Varsity Blues Women’s fencing team win provincial gold
First place finishes from the épée and sabre teams lead Blues to OUA banner
TianTian
Dong
Varsity Contributor
The Varsity Blues women’s fencing team reclaimed the provincial Ontario University Athletics (OUA) title on the weekend of February 8–9, securing their sixth banner in seven years. The team’s victory was fueled by dominant performances from the epée and sabre squads, both of which topped the podium, while the foil team contributed with a thirdplace finish.
This year’s OUA Women’s Fencing Championship occurred at Queen’s University in Kingston. The first day featured individual events, while the second day was dedicated to team competitions.
Fencing is divided into three weapons: épée, sabre, and foil. Épée is the slowest-paced, with the entire body as the target. Foil follows priority rules, but unlike épée, only the torso is a valid target. Sabre is the fastest weapon, allowing fencers to score with the edge or tip of the blade while targeting everything above the waist.
What happened?
The Blues finished the individual events with impressive results: épée fencer Lilla Mucsi claimed gold, defeating last year’s OUA champion, York Lions’ Liza Yemolenko, in a close 15–13 bout. Other standout performances in the individual
events included épée fencers Nicole Su and Blues team captain Anna Mucsi, who respectively finished fifth and sixth.
The foil team also delivered strong results, with Catherine Wu in fourth, Léa Zizzari in sixth, and Zoey Xie in seventh. In sabre, Janna Elshakankiri earned bronze, while Salma Elshakankiri finished sixth. With most U of T’s fencers advancing to the top eight bracket, the team already led with the most points by the end of the first day.
In last season’s championships, all three weapon teams fell to the Western Mustangs in their respective gold medal matches. The second-place finish ended our five-year OUA winning streak. Determined to reclaim the banner, all three teams gave their best on the final day.
This season was different. Although a 45–39 loss disappointed the Blues women’s foil team to the Western Mustangs early in the elimination rounds, they quickly regrouped to defeat the Queen’s Gaels 45–20 and secure the bronze medal.
Just before the women’s foil team secured third place, the sabre team made a heroic comeback in the final bout of the gold medal match. Despite an injury near the end, team captain and anchor Janna Elshakankiri continued to fence with the team trailing 43–42, defeating the Gaels with a close 45–44 win.
After a long and exciting weekend, the épée
team sealed the victory. Following last season’s heartbreaking 41–40 defeat against the Mustangs, the Blues made a triumphant comeback, defeating this year’s Mustangs 45–36.
“There was a [lot of] pressure on us [at] this OUA [championship] to make a comeback after losing our streak, and we really wanted this,” Janna Elshakankiri said in an interview with “Coming together and working as hard as we could to put [everything] we've done throughout the season into two days… I'm very happy that it… work[ed] out and we were able to [win] the championship again.”"
What’s next?
The women’s team’s season has ended following the provincial championship. The men’s team continues training in preparation for their OUA championships, which will take place on the first weekend of March in Kingston.
Tian Tian Dong is a member of the Varsity Blues Women’s Fencing Team. She fences on the foil team and finished in 16th place individually out of 42 competitors.
The Varsity congratulates Dong and her remarkable teammates on their provincial banner.
The dominant Blues captured their sixteenth title in
Jake Takeuchi Sports Editor
Finding the home of rhythm at U of T
Joy, soul, and community at the Afro-Dance and Culture Club
As you walk near Hart House’s dance studios, you might catch a faint beat of a Rema track or the rhythmic steps of an Afrobeat dance through the wooden floors. If you do, follow the sound — you’ll likely find the Afro-Dance and Culture (ADC) Club hosting one of their regular dance workshops.
And the best part? You’re invited.
The ADC at U of T shares the joy of African and diasporic culture through Afro-Dance. This broad genre encompasses dance styles originating from across the African continent. Africa’s 54 nations, the thousands of tribes, communities, and ethnic groups, and the diverse diasporic communities each have unique musical traditions.
The genre of Afro-Dance is a broad term for African music that shares features such as its deep roots in traditional African movement, its incorporation of polyphonic rhythms — the simultaneous combination of more than one rhythm — and its emphasis on collective performance. ADC hosts Afro-Dance workshops and performances, along with a variety of events such as crochet workshops, trivia nights, and roundtable discussions on African news.
“Come and be free”
“We know a lot of people don't do Afro-Dance — after all, we're in Canada — so it’s like an introduction […] come and learn. Come and be free. Come and be happy. Come […] and learn more about Africa from Africans,” said ADC’s artistic director Frances Cudjoe in an interview with The Varsity Cudjoe, a second-year U of T student studying genome biology and political science, choreographs and teaches the club’s flagship dance workshops. She leads dances across various Afro-Dance genres, including Afrobeat, Amapiano, and Congolese waist-winning, as
“There is technique to it, but it is a lot about how you have your own rhythm… it's not super strict on how each move should be… performed. It's very much how you feel like you should perform it in a way where it showcases… your personality and your own expression of that dance move.”
- Nyokabi Muchuku
well as modern, and “hip” adaptations popular on platforms like Tik Tok.
Cudjoe emphasized that these classes are “beginner-friendly” and that you do not need to be African or of African descent to join.
“I've learned… how to bring people out of their comfort zone… I love… that feeling of bringing people from all different facts of… life to just see that, hey, chale, you can do this,” said Cudjoe.
Chale is a slang term meaning friend in Ghana.
“There's just something about the soul of Afro-dance that feels different… it's entwined so much in the music in itself,” said Cudjoe. She explained, “Traditional dances are more for formal settings, so we make it… more accessible to everybody. And I don't know it's just something about Afro-dance, the vibe around it… that has joy in it.”
ADC President Nyokabi Muchuku is a fourthyear student at U of T, studying human biology, immunology, and medical anthropology. In an interview with The Varsity , she said, “There is technique to [Afro-dance], but it is a lot about how you have your own rhythm… it's not… super strict on how each move should be… performed. It's very much… how you feel like you should perform it in a way where it showcases… your personality and your own expression of that dance move.”
She added, “I think a lot of people resonate with that, because they're able to express themselves in a way where maybe they're not able to do it in like other dance forms.”
For students who don’t know much about the genre, ADC executive members recommended artists such as Rema, Tems, Ayra Starrs, Camidoh, Holiday, Tyler ICU, and Uncle Waffles. “All of us are Rema stans,” said Cudjoe, who passionately listed her AfroDance favourites.
Cultivating culture, creating community While dance is central to the club’s identity, it’s only half the story. Muchuku explained that ADC is also about “bringing… African culture to the campus of U of T.”
Muchuku has been part of the club throughout her undergraduate years. She fondly recalled attending virtual dance workshops during her first year before joining the executive team as social media manager in her second year and later as artistic director in her third. “[Because of] the fact that we were hybrid, a lot of the times I was at home… the number one thing I was looking for was… community,” she said. Beyond Afro-Dance classes and performances, the club also celebrates African culture through a variety of events. Last November, ADC hosted an ‘Ultimate African Family Meeting,’ where members discussed everything from contemporary political issues to the age-old debate of ‘who makes the best jollof rice.’
For many, the club provides a meaningful connection to their heritage. “It's kind of nice because a lot of us miss home,” said Cudjoe. “I haven't been home since I came here. So it's a nice community. It feels like you're getting hugged by a blanket.”
Currently, there are no student associations specifically for African students at UTSG. UTM and UTSC have dedicated African Student Associations, and UTSG has clubs for students from specific countries in African countries — such as the Nigerian Students Association and the Somali Students Association — but there is no pan-continental group at UTSG.
The ADC is working to bridge this gap. “We like to call ourselves… the African Student Association for this campus,” joked Muchuku. Similarly, Cudjoe added, “ADC is trying to be the African Students Association.”
“The Black Student Association is really helpful with being able to find community when it comes to… black students, but a lot of times you want to find something that's maybe a little bit closer to home,” said Muchuku. “So many people are finding our club first when it comes to… African students clubs.”
ADC’s next dance workshop will take place on Wednesday, February 26, from 6:00–8:00 pm in the Hart House 2034 Debate Room. The club will also perform at the Hart House U of T Festival of Dance on March 21–22.
“We try to break down each step, and by the end of it, you'll know, like a, at least, like a 20- to 30-second piece of choreography,” said Muchuku. “You don't have to be African… or have African parents, or be from the diaspora… if you're just interested in dance, I definitely would recommend coming to one of our dance workshops.”
“If you want to have fun, if you want to learn more about the African continent, if you want to go and enjoy yourself, and just party or learn a new dance move, the ADC, that's where to go,” said Cudjoe.
The ADC is more than just a club — it’s the home of rhythm at U of T.
Photo February 25, 2025
thevarsity.ca/section/photo photo@thevarsity.ca
Worst case scenario, you get some free food!
An invitation to all Black-identifying students on campus
Mozelle Ofori-Atta, Varsity Contributor
The UTSG Black Student Association (BSA) was founded in 1999, marking its 25th anniversary in the 2024–2025 school year. A milestone of 25 years of dialogue, growth, and community — still evolving with each generation. While this achievement is certainly worth celebrating, what stands out most to me is that Black-identifying students have had a space to come together, support one another, and have their voices heard for years.
My history I first came across the BSA in June 2022 — at the end of my first year — while simply searching for something fun to do. At the time, I had no direct interest in seeking out a Black-centred community. Having grown up in environments with little Black or African presence, like many others, I became accustomed to being one of the only Black students in the room. I rarely felt
a need to look for a Black community because there simply wasn’t one, and I had gotten used to life without it. It wasn’t until I attended BSA events and later joined that I realized how refreshing it was to have such an easygoing and safe space. I didn’t have to explain or educate people about my experiences; I could simply exist and connect with people who understood, without question.
My experience with the BSA
Seeing as the BSA provided me with that safe space, joining it was a nobrainer. I took on the role of social media director in late 2023, and now nearly two years into the position, the BSA has helped me improve not only my social skills but also my networking abilities.
Through organizing events, collaborating with other student groups, and amplifying the voices of
Black students, I have gained skills and connections that have opened doors to numerous opportunities across campus. This club has taken me further than my first-year self could have ever expected.
Looking forward
One thing the BSA has taught me is the true value of safe spaces — not just a physical place, but as a sense of belonging. It’s the feeling of having a network of people who see you first and foremost as yourself, rather than defining you by arbitrary traits like your skin colour.
I encourage everyone to attend such events, step out, and meet new people in your community. I hope that for future generations, attending these events and connecting with others will make as positive a difference in their lives as it did in mine. Worst case scenario, you leave with some free food!
A
1 Cardinal direction from Robarts Library to Convocation Hall, abbreviation 4 Held in suspense, as breath 9 Big name in elevators
Oodles
Plant source for tequila 15 Leave at a friend’s house and then forget to pick up, maybe
Open the door to
Not 13-Across 19 What vegans don’t eat besides meat 22 Word famously spelled out by Doug Ford in a speech about how the homeless should “start working like everyone else is” 23 One of the Hawaiian Islands 24 “All Eyez on Me” rapper
Great Lakes fish also known as “cucumber fish” due to their cucumber-like smell 29 Like some sturdy stockings 32 Ride
Texting tech
___ & Stitch 42 Gives credit (to) 46 Still up for debate 48 ___-Wendat (people whose ancestral lands U of T is located on)
49 Use crayons or markers (US spelling, sorry)
51 “I couldn’t have done it, I was asleep,” for example 54 Golf course standard 56 Both sides of an issue… illustrated by three crossings in this puzzle 60 Once again 62
Like some wine and cheese
6 Russian band with the 2002 hit “All the Things She Said” (part of in the album 200 km/h in the Wrong Lane)
7 Kick out
8 Mouthpiece
9 Hello sign found on Dundas and Dufferin
10 Smoke shop, formally
11 Nephthys’ sister, in ancient Egyptian mythology
Parts of tennis matches
Put two and two together
Root vegetable in Nigerian cuisine
Made yarn, cotton candy, or a spider web
Member of a colony
‘___ we forget’ 28 Dare alternative in a common sleepover game 30 Generous words at a bar 31 ___ up (come clean)
32 Athleisure lead-in to “lemon” 33 “Let’’s do this!” 34 1980s soap opera set at a winery 36 Home of Machu Picchu
41 Initials on Drake fans’ hoodies
42 Type of rain jacket without a front zipper 43 Like the Woman, Life, Freedom movement 44 Ctrl+B, in a word processor 45 Horned creature associated with rainbows 47 Grp. with the 1973 gold album Brain Salad Surgery
50 Helicopter part
52 Subatomic particle with an integer spin
53 Spouse’s parent, maybe
54 Letter before Québec in the NATO alphabet
55 Unidentified, for short
57 Garment worn with a choli
58 ___ 51 (site of a 2019 would-be raid)
59 Turf
61 Chinese dynasty during the Three Kingdoms period
Convocation
to
Elise Corbin Varsity Contributor