Paralleling The Truman Show, or what we should have known all along The sacrifices we make for our pets
Time to Give
Toward a new work culture
Sacrifice or bust
Reflections on selfhood and sacrifice
The Balochi dress
Will you sacrifice your avocado toast to save someone else’s home?
Saving Face
Brooke Schilling
Samm Mohibuddin
Anika Brigant
Jessica Han
Nabneel Sarma
Constantine Vrachas Matthaios
Gleb Adamovych
Mashiyat Ahmed
Varsity Contributor
Kanak Gupta
Grace Lu
One woman’s sacrifice is another’s guilt
Hunting Game
Living in limbo
A toast to self-care
Caged Bird
A termite’s guide to self-sacrifice Blood, sweat, and red cards
The Supplication of Prometheus, Chained Perfect body, perfect soul
Saira Saundh
Tristen Ashworth
Jake Takeuchi
Sara Moretto
Emi Cermjani
Quincy Jackett
This magazine contains sensitive content that might disturb readers. The content may contain depictions and mentions of death, violence, self-harm, eating disorders, and systemic violence. Please be aware of potential triggers throughout the magazine. *pages 36 and 47 contain visual representations of gore and nudity.
Letter from the Editors
Closing my eyes, I think of all the things that make life’s messiness meaningful. Amidst the painful strokes of red and the soft silhouettes of memories, the word “sacrifice” becomes intelligible to me.
Melodramatic as it may seem, this is quite literally how I came up with the theme for the magazine. And it suddenly became clear to me that sacrifice is what stitches sorrow and beauty into life, long before life’s beginning and far beyond its end.
Sacrifice is the trail of history we leave behind which stains the world no matter how long it may go forgotten.
Sacrifice is not always about giving up desire or love; it’s also often about giving up what you think you know and understand. In order to grow, I had to give up juvenile comforts, and the dark corners I called home; in order to be seen, I had to risk feeling and being unseen.
Moving forward and becoming who you are requires us to sacrifice who we were. The essence of life is loss and growth, and both often come at the cost of something — sometimes even at the cost of one another.
When I remember the most formative moments of my life, I can’t help but see, now, that at least some part of the lessons I learned from them came with a sacrifice: innocence for wisdom, resentment for love, the choices we make and don’t make, all amount to sacrificing the paths we turn our backs to, or turn our backs from.
We sacrifice bits of ourselves when we open our hearts, as well as when we keep them tightly closed. We risk getting hurt in order to learn to be vulnerable; we let some people in, as we let others go. We regret, we repent; we hope and aspire; and we abandon the reality we know when we expose ourselves to ideas that challenge our worldviews.
Life finds its roots in sacrifice, which has the power both to destroy and renew us.
Either way, we can rely on our sacrifices to change us.
Sophie Esther Ramsey Magazine Editor-in-Chief
Istill remember when Sophie, whom I’d only just met, nonchalantly mentioned at our first meeting that her vision for the magazine was sacrifice — a daunting task indeed, I thought.
Throughout the process of making this magazine, a visual story emerged about something integral to our daily life — whether the sacrifices are big or small, material or emotional.
Sacrifice is a term that initially evokes certain mental images, but with prolonged consideration, it expands into a multitude of meanings. As a result, this magazine is both simple and busy, retro and modern, aggressively grotesque and serenely peaceful.
My vision for the magazine was inspired by ’80s Canadian Opera Company magazines and the idea of blending old and new elements. Sacrifice often involves merging past and present in ways that can be both painful and joyous, and I aimed to reflect this in the design.
I am grateful to our design editors, Nicolas and Aksaamai, for sacrificing their reading weeks to work on design with me, and to Sophie for helping us find a creative direction that felt natural to us. Among the shades of red and black, I hope that both the simplicity and intensity of our creative vision shine through.
Kaisa Kasekamp Creative Director
Photographer
Zeynep Poyanli
Photographer | Zeynep Poyanli
Designer | Nicolas Albornoz
A Heart Shaped Box Unexpected sacrifices in the wake of grief
Writer | Brooke Schilling
Content warning:
This article discusses death and grief.
Queasily, I rolled over, tossed the knitted blanket aside to free my legs, and faced my mother. As always, she seemed to have been awake long before me. We shared a little smile and a glance, and everything felt normal. I lazily thumbed through a few pages of a book that was a bit out of my depth. I tried to spark up some small talk with my mum, but her pain had grown severe. Her voice was barely a whisper, preoccupied with fighting the strain of disease, and spluttering itself out. Still, she managed a quiet yet excitable, “Good morning, baby.”
I knew she wanted to talk like she used to, to be a mother like she used to. But most of our conversations were cut short by pain.
Pain is wicked and pain is evil. In its truest, most brutal form, it holds your eyelids open, forcing you to watch as someone you love loses their will.
Pain makes you so angry.
You are angry that plans have gone awry. You are scared, as
so much of anger is descended from fear. You walk it off, and you come back. She is still in pain. and now so are you.
I had long relied on my mother’s conversations to guide me through all the awkwardness and insecurity that encompassed my personality. I depended on her constant reassurance — reminders that somebody loved me exactly as I was.
I know she will die, but I didn’t realize that with her physical body, my ambition and desperation to make someone proud would die too.
Maybe it’s time to like boys? To latch onto another host and drain them instead. To rely on someone, still, but someone else — shift focus, reevaluate, and survive something more.
Death is strange. You plan to freak out, experience some internal melodrama, and cast a spotlight on the now-vacant hospital bed in the eerily quiet room before you.
Death is not like a play.
Your grief becomes a performance. Without haste, you start rounding up your mother’s belongings,
boxing them together, and pretending not to cry.
She would not want me to cry.
You assume a role: that of someone with no complicated feelings, someone who is numb. The façade of strength is a drug — one that gives you power over devastation. You console yourself through action: you prepare, tactically placing yourself in the line of another’s emotional fire; you burn yourself without thinking.
It’s what she’d want me to do.
There is no time to cry and be held, for the one who once held your pain is gone. You are no longer you; you are her new beginning and end, her second chance — death and rebirth personified in a teenage girl.
I promise, Mom, I will be someone.
My mother and I bonded through my talents. I loved singing, dancing, and hogging the spotlight — and I loved it even more when people loved me for being good at it. She spent countless hours
driving me around the province to various dance competitions, retrieving medals, awards, or whatever else — reaffirming the trinkets I could hold in my little, desperate-for-love hands. She loved it too, her smile wide, and perched up high on her cheekbones — a smile distinctive and unequivocally beautiful to her children.
I will never forget her smile.
A few hours after she died, my cousin swooped in and took me to my grandmother’s place. We curled up on the carpet, wrapping ourselves in blankets. The feeling inside me was indescribable as I lay awake during those early morning hours.
I felt my heartbeat against the floor, watched the morning light shift through shades of blue, and sensed that something inside me had shifted too. I was hungry for preoccupation: to sew wicked wounds with something meaningful. I needed to become exactly who she wanted me to be, and it all had to happen now — before I could begin to forget her. My God, what if I forget her?
I need to do everything right now.
You might think that from that point on, I would begin calculating my plans for recovery. If I didn’t have time, then surely I would work tirelessly to immortalize her pride in me.
Before her death, I was on track to audition for theatre schools. Now, par-
ents at my dance studio shoved bake sale money into my hands to compensate for the loss of my mother; perhaps money was a placeholder for words that could not express sorrow. My dance teachers continued to push me and connect me with the right people.
I didn’t want any of it anymore, and I still don’t know why.
“ ”
My late adolescence became a capsule of her death.
Something stopped.
I no longer cared. I couldn’t remember my dance routines, often stumbling through them. I skipped class, told my friends to get lost, and ran away from home.
I used to be normal, accomplished, and respected. I had the exact future my mother envisioned for me. I remember thinking.
This is what she’d want me to do.
But then, I sacrificed everything I had worked for, all to cling to the memory of my mother’s last hours on Earth.
When I skipped school, it was to write about her, to talk about her, to walk around, and to imagine a world in which she stayed. When I forgot my dance routines, it was because I imagined her in the corner, watching my every move.
It was as if I had become a spiritual extension of who my mother could have been. I had shipped myself off to my own private convent — forever indebted to her memory and cultishly devout to the event of her passing — sacrificing my own sense of normalcy.
I was devoted to my grief.
An inescapable, suffocating grief had tricked me into believing that every accomplishment I pursued while she was alive had to die with her.
Suddenly, my late adolescence became a capsule of her death.
And I am still hoping for the rebirth that comes after sacrifice.
I guess we will wait and see.
Courtesy of Samm Mohibuddin
A stranger in every city
Writer | Samm Mohibuddin
The sacrifice of identity and belonging
as an immigrant student
The pursuit of a better post-secondary education in a foreign country is a dream for many, establishing a new chapter in the lives of those fortunate enough to pursue it. Among my group of friends back home, I was one of the lucky few who had the opportunity to travel halfway across the world to attend university in Canada. It was an exciting feeling, to anticipate what was to come. At the same time, there was the fear of the unknown.
We often hear about the sacrifices involved in being able to study abroad. Stories of struggle from notable individuals serve as powerful anecdotes depicting the sacrifices of immigration and building a new life — such as Google CEO Sundar Pichai’s father saving his year’s salary to send Pichai abroad for further education, and blockbuster films like Minari, which showcases the struggles of immigrant families trying to pursue “the American dream.”
For the most part, these stories were inspirational and they motivated me to prepare for the labour of independence. Sleepless nights spent juggling assignments, managing a healthy diet, and maintaining my mental health while adjusting to new surround-
ings — all while trying to find time to breathe and settle down — were daunting. However, the sacrifice
coming to a multicultural city like Toronto made me feel like a fish out of water.
On top of the isolation of
I was left questioning what makes a place ‘home.’ Is it the familiarity of the surroundings, a sense of physical comfort, a presence of family, or something else entirely?
behind this adjustment was not what kept me up at night; it was the doubt about whether the journey ahead was worth it or not.
The sacrifice I want to highlight is much more subtle: the kind that creeps up on you over time. Without warning, the realization of this sacrifice can overwhelm you.
Learning a new way of life
The moment I boarded the plane to begin the journey, I unknowingly left everything I knew behind.
Back home, my city felt small. Friends and family were just a call away. No matter where I was, I rarely felt alone, as one of the perks of being in a homogenous society is that everywhere you go, you can relate to people. However,
not knowing anyone in this new city, it was quite hard to connect with others because my cultural identity is a significant part of who I am. During my first semester at U of T, I felt as though I was walking on eggshells. Since I was new to the city I had no one on campus who knew me, making every impression a first impression.
The itch to go back
Adjusting to the new norm was undoubtedly challenging. Joining clubs that brought together people from cultures similar to mine provided an outlet to express that dormant part of my identity. Yet even then, I always felt that ‘home’ was somewhere else.
Self-doubt was not uncommon during this time. Questions like, “will I ever
fit in?” and “is such a great opportunity being wasted on me?” often creep up. This is not to say that I wasn’t enjoying my time here. I was finding my own circle, getting to know the city, and the disappointment I felt in supporting Bangladesh in cricket had shifted to that towards the Maple Leafs. Oftentimes I’d even catch myself adding ‘eh’ at the end of nearly every sentence. Still, in my mind, ‘home’ felt far away.
The reality of going back ‘home’
I returned home for the summer at the end of my first year. After experiencing the notorious final exam season for the first time, I was looking forward to some much-needed respite. Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling of leaving behind a place where I had worked hard to create a sense of ‘home’ over the past year. It seemed I would have to put that part of myself on pause and rely on the half of me that I barely got to express: the part that, for the longest time, I believed was my true self.
When I left Bangladesh, I expected time to stand still — when I returned, I would simply pick up where I left off: I would call my friends, see family, and fall back into my old routine.
The reality, however, was that even though I did all those things — talking politics with fellow patrons at the local tea stall, playing street cricket with friends, and attending large family reunion dinners — my life in Bangladesh now played a different tune. Just as I was going through a transformative period in Canada, so were my friends and family back home. The time and distance that had passed between us hung in the air during our get-togethers. As we filled each other in, I couldn’t help but notice that I no longer felt like I was one of the cast in the daily lives of the people I was once closest to. While the love and affection
were still there, a gap had formed that I could do little to bridge.
A lot of my preferences changed: was I really betraying my roots by wanting a double-double instead of local chai in the morning? Would the sacrilege of eating Kachchi biriyani with a knife and fork be forgiven? I felt like the Ship of Theseus — if every part of a ship is replaced, is it still the same ship? Similarly, was I still the same person who once fit like a glove in Bangladesh?
What is home?
After the first month back home, I found myself wanting to return to Canada — it was my place of work,
living, and a future. Once again, I had to switch identities when I returned, repeating the cycle of adjusting and settling in. At the same time, the gap between my home and myself extended beyond geographical distance and the feeling of isolation that sometimes surfaced in Canada lingered during my time in Bangladesh.
I was left questioning what makes a place ‘home.’
Is it the familiarity of the surroundings, a sense of physical comfort, a presence of family, or something else entirely?
A few years ago, while travelling through Scotland, I encountered the tagline “People make Glasgow.” At
the time, I found it rather cliché. However, during this ping-pong match between Bangladesh and Canada, I came to understand that what you call home is defined by the significance of the people around you. It’s okay to connect with a culture outside of your own, and it’s perfectly fine to develop different ways of being in different places.
People understand themselves through their experiences, and I am no exception. We must embrace change as the only constant, recognizing that no two moments in life will ever feel the same — even in a place you call ‘home.’ It is this realization that makes the sacrifice worthwhile.
Courtesy of Samm Mohibuddin
When private and public spheres blur as they do now, public and private relationships struggle to form in tandem, leading to feelings of loneliness.
Consequently, we turn to the online world to feel connected.
Photographer | Kaisa Kasekamp
Designer | Nicolas Albornoz
Writer | Anika Brigant
It’s all true, it’s all real. Nothing here is fake. Nothing you see on this show is fake. It’s merely controlled.
— The Truman Show
Paralleling The TrumanShow,
or what we should have known all along
“Nothing here is fake” foreshadowed our digital reality
When I turn on my phone first thing in the morning, I’m still in bed. I only mean to check the time, but as I unlock the screen, I’m suddenly exposed to a whole array of lives — some of these lives I already know, but not from here.
Here, I see reels of parties, memes, and smiling selfies, where I leave a ‘like’ or a funny comment under-
neath. Others do the same for me. Honestly, I rarely see this more extroverted side of people in real life, where we’re actually busy, tired, messy, and broke. But we don’t talk about this disparity — unless we are, in reality, close.
When I enter social media apps, I’m promised convenient access to my friends and other communities beyond my social circle. I usually tap into this access from the remote setting of my room, often at two in the morning, but sometimes it’s on the subway or in a waiting room. In these moments, I define myself through pictures, captions, and comments to friends and in other communities in order to ‘connect’ with them.
But I am also giving the app my eyes — I show them which ads interest me, whose accounts I frequently monitor, and how much time I am willing to devote to ‘following’ online happenings. I sacrifice my privacy to acquire the human connection the app supposedly provides. In return, what I actually receive is a distraction.
Rarely, at two in the morning, am I thinking about how my exposed privacy alters my connection to the world. I am not wondering whether ‘connection’ is really a euphemism for ‘attention,’ nor do I question which one the apps desire more. In these moments, I do not see myself as vulnerable. Yet, the concern is a creeping one. I am increasingly worried about what we have sacrificed to social media, and what we have lost in doing so.
The making of our very own Truman Show
When I see people displaying their lives online in weekly, if not daily, updates — showing their meals, children at school, vacation spots, or just a series of photos with similar facial expressions in different outfits — I can’t help but think that the principle function of social media platforms is to give individuals a chance to cultivate and star in their very own version of The Truman Show.
The 1998 sci-fi movie follows Truman Burbank (Jim Carrey), who is adopted at birth by a corporation and placed inside a town-sized television set, where his life is unknowingly livestreamed to more than a billion viewers. All of his friends and family members are actors, guiding Truman’s life through scripts fed to them through earpieces. The show is said to generate revenue equivalent to a small country’s gross national product — the annual wealth produced by a country’s citizens, both at home and abroad.
Many viewers of The Truman Show reportedly leave it running overnight for comfort. Audiences are shown distracted at work, too focused on what Truman is doing on television to pay attention to their tasks.
The Truman Show promised its viewers a continuous, on-demand connection to their star. However, their star was unaware of his audience.
The bizarreness of this parasocial relationship is a recurring theme in the movie, especially during critical moments when Truman faces challenges; his viewers watch with intense focus, oblivious to their surroundings as if his decisions would directly impact their own lives.
To us, it is obvious that Christof (Ed Harris), the diegetic creator of the show, sold his viewers the comfort of distraction rather than genuine connection. It is also clear that the viewers’ attention was a profitable commodity, which is satirically demonstrated through the frequent and overt ad placements in Truman’s environment. While the parallels between this movie and today’s digital landscape border on the uncanny.
Could we have known what we were signing up for?
Many people, including myself, began generating their online footprints before the long-term consequences of social media were well-known. I personally signed up in middle school to fit in. My friends began referencing posts they had seen online or from conversations they
had over Instagram, and their patience for keeping me updated quickly waned. Reflecting on the make-itor-break-it mentality of my 12-year-old self, I wouldn’t say my choice to join social media was entirely voluntary. But it was fun for a while. I felt like I had broken through a new tier of social integration — I was now connected.
At 12, I consented to the ‘terms and conditions’ that allowed these applications to unreasonably collect volumes of private data about me: data that transformed into personalized algorithms that benefited the commercialization and manipulation of my interests.
With these now all-tooclear parallels between our lives and Truman’s, I feel a sense of nausea at how little we understood social media’s harms when we consented to participate in it. If given this foresight, I doubt my parents would have let me go online at such a young age, or with so few restrictions.
Unfortunately, this blindeye introduction to social media is something many of us experienced before the 2016 US Presidential election, woke culture, cancel culture, 4chan, and TikTok. Whether you believe the social, cultural, and political developments on social media have been good or bad, it’s undeniable that they are not what many of us signed up for when we initially joined these platforms.
Some other things I did not predict include phone addiction, body dysmorphia, corporate accounts, its potential effect on getting a job, its potential to become my job, ‘doom scrolling,’ and memes.
The sacrifice
of true connection
When we post, like, or comment on social media, we project a calcified form of connection without true social interaction. We do not communicate with each other, but rather with each other, and this distinction is important.
When private and public spheres blur as they do now, public and private relationships struggle to form in tandem, leading to feelings of loneliness. Consequently, we turn to the online world to feel connected. However, people who go online primarily to maintain relationships often feel lonelier than those who are online for other reasons; notably, as one study finds, for “avoiding difficult feelings.”
I believe we are becoming increasingly aware of the significance of personal and private information and how easily it can be co-opted online for interests that don’t align with the common good. Still, we’ve yet to exercise our right to privacy, which remains deprioritized even today.
Often unknowingly and in passing, we have given away the connection we initially sought, and the longer we stay on these platforms, the lonelier and more isolated we become. Until we understand that our online presence is not the same as public presence — and that intimate relationships require privacy, and formal relationships necessitate a clear boundary around privacy — the sacrifices we make for social media’s hyperreality will continue to reverberate unheard.
The sacrifices we make for our pets
Even as busy students, we will always put our pets first
Writer | Jessica Han
You’re almost ready to step out the front door, having just spent nearly two hours doing hair and makeup. You text your friends and let them know you’re about to leave. It’s been a while since all of you last saw each other and the only time you could squeeze them into your busy school and work schedule was this Friday evening.
Just as you grab your purse, you notice your dog drooling slightly from the mouth and looking lethargic. You quickly set your purse down, hurrying to your dog and inspecting every inch of her.
This is when you are faced with two options: seeing your long-awaited friends or rushing your dog to the vet. The answer is so simple that there’s really no decision to make. You love your dog. You would be willing to do anything for her.
Some of us would sacrifice anything for our pets.
Love and sacrifice go hand-in-hand
I have a beloved pet dog, a bichon poodle mix named Lemon. She’s mischievous, sometimes ridiculous, and my partner in crime, as I like to call her. She’s been unwaveringly by my side during the ups and downs in my life, never ceasing to make me laugh and smile every day. She’s an eightpound bundle of fluff and joy and I love her very much.
When you have a pet you love, your world ends up revolving around them and you make sacrifices to keep them happy and cared for — simply because you love them with every fibre of your being.
Vincent Quach, a U of T alumnus, can attest to
this. It is exactly what he promised to his betta fish, Lilac, upon first seeing her at the pet store. “She was my first ‘real’ pet fish — I actually felt a deep bond with her when I saw her at PetSmart for five dollars, and I thought, ‘I will take care of you the right way.’ So no more fish bowls and processed fish food, only the best of the best,” Quach said in an interview with The Varsity .
When someone decides to take care of a pet — whether it’s a dog, cat or even a fish — they usually want to care for them in a way filled with love and protection. Quach maintained his promise to Lilac by offering her top-quality food and by providing her with a safe home, a five-gallon fish tank packed with tall plants and a water heater.
Caring for a pet doesn’t necessarily mean giving them the most expensive food or the most lavish home. It means you are willing to give them the best you can, which is exactly what Quach did when he had his fish during his years as a student. He loved Lilac and was willing to put his all into caring for her.
Their happiness and your happiness
Sometimes, we have to sacrifice our mental health for the sake of our pets. Endure through the stress that comes with ensuring our dog or fish is healthy and happy because their happiness is ultimately our own happiness. In Quach’s case, Lilac suddenly became lethargic despite providing the best care he could offer her. He knew she was coming down with something and said that “diagnosing her was extremely stressful.”
After five days, Quach was able to pinpoint Lilac’s condition — an aquarium fish disease called velvet — and began treating her. Quach was a student at the time and recalls that monitoring his fish’s condition took up so much time that he could not take notes during his lectures.
“Even though it wasn’t a condition that would kill her overnight, I still worried about her since I wanted to be really certain that she was actually recovering. I believe I spent about $150 just to cure her for this disease, which some might say is a bit extreme for a five-dollar fish.”
Like Quach, I’ve had my fair share of stress when it comes to Lemon’s health and happiness. The time when Lemon was severely coughing because she had caught something at her daycare and I had to
rush her to the vet was equally as stressful, if not more. When Lemon had diarrhea, it took me days to identify what was causing it. Lemon’s refusal to eat her food for days until I upgraded her kibble to a not-so-cheap raw diet as a desperate last measure was more stressful than any final exam. I sacrificed my nose from the smell during that time and a carpet or two. The list only goes on from here.
But dealing with this stress was worthwhile. My dog always came out even happier and healthier, and these were the things worth sacrificing my mental health for.
Our pets come first
One of the things I incessantly tell my partner is that my dog comes
Photographer | Zeynep Poyanlı
Designer | Aksaamai Ormonbekova
first — even before you — and he simply nods in acknowledgement because there is no dispute, no other way. Sometimes, I’ve had to cut our dates a bit shorter, needing to return home to take Lemon out. When I’m out with friends, I tell them I have to get home by a certain time; there’s a little dog waiting for me. Lemon is always at the forefront of my mind no matter what, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Putting our pets first means we have to interrupt our routines. This means that we have to set aside our activities to meet their needs and plan around putting them first. A user in U of T’s Reddit community shared how their friend had to schedule around their dog’s needs. It was a schedule that consisted of attending class, coming home to walk their dog, going to work, and then returning to their dog before finally rushing to evening classes. A tiresome but necessary
I love Lemon — I will always put her first. I want my dog to be beside me as long as she can, and for that, I have to make sacrifices.
routine when you have a dog, and one I can deeply relate to.
Even with a fish or any other pet, you adjust your day-to-day routine for them. When Quach was treating Lilac, there were times he had to skip class to take care of her. He put her first over his courses because that’s what good pet parents do.
“This entire time, while I skipped class to take care of water changes or biked to
the pet store, I was thinking about Lilac and worried that the velvet would progress to the point of no return,” Quach recalled. Lilac overcame her disease and lived for three more happy years before eventually swimming on due to old age. But she still lives in Quach’s heart, as well as his profile picture. In times of need, Quach prioritized Lilac, allowing her to have a longer, healthier life.
Although it does seem like having a pet is exhausting, it is without a doubt one of the greatest decisions I’ve ever made, and many others who care for a pet will say the same. When I’m not feeling the best, Lemon cheers me up. She’s with me always and loyal to fault. I love Lemon — I will always put her first. I want my dog to be beside me as long as she can, and for that, I have to make sacrifices.
All the sacrifices that I’ve made for her, I’d make them all over again.
Time to Give
Writer | Nabneel Sarma
Squaring in another block of 12 minutes
To do homework that speaks In limits and variables.
The leaves ruffle around my chair, Cubicles surround the desk where I sit.
Swiping a button, I push away my lover and my friends, Replace them with club activities I must lead.
Close my Instagram, fold into my readings, cold and dry as autumn winds.
Try speaking to me again —
You’re just a number in my way.
Asking myself,
“Do I have another minute to give?”
I have more than enough pieces in my pocket left,
To devote my time to being a scholar. Gazing high in the notes of academia, To see if, for a whim, My name is printed there on the paper.
Schedule me something else:
Maybe a word, or a minute — 12 minutes at most, left in a day,
Thinking about the way you languish
So strangely.
I fail to see how we should look and listen
When our heads are buried
In the sand of the hour.
Schedule this day
As a day when I’ll finally jump
Off this mountain, I’ve been climbing
Halfway between the sun and the sky.
Glide over weeks of lectures and notes
Like a pigeon among office workers
In morning glory.
Give me a call at 9:00 pm, Book the rest of my week off.
Tell them to come back later, I’m falling up.
Illustrator | Vicky Huang
Toward a new work culture Sacrifice is for a purpose
Writer | Constantine Vrachas Matthaios
Photographer | Zeynep Poyanli
Designer | Nicolas Albornoz
If we have to hone ourselves into skill-obsessed workaholics, we might as well put those skills to good use — and I might argue we have the moral obligation to do so.
I’m sure you’ve felt it. Job searching has become futile.
One summer’s day in early June — as I wrote my 10th cover letter of the week — a realization hit me: to start a career, you need to have a career. I had exhausted the job board on CLNx and hit ‘Apply’ on every administrative, clerical, retail, and service job I could find; to no avail. Exhausted, I decided to try to see if my local McDonald’s is hiring. That should have been an easy in. They wanted an 85page questionnaire before I could submit my résumé.
If you’ve ever searched for work as a student, you know how much experience entry-level positions demand. With online applications, you have to outcompete hundreds, if not thousands of other potential employees. Without the most extraordinary qualifications, you don’t stand a chance. Even the official U of T career resource admits that using traditional methods of job seeking is futile: “If you are going to use job boards, combine this with other methods.”
I used weeks of what would have been a carefree summer taking online courses, volunteering, and establishing my personal development. I spent hours researching company values, history, purpose, and structure. I threw out a whole July to search for my career. And it felt, as I’m sure you’ve felt it too, utterly pointless.
Our current job market requires us to be the best we can be, as early as we can be: to make the most we can make, to grow our companies the most we can grow. Endless growth
is the endpoint. However, the limitations of that logic have begun to show. In a survey conducted by Mental Health America, 81 per cent of workers reported that their mental health is hindered by the stress they experience in the workplace. A wave of entry-level workers quitting or resigning so large it’s being called “The Great Resignation.” Many workers, sensing the uselessness of it all, are giving up this type of culture entirely to forge a quieter path of doing as little work as possible, prioritizing health, family, and other aspects of their social and personal life.
I’ve been tempted to do the same. It was not just my summer at stake, but my mental health too. Who says I couldn’t lie on my résumé, bluff through an interview, and spend the rest of my summer blissfully free? Reflecting on the meaning of work makes that choice unthinkable. While the quest for endless gains is harmful in its extremes, the problem is not the amount of work — it’s the purpose.
The (ideal) purpose of work
In 1780, US statesman John Adams grappled with the question of his work’s purpose. Frequently pulled from his family for diplomatic missions, he reflected that it was his duty to sacrifice his time to “politics and war,” so that his grandchildren could pursue “statuary, tapestry, and porcelaine.”
Adams’ writing gets to the heart of what it means — or should mean — to work in a society. His work, of “politics and war,” was a necessary sacrifice for his children’s future. It had a purpose: building a better
future for the next generation, who could do the same for their own descendants. In a truly functional society, work is about providing a needed good or service. Ideally, work contributes something to the common good.
No career guide today asks how you will contribute to a better world. Instead, career coaches help you build an arsenal of skills with no regard for where you would apply them. That’s how we end up with people in private equity firms, companies who buy smaller businesses, sell their assets, and collect the profit before driving them bankrupt and putting thousands out of work. Or people in fossil fuel companies who invest millions of dollars to spread lies about an impending climate crisis.
What is the purpose of this work? What value does it provide to society, aside from enriching the owners of these companies, of industries that employ millions of people who sacrifice their time and hone their skills to make the world an objectively worse place. The link between work and the common good has broken down, with hundreds of companies doing little more than polluting and exploiting others to enrich their shareholders. There are certainly valuable companies that produce work that benefits the general community, but nowhere near enough. All work should be meaningful. Otherwise, what’s the point?
The onus — and opportunity — of responsibility
With the weight of this knowledge hanging over my head, I took a different
approach in August. The last job I applied for this summer was as a vice-president communications assistant at a campus environmental and social group. Unlike when I was applying for private companies, I felt motivated to better myself for this job. I could connect the goals of the position — growth — to the greater goals of sustainability, access, and public service. I did what I was dreading to do: enroll in an online course on digital marketing. I checked out books about social media strategies, nonprofit branding, and audience segmentation. I did everything I was supposed to do to get a job, but I approached it with a newfound sense of pleasure. I finally felt that there was a purpose to what I was doing, and that work, along with all its requisite effort, was truly motivational. Instead of toiling away to sell a product, I was toiling away to meet people’s needs by providing necessary services.
I discovered that the incessant drive for growth and self-development is an opportunity.
I discovered that the incessant drive for growth and self-development is an opportunity. There are so many organizations and nonprofits out there doing good work and in need of talent. Work culture forces us to sharpen our skills and develop expertise so we can apply them where they’re needed. You, the reader, are likely a U of T student with a tapestry of career development opportunities, capable of offering so much to the world. Addressing climate change? Navigating inequality? Combatting hate? These are just a few pursuits our world needs to accomplish, and our work and ambition can help fill those gaps — if we put in the effort.
Viewing work as an opportunity is a privileged viewpoint. I know that the workplace tends to exclude anyone who isn’t straight, white, or male with an early access to career and education opportunities. For those of us who are sideswept by the system, self-care and minimal engagement is a valid strategy. But for those of us who can climb the ladder more easily, we have the opportunity to alter the systems of inequality. If we have to hone ourselves into skill-obsessed workaholics, we might as well put those skills to good use — and I might argue we have the
moral obligation to do so. Working for positive change may look quite different from the white-collar career path many of us have been conditioned to envision since childhood. However, the principles of development and optimization remain the same. Successful activists, organizers, and community builders excel because they have mastered their skills and worked hard. Whatever work may mean to you, success requires sacrifice.
Rising to the challenge
I am now in my third week of this job. I am jumping between content planning, essay writing, and audience analysis. Despite the stress and the demands on my time, I don’t hate it. The sacrifice is no longer pointless to me because I am giving back to the world, not just taking from it. I view extreme work culture as a means to an end. Despite its potential for real damage, it holds the chance to make something better.
Work is a challenge — one that encourages you to be your best, improve the world as much as possible, and reclaim the purpose of work. It is an opportunity to develop yourself so that one can lift up others, and a chance to rise through the ranks to enact positive change.
Work is the way to a better tomorrow, where one can devote their time to culture and art, not conflict and war.
There comes a point where you must swallow the bitter pill that sacrificing some of your ideals when voting may be necessary for the sake of progress.
Chairman Mao Zedong’s road to building modern China came at the cost of roughly 40–80 million lives. Before, during, and after World War II, Zedong dedicated himself for decades to communism in China. Under his rule, millions were sacrificed through work camps, artificial famines, and ruthless political campaigns. In essence, people were killed at the altar of a revolutionary and demagogue who believed that communism was essential for China’s future.
Zedong compromised his ideals to rebuild China into a country that could contest the global hegemony at the close of the twentieth century, staining his legacy bloody red in the process.
The necessity of sacrifice
Sacrifice is often seen as necessary for political gain. Zedong is an extreme example, but more modern, everyday examples fill our news feeds. Whether it’s the NDP abandoning their coalition with the Liberals to gather positive attention ahead of the general election, or the federal government capping international students’ visas, these are sacrifices politicians make for some form of advantage — often at the expense of those who are already struggling the most.
In this modern day and age, we have increasingly lost sight of the fact that “doing politics” often means making sacrifices for political gain. If you were elected to a position of power, you immediately have to balance what you want, what those who
elected you expect, and what your opponents are trying to take. No matter how masterful a negotiator you are, someone is going to lose out.
When US President Joe Biden took office in 2021 during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, the way he handled the crisis was met with outrage and widespread criticism, and it remains controversial today. Yet, he continued his course and prioritized efficacy over public perception, even as discontent grew. As a result, the current US economy is closer to pre-pandemic trends, compared to its global counterparts — but Biden’s popularity was irreparably damaged, jeopardizing his chance for reelection. Consequently, in an era where the media is quick to preach and assign blame at the slightest failing, it is important to remember — no matter how theoretically perfect your favourite candidate seems, they will have to make concessions to others whose policies and ideas may be completely opposed to everything you stand for.
Reality versus ideals
Failing to acknowledge that sacrifice is necessary for political gain can result in losing the chance for any gains at all. A perfect example is the ‘Bernie-orBust’ phenomenon during the 2016 and 2020 US presidential elections.
Many Bernie Sanders supporters chose not to vote if Sanders wasn’t the nominee. Their ironclad resolve is still cited as a factor that contributed to Donald Trump’s 2016
election — a candidate whose ideology was the polar opposite of the Vermont senator they so vehemently campaigned for.
I believe young voters, who made up much of the Bernie-or-Bust movement, are amongst the most disillusioned with elections. As a generation, we are the most progressive so far — deeply concerned with issues like the climate crisis and housing, which many Baby Boomers and Gen X still dismiss.
Yet we’re also the ones giving up before the race has even begun. In Canada, voter turnout among voters aged 18–24 dropped by 7.2 percentage points between 2019–2021. This means that, despite our demographic growing, fewer of us are actually using that power to make a difference.
I’ve heard too many classmates, friends, and colleagues say every election feels like a trolley problem between two evils, and that they would rather just check out entirely. On election night, they stay home, maybe play video games or share some drinks with friends, casually watching the news and cracking a few jokes, no matter how serious the events on TV
are. I know I’ve been guilty of this fatalistic mentality, unwilling to compromise some of my more idealistic views to choose the best option available.
But I see this as a great way to go bust.
Obligation comes with belief
It’s not controversial to say that as the youngest generation eligible to vote, we bear a responsibility to push for our worldview. It’s up to us to advocate for the issues we care about — and right now, we are falling short.
The reality is that the responsibility to sacrifice and make compromises extends beyond politicians; it also falls on voters. By 2025, Gen Z is projected to become one of the largest voting demographics but in 2021, yet we have the lowest voter turnout of any eligible generation.
There comes a point where you must swallow the bitter pill that sacrificing some of your ideals when voting may be necessary for the sake of progress. After the elections, it’s essential to hold the people you elected accountable for their actions, all while remembering what it cost them to get there — and what it cost you to care.
Writer | Mashiyat Ahmed
Reflections on selfhood and sacrifice
Sacrifice is not the problem, patriarchy is
Photographer | Kaisa Kasekamp
Content warning: This article discusses misogyny, sexual violence, substance use, and eating disorders.
y mother loves to travel. Or, more accurately, she loves to fantasize about it. Imagining herself as a tourist taking on the glamourous streets of Paris or the chaotic medinas of Marrakesh. Sooner or later, however, she is forced to abandon that elusive realm of possibility for the realities of wifehood and motherhood.
Countless times I’ve sat at our oakwood dinner table, lazily stirring the bowl of chicken noodle soup my mother made me when she asked how the food was. Does it need more salt? Is that spoon the right size for you?
However, what she really wants to ask is: Am I a good enough mother? Have my sacrifices for you been worth it?
As a South Asian woman, my mother was raised to believe the emotional and mental burdens she takes on are translations of her love and worthiness as a mother. But I often wonder what about herself is independent of this? Who does her emotional caretaking?
I sometimes find myself taking after her accommodating personality. In my friendships with some men, I find myself hyper-analyzing what I said and how I acted, while retrospectively contemplating the social situation from their perspective. I try — sometimes foolishly — to discern their feelings, intentions, and desires, often more than they themselves are expected to.
I recognize that as social
creatures, it will always be our destiny to find the greatest comfort and meaning in relationships with others. However, I don’t believe women must attain this at the expense of self-minimization, or self-sacrifice, all for a patriarchal sense of the greater good or compliance with societal expectations of women, mothers, and daughters.
Sacrificing one’s menial comforts, or even something more significant, for a cause greater than oneself has long been a beacon of nobility in religious, spiritual, and political realms.
To surrender and sacrifice then, is to lay oneself bare, spiritually, and emotionally, at the dawn of a cause greater than ourselves. Even divorced from the religious and political, sacrifice is an intensely personal aspiration that reveals our true priorities and strength, helping us build a clearer portrait of who we are as individuals.
romance, wifehood, motherhood, aging, or most importantly, selfhood.
Interpersonal as well as societal relationships between men and women function as a political institution designed to ensure men’s physical, economic, and emotional access to women. Similarly, patriarchy operates to institutionally socialize women toward a sacrificial identity to ensure the ‘greater good’ in relationships, families, workplaces, and even entire nations.
Women’s dual role in the domestic and public spheres highlights the normalization of women’s
Without this necessary reconditioing, the patriarchy would not survive as it thrives on the unacknowledged sacrifices of women.
degree claimed that because her husband is busy as a lawyer, he “is totally dependent on” her to stay home and take care of him. Outside of paid work, women do two and a half times more unpaid care and domestic labour. Unpaid care work includes not only the physical labour of running a household but also the emotional investment in raising and caring for children and other dependents, such as the elderly or in-laws. On top of this, women are expected to make it all look effortless. The household work that women do — whether they’re raising children or pursuing a career — often goes unappreciated because it is a gender expectation and does not create material value.
A patriarchal society redefines sacrifice as tied to women’s worthiness in this world, whether that be worthiness for her husband, her children, or society at large. Without this necessary reconditioning, the patriarchy would not survive as it thrives on the unacknowledged sacrifices of women.
Reconditioning sacrifice
But this romanticized notion of sacrifice is far removed from the realities faced by women and young girls as they navigate work,
unpaid labour in the household alongside their contributions to the public or professional spheres.
In a 2008 study in The International Journal of Voluntary and Nonprofit Organizations , several professional women in India spoke about their perceptions of their role in society and relationships. One woman said, “I gave up a professional career in a multinational company, which I planned for myself, but this was a voluntary decision when I got married and had children.” Another woman with a masters
The gendered burden of sacrifice: perceptions and consequences
Even though patriarchal standards harm men too, sacrifice is a gendered conversation because the motivations behind and consequences of sacrifices differ between men and women. The patriarchy associates femininity with vulnerability, dependency, and complacency, and defines masculinity through power, status, and strength — and individuals such as low-income men or members of the 2SLGBTQ+
community who do not conform are often outcasted as ‘effeminate.’
Gendered dynamics of sacrifice often play out in intimate relationships between men and women, where the sacrificial capacities of each partner contribute to the stability of the relationship. However, in a healthy relationship, a balanced level of commitment, where both partners should be willing to make sacrifices is important. Yet women and men inhabit different social roles mandated by the patriarchy, which creates sacrificial asymmetry.
According to a 2020 study in Current Issues in Personality Psychology, although both partners sacrifice for the relationship, men perform sacrifices tied to their lifestyle and sense of obligation such as socializing more with their partners than their male friends, while women make sacrifices associated with their socialized roles as nurturers and caregivers — often sacrificing their own emotional and psychological wellbeing for that of the family or relationship.
The societally ordained capacity for certain types of sacrifice between men and women serves as an arbiter for both masculinity and femininity. Both men and women make sacrifices to maintain a positive impression of their masculinity or femininity in their interpersonal relationships. The crucial difference is that women make sacrifices for the men in their lives, while men, too, make these sacrifices for the approval of other men. If women are not to be sidelined, they’re forced to impose the patriarchal standards on other women, just to have a leg up over some women — but never over men.
Sacrifice is survival: Bangladesh’s Kandapara village
Women’s sacrifice is systemic and normalized in Bangladesh’s Kandapara brothel village.
On a dewy evening, a young woman navigating the
labyrinthine and reckless streets of Kandapara waits in line at a local makeshift pharmacy. She doesn’t have a prescription, nor does she know the consequences of the drug she’s about to request from the “pharmacy vendor.” Wide-eyed and jittery, the woman hurries back to her pimp with the medication in hand, avoiding the gazes of men who will soon become her clients as the night nears.
Kandapara, Bangladesh’s oldest and largest legalized brothel, is a slum where girls and women are not only prostituted but also live, often without formal access to education. Though sex work was legalized in Bangladesh in 2000, sex trafficking and exploitation were not, and those are the primary ways young girls enter Bangladesh’s Kandapara brothel village. Through watching several documentaries and reading interviews, I learnt that these young women and girls are sold, bribed, or tricked into a world where sacrifice to such brutal lengths is normalized and systemic.
Girls without formal education and who are from low socioeconomic backgrounds are typical victims of sex trafficking, brought to Kandapara by pimps to serve clients who flock from the country’s dense urban centres to ‘cool off.’ There are no reports on exactly how many girls are being sold into prostitution, nor how many clients they can expect to meet daily. Kandapara’s residents earn meagre wages while enduring terrible physical, emotional, and mental conditions. Their health is further endangered as the government rarely enforces safety measures.
Women in Kandapara regularly take Oradexon, a steroid meant for fattening cattle. They are told by their pimps that Oradexon will make them plump and curvy, and therefore more appealing to the men that roam the streets of Kandapara. Oradexon is highly addictive and can lead to liver and kidney failure,
and UK charity ActionAid estimates that 90 per cent of the 200,000 women in Kandapara are addicted to it. Yet, the women continue to take the drug, forced by their conditions to sacrifice their bodies and dignity.
Accidental pregnancies are common, and the daughters of Kandapara’s working women are expected to transition into their mother’s job without question before the age of fifteen. As girls, they sacrifice the sanctity of childhood in favour of the patriarchal plan. In a deeply heteronormative society like Bangladesh, the inevitability of this cycle — along with the fact that women are forced to conflate submission and subordination with survival — underscores how selfhood is contingent upon these sacrifices.
This martyrdom is reflected in various trends, all over the world, such as the popularity of cosmetic surgery, and begs the question: for whom are we performing under this gaze?
However, sacrifice itself is not the enemy; rather, it is the unequal burden on women to sacrifice and conform to patriarchal social roles that are problematic. It is not the desire to be beautiful that is of concern, but the obligation to be, specifically for the appetite of men.
The parts of ourselves we choose to sacrifice for a ‘greater good’ we deem worthy reveal much about our identities and the world we live in. But to question, resist, and prioritize one’s needs and self-vision in the face of sacrificial demands often invites accusations of selfishness, immorality, and being unfeminine.
Invisibility and sacrifice: self-erasure in relationships
The work that women do — whether it involves raising children, pursuing a career, or sacrificing their own ambitions
Illustrator | Kate Caracci
for others — often goes unappreciated because it is expected without their contestation. For many women, sacrifice becomes a form of emotional and cognitive labour rooted in their relationships with men. Social expectations impose an unequal burden on women, demanding that they not only manage their own emotional and cognitive states, but also do the ‘invisible’ work of catering to and appeasing the emotional states of others.
I needn’t look further than my mother to understand why so much of her emotional and cognitive energy is directed toward her interpersonal dynamics with my father, as she has always been the emotional caretaker in her relationship with him. Whenever their arguments escalated, it would often end with my father barging into his room, slamming the door — the sound reverberating through the house. It was always my mother’s job to explain to us what had happened — but why?
My mother is happy to fulfill her duties as the emotional caretaker of the family, while also being a professional. However, I’ve come to understand that her willing obedience is a form of self-inflicted invisibility — a form of selferasure rooted in the expectation to cater to the patriarchal gaze of who she is supposed to be.
Oftentimes, oppression isn’t grand. It can be woven into the fabrics of everyday life, manifesting in the trivial duties we assume as a consequence of a patriarchal society, under the belief that these roles we play will bring us happiness.
To see one’s self entirely and independently of the sacrificial roles is to exercise a rebellious facet of self-love. Indeed, this capacity to recognize ourselves as a whole — acknowledging our desires, feelings, pains, and triumphs as fully realized and not contingent upon another’s definition — is true self-love. It is this awareness that can halt the cycle of generational harm.
But in parts of the world where this sacrificial identity is deeply ingrained and goes uncontested, how can we expect women to build strong identities independent of the patriarchal panopticon? As a student, typing this out behind a screen and continents apart from the women in Kandapara, I can only address so much of their realities and the culture of sacrifice and patriarchy upholding it.
I think it’s important to note that the parasitic patriarchy that enslaves reluctant sex workers in Bangladesh is the same one that affects women and men everywhere, regardless of geographical boundaries. As a woman, my personal resistance against any form of toxicity imposed on me will only manage to disrupt a small corner of patriarchy; but this does not demotivate me. We might not be able to undo centuries of systemic oppression by our individual defiance, but neither are we free to abandon trying altogether.
The Balochi dress
A testament of sacrifice and resistance
Writer | Varsity Contributor
Illustrator | Jaylin Kim Designer | Nicolas Albornoz
Content Warning: This article discusses systemic violence and murder.
Each dress is adorned with embroidery — some done by hand, and others by machine. No matter the method, the intricacies of the Balochi dress are undeniable.
Women in Balochistan wear these dresses daily, in a region that is now predominantly part of modern-day Pakistan. Despite the abundant natural resources in Balochistan, the basic needs of its citizens are not adequately provided by the Pakistani government. The unconscionable occupation of Balochistan has led to the emigration, displacement, and discrimination of the Indigenous Baloch community.
Baloch citizens have lost family, friends, and homes. Balochistan city Gwadar, once a thriving community, now witnesses the displacement of its residents by Pakistan. Gwadar’s fences restrict access for local inhabitants, forcing members of the Baloch community to pass through checkpoints to enter the area. Members of the Baloch community often disappear without a trace; some are found dead, while others are never located. Additionally, food supplies have been cut off by the government of Pakistan as a tactic to control protestors and silence dissent.
Embroidered sacrifice
Due to the displacement, discrimination, and systemic oppression faced by the Baloch community, many members began protesting. A significant portion of the protesters are women who sacrifice their wellbeing and put themselves on the front lines to fight for their families and future
generations. Balochi women wear the Balochi dress while marching for their community’s rights, risking violent retribution. The sacrifice these women make to advocate for their community is what makes the Balochi dress a symbol of sacrifice.
Dr. Mahrang Baloch is a prime example of a front-line fighter. She helped lift the cloud of fear and founded a revolution, uniting the Baloch community in resistance against Pakistan’s occupation by leading through example. She sacrificed her safety and
by Pakistan’s Baloch minority. Another Baloch activist, Karima Baloch, made the ultimate sacrifice for her community — her life. After being followed and threatened, she was exiled from Pakistan for her work as a human rights activist. In 2016, she was granted asylum in Canada, where she attended the University of Toronto. In Canada, Karima continued to advocate for the rights of the Balochi citizens.
Tragically, she was found dead in 2020, when her body was discovered in Lake
To different individuals, the Balochi dress may symbolize various things.
To me, it represents tradition, sacrifice, and resistance.
the future she could have had as a doctor to give a voice to the voiceless. Clad in the Balochi dress, she puts the needs of the community before her own.
After her brother was kidnapped by Pakistani security forces, Dr. Baloch began participating in protests and advocating for political education in Baloch society. Because of her relentless advocacy, more individuals than ever before are aware of the displacement, discrimination, and systematic oppression faced
and resistance.
The three-piece ensemble consists of a knee-length frock, loose-fitting pants (shalwar), and a shawl. The three prominent features of a Balochi dress are the side ruffle, pindul, and jeek. The ruffle on the side gives the dress shape, while the pindul is a deep rectangular pocket with an isosceles triangle on its width and slits on its short sides, outlined with intricate embroidery. The jeek is an embroidered square that covers the chest. The materials, colours, and embroidery of the dress vary depending on the region and personal preference. Only a trained eye can truly appreciate the intricacies of a Balochi dress.
The Pakistani occupation of Balochistan has cost Baloch citizens so much of their identity and freedom, yet the Balochi language can still be heard echoing across nations. Glimpses of the Balochi dress can be seen worldwide, most notably in a Vogue article featuring Halima Hossinzehi, a Balochi-Canadian living in Ontario. An image in the article depicts her playing basketball in the traditional dress.
Ontario. Though Canadian authorities ruled her death non-criminal, many suspect foul play due to the suspicious circumstances under which other Balochi human rights activists met the same fate; such as Sajid Hussain who was also found dead the same year as his fellow activist after being exiled to Sweden.
Threads of resistance
To different individuals, the Balochi dress may symbolize various things. To me, it represents tradition, sacrifice,
It is important for students, professors, and faculty to familiarize themselves with the current state of affairs in Balochistan. Karima Baloch, who was a member of the U of T community, died for voicing the struggles of Baloch citizens. The sacrifices of Baloch people should not go unnoticed.
The efforts of front-line fighters, especially those who wear the Balochi dress, symbolize their resistance and must be recognized. Protesters and human rights activists pave the way for resistance, hope, and change. For that, we owe them our gratitude.
How and why underconsumption is the way to go
Writer | Kanak Gupta
Photographer | Zeynep Poyanli
Designer | Nicolas Albornoz
We are all familiar with the adage of our times: “There is no ethical con sumption under capital ism.”
The clothes we wear are made in exploitative sweatshops in Asia, and the batteries that power our electronic devices are tied to blood mining and civil wars in Africa. The burgers we eat are burning down the Amazon rainforest, and the avocados we love are draining Mexico’s forests.
Sometimes, it seems like every breath we take comes at the expense of some one else’s livelihood. But we can’t just stop wearing clothes, eating, or — let’s be honest — using our phones.
So, are we all karmically doomed in this life and the afterlife simply for existing, or can we strive to do better? In the absence of a path to a consumption-less existence, perhaps we can aim for relative morality by reducing the frequency of our consumption of food, energy, and material goods.
The historic success of targeted brand boycotts, which have led to major financial losses and social change, demonstrates that consumers collectively have power, and we must use it in order to actualize a climate revolution.
In this consumerist society, advertisements have become such a routine part of life that I can’t recall the last time I went a day without being marketed something: skincare, the latest sneakers, cat litter, you name it. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t fallen prey to targeted marketing. Out of all the things I’ve impulsively bought online, only a handful were items I actually needed.
I am not alone in falling prey to consumerism. Our disregard for what we consume and discard has grown exponentially in recent decades. Thanks to industrialization and the invention of plastics, manufacturing costs have dropped, while
Fast-fashion is the trendbased rapid production of clothing that is led by companies like Shein and Boohoo, and other consumer brands such as H&M, Zara, and Forever 21. Social media influencers flaunting their online shopping “hauls” and too-good-to-be-true deals have made fast fashion irresistible.
The fast-fashion industry is a glaring example of modern exploitative labour practices, operating on ‘slave labour.’ The industry produces 1.2 billion tonnes of carbon dioxide each year, and is responsible for eight to 10 per cent of global greenhouse gas emissions. Moreover, it is the second-largest consumer of water worldwide after agriculture, and the thirdlargest polluter globally after fossil fuels and agriculture.
Speaking of plastic, the burden it places on the planet cannot be overstated. Plastic production is increasing exponentially: in 2015, plastics were responsible for 1.7 gigatonnes of greenhouse gas emissions, and that number is projected to reach 6.5 gigatonnes by 2050. Once produced, plastic remains both around us and within us forever.
Search up the “Great Pacific Garbage Patch” if you think I’m exaggerating. It’s a patch of litter and other debris which has accumulated to cover 1.6 million square kilometres across the Pacific Ocean. This is only scratching the surface of the true cost of our indulgent habits. As our consumption of cheap
Each year, people buy 60 million tonnes of clothing are made from synthetic fabrics such as polyester fibres, which account for 20 per cent to 35 per cent of the microplastics in our oceans.
The use-and-throw mentality and entitlement to convenience have been carefully cultivated in us by the multi-billion dollar industries that profit from it. It took decades of underhanded marketing to convince Americans to discard their durable reusable plastics in favour of low-quality single-use plastics. Today, our algorithms inundate us with a barrage of ads convincing us to buy objects we don’t need. Capitalism fosters hyperconsumerism — the consumption of goods beyond necessity — and reaps the rewards.
As awareness of the consequences of our consumption has grown, so has the push to reduce its harm. While we have been oversold the promise of a circular plastic economy — where plastic is used, reused, and recycled — less than 10 per cent of all plastics are actually recycled.
Thrifting, maintaining limited “capsule wardrobes” that last longer, using a reusable cup at your local café, and participating in sustainability initiatives like Meatless Mondays are all effective ways to reduce consumption. Underconsumption is not a zero-sum game; it doesn’t require us to become vegans, refrain from ordering items online, or fit an entire year’s waste into a jar. While such efforts are noble, they may seem like daunting and impossible commitments for the average person, which can deter them from making smaller lifestyle changes. All underconsumption asks of consumers is to
remember that everything we buy costs not only money, but resources, livelihoods, and the future of the planet. It encourages us to ask the question, “Do I really need this?” before we click “add to cart.”
Although the current social media trend uses the catchy label “underconsumption core,” we aren’t ‘under-consuming’ but simply avoiding over-consuming by making environmentally-conscious lifestyle changes.
Many parts of the world have no choice but to under-consume, which is, in part, a consequence of our consumption habits in the West. Not only do we use too much, we also throw away too much. While the average household in Europe or North America produces between 95 and 115 kilograms of food waste per year, households in sub-Saharan Africa, and South and Southeast Asia only produce between six and 11 kilograms of waste annually.
Ethical consumption is less consumption
We are the privileged recipients of all the conveniences of consumerism, while the people in the global South suffer from the consequences of our gluttony. Even the global North’s
greenwashing of energy consumption comes at the expense of the global South — for example, planting non-indigenous trees to decrease carbon dioxide in the atmosphere can become invasive and lead to
receiving massive tax cuts in the process. These corporations will not change unless there is a monetary incentive to do so, and one of the most crucial tenets of capitalism is the law of supply and demand.
The only way to reduce our participation in this grisly, insidious, and colonial system is to cut back on our consumption.
the disruption of natural ecosystems. The only way to reduce our participation in this grisly, insidious, and colonial system is to cut back on our consumption.
But will our modicum of self-control actually change anything? Why should I take the bus when Taylor Swift takes a private jet to see her boyfriend? Doesn’t Big Oil — a term used to refer to major oil and gas companies — rely on people focusing on their own carbon footprint instead of turning their attention to the crimes they commit against the environment and humanity?
The responsibility for reducing carbon emissions should lie with the mega-corporations causing them. However, we live in a reality where billion-dollar industrial lobbies actively avoid taking responsibility for their actions, often
So, by reducing demand, we can influence companies to reconsider their supply levels. The historic success of targeted brand boycotts, which have led to major financial losses and social change, demonstrates that consumers collectively have power, and we must use it in order to actualize a climate revolution.
When I started writing this article, I saw underconsumption as a virtuous sacrifice of convenience for the greater good. However, I now see it as perhaps the bare minimum I can do to reduce the harm caused by my consumer habits. So, will I sacrifice my next material want for the sake of someone else’s needs? Maybe not always, but at the very least, I can remember to try.
The human face is the foundation upon which all aspects of our identities are built — through which these aspects are reflected onto others. It serves as both a point of revelation and obfuscation, bringing to life the everyday personas we need to navigate our social landscape. Magnetic and almost sacred, it is no wonder the human face has been associated with concepts of prestige and status in cultures around the world. One expression that has always captivated me is the Chinese term “losing face.” To lose face means to experience humiliation or dishonour, leading to a degradation of one’s sense of self and position within society.
“If a mother was Sacrifice personified, then a daughter was Guilt, with no possibility of redress.”
This line, from the book The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera, stands out to me. As I grew older, I became increasingly aware that I was my mother’s daughter. Which should have been obvious, right?
Since I was little, I felt a strong obligation toward my mom when witnessing all the work she did for me and my brother. For our home, our education, and our growth. Shouldering the role of being a good, obedient daughter, the guilt only compounded whenever I noticed my brother and father being seemingly unaware of how my mother upholds our family.
When I think back to everything that she has done for me, I cannot help but tally them all — marked lines running boundlessly across my mind. Society has silently voiced countless demands from women: to bear and raise children, abandon career prospects, and be responsible for maintaining all housework. And the extent of this work often goes unacknowledged.
For many mothers, sacrifice initially manifests itself physically: in the marks
How maternal sacrifice complicates mother-daughter relationships
stretching across their bellies, food aversions, and morning sickness, as the burden of carrying and sustaining another being weighs upon them. Yet she will overcome the anguish of labour, the vaginal tearing, the ache of breastfeeding.
The battle will also manifest itself mentally. Postpartum blues is a condition that occurs after childbirth, which causes new mothers to experience depressive symptoms due to hormonal changes. It affects up to 85 per cent of new mothers in the world.
Motherhood becomes intertwined with sacrifice: “Good mothers” must exhaust and devote themselves to raising their children. Rooted in parental discourses and traditional gender norms, the concept of the “good mother” is pernicious and insinuates that a mother’s needs can only be fulfilled by fulfilling those of her children. As a result, she becomes defined by her relationship to her children: “What are your plans with the kids this weekend?” “How are you going to keep working?” “Which school will your child attend?” Sometimes, being a mother can come at the cost of a woman’s individuality, as she is no longer a singular being.
Who was my mother before me?
Returning to work after maternity leave is another challenge on top of a changed body, altered mind, and the busy schedule of childrearing. New mothers are challenged on their professionalism and capabilities, scrutinized for taking time off to care for their children, and punished with lower salaries and fewer promotions. The fight to re-enter the workforce after a decade of being a stay-at-home mom is harsh, with some never finding work in their field again, and many more being underemployed. Working women are thus divided into two competing categories: competent and childfree, or warm and motherly — but never both.
Fathers also struggle with worklife balance and seeking emotional support during the transitional period into becoming a father. However, society is more ready to praise them for completing their parental duties, as if parenthood is a choice for men, while an expectation for women.
Within the patriarchy, many dads view themselves as the provider of financial stability, making their parental value quantitative. The responsibility of household labour is placed onto the mother, who completed over 90 per cent of the unpaid domestic work in Canada in 2015. The capitalist system in which we operate overlooks the fiscal value of family labour — which was valued at $516 to $860 billion in 2019. Society is twofaced: praising new mothers yet punishing them systematically in the same breath.
In daughters, the societal neglect our mothers experience manifests as guilt. I am my own person, but it is in the context of my mother’s painful sacrifices that I am destined to define myself.
My mother is the moon to my ocean, forever pulling my tide to the edge. Where does she end and where do I begin? Because of me, my mother never broke down the door of life and tasted the universe. I know she willingly made that choice, but I cannot help but let the guilt of being a daughter well up inside me, overflowing like her now-discarded aspirations. I do not want to repeat the mistakes of my mother, yet I cannot help but feel that I am one of those mistakes.
She could’ve been so much more without me: an oceanographer diving into the depths of the sea, an archaeologist uncovering the history of civilizations, an astronaut collecting every star. She could’ve been limitless.
Even as I am writing this, I am wondering if it’s unfair of me to only define my mom solely by her motherhood.
The responsibility I feel to give my mother’s life meaning will
always linger in the back of my mind. It prods at the shape of my personality, changes its texture, and makes me ever so slightly bitter. If I pluck this wilting fruit of guilt, remove it from my mind’s periphery, and step out of my mom’s shadow in the process, would I be betraying her? Although she tries to do what’s best for me by giving me advice based on her life experiences, I find myself growing increasingly irritated at her gravitational pull.
In Greta Gerwig’s movie Lady Bird (2017), while the mother Marion tries to steer her daughter Lady Bird toward a good life, expressions of love and tenderness are stifled by her efforts at guidance. Marion’s fear is shared by many mothers: that their daughter — the one person they always thought would stay by their side — will outgrow and abandon them. I feel guilty for adding to my mom’s burden with the hard work of raising kids, so I try to compensate by sharing her pain to help her feel less lonely. As a result, I resent the backache.
I feel that daughters serve as a mirror for their mothers. Mine sees me from above the water, and I reflect her from below the surface. As both women navigate society, a daughter echoes her mom’s ‘could’ves,’ ‘would’ves,’ and ‘should’ves.’ I wonder how much of what my mother taught me, she had to learn all alone.
The film Everything Everywhere All At Once (2022), directed by Daniel Scheinert and Daniel Kwan, poignantly illustrates how mother Evelyn and daughter Joy navigate their relationship throughout a multitude of universes. As a Chinese daughter myself, I resonated with how the film highlighted the delicate cultural balance that happens in a mother-daughter relationship, where family always comes first. Snarky comments on your appearance and passive-aggressive criticisms about your life choices are often disguised “I love you’s.”
In Chinese culture, there is an expectation that your parents take care of you when you are young, and so you must take care of them when they are old. For me, this culture of filial piety resembles the sun when it aligns with the moon and Earth: it stirs up tension, sending tidal waves of responsibilities crashing over me. I always questioned if my mom regrets seeing herself in me. I fear that I will become her, yet it would be a great shame if I didn’t.
This bittersweet dynamic — flavoured with love, yet still sour — is something I will savour my entire life until I get to the bottom of that cosmic tree which is rooted in my mother’s love and her sacrifices. I may be an extension of my mother, but maybe the reservoir will overflow and bring water to new life.
Hunting Game
You have turned me into a horror show — I lost at your game of deceit.
You’ve earned yourself a wounded doe whose want warrants defeat. Curled beneath the weight of desire, my spine contorts, my morale fades. Not dead, but weak from passion’s fire, the blood is gone, the rot pervades. With blackened eyes, you penetrate: my chest undone, the flesh all raw. Your clumsy lies incinerate: into my heart, your fingers gnaw.
I know the sounds of Hell’s prodigal jeer; the devil is your lover and your virtue is his spear.
Writer | Sophie Esther Ramsey
Illustrator | Vicky Huang
Courtesy of Yara Deabes
Living in limbo
Writer | Yara Deabes
It was the second semester of my senior year in high school. I tentatively opened the email I had just received on my phone while sitting in the movie theatre. Just as the plot on the screen thickened, I pressed the notification.
I got in. I was going to be attending U of T in a few months — 10,649 kilometres away from home.
The date was February 17, and I was celebrating two occasions that day: my acceptance and my best friend’s birthday. The feeling was bittersweet, as I realized I wouldn’t be present for her next one. “But that’s what FaceTime is for, right?” I thought.
As of 2023, over one million international students are studying in Canada, representing a 29 per cent increase from the previous year. Every day, more students choose to study abroad, leaving their past lives behind to pursue an education at some of the world’s top institutions.
Chasing a new life can be incredibly exciting for international students, especially when the joy of being accepted into their dream university is still fresh. However, as the months unfold and September approaches, many realize that their dreams come at a cost.
Sacrifice 1: Lifestyle
Before I landed in Canada, I was confident that I had the ‘studying abroad thing’ all figured out. Having attended international schools my whole life, and
International students often feel lost in limbo, unable to settle down once and for all. Personally, I felt like I had divorced my old life and become ‘just friends’ with it.
having lived in Canada during my early childhood, I thought that not much would differ from my life in Saudi Arabia — other than the geography.
However, when I started university, I experienced daily culture shocks during the first few months. One of the most memorable occurred in my first month in residence when a friend asked me if I was going to have dinner at 4:00 pm. Back home, that was lunchtime. It was a small change, but it made me miss my life back home.
It was also strange to adjust to my newly adopted adult life in Canada. Just a few months earlier, I had to inform my mother whenever I went out with my friends. Now, I was alone on a different continent.
Furthermore, I realized that I adopted a different mindset toward studying. In high school, I worked hard and studied out of passion and determination for a bright future. However, during my freshman year, another criterion was added to the mix: guilt. My parents made significant financial and emotional sacrifices so I could follow my dreams.
The sacrifices of an international student
It became difficult to enjoy my free time when, in the back of my mind, I kept asking myself, “Why am I not working right now?”
Sacrifice 2: Family and friends
Undoubtedly, one of the hardest parts of studying abroad is parting with family. Most students depend on their parents until they leave for university, and family and friends are key pieces in the mosaic of human life. Leaving them all behind can drastically affect an individual’s mental health. When I spoke to my Saudi friend, who is also studying abroad, in the US, I discovered that she felt the same way: stricken by her sudden independence. She also shared the struggle of missing that familiar support system back home.
I deeply relate to this experience. During my first year, I faced many hardships while integrating into university life. My coping mechanism has always been to talk about my stress with family members and close friends. However, while I was in Canada, the only link between me and them was Snapchat calls and a choppy internet connection. I felt like a side character in my own life, learning about family updates through social media posts.
Sacrifice 3: Stability
Two houses, two homes
Two kitchens, two phones
Two couches where I lay
Two places that I stay
This poem, written by Meghan Markle, the current Duchess of Sussex, during her childhood amid her parents’ divorce, articulates the difficulty of navigating a destabilized life. International students often feel lost in limbo, unable to settle down once and for all. Personally, I felt like I had divorced my old life and become ‘just friends’ with it.
Most international students tend to go back home during the summer. This requires them to switch between two realities: the one at home and one abroad. This transition can be quite tedious. Having two homes makes me feel like I do not belong to any one place, cursing me with a never-ending feeling of homesickness.
“When I go back to Saudi, I miss my apartment in the US, and when I’m in the US, I miss my cat that I left behind. Going back to Saudi feels like a vacation, but at the same time, going back to the US doesn’t feel like coming home,” a sentiment shared by my friend.
Studying abroad feels like treading a path with many quests, each one asking me to sacrifice something from my old life to advance to the next level. However, over time, these sacrifices have yielded precious opportunities and friendships that have enriched my life. The experiences I have gained would never have presented themselves to me if I had remained in my ‘single reality’ back home.
If the same path were to present itself to me again, I would tread every step all over again.
A toast to self-care
Finding balance one breakfast at a time
Writer | Saira Saundh
My first memories of breakfast are from the first grade: munching on my favourite KoKo Krunch while watching Hey Arnold! on TV before the school bus came. When I lived in the Philippines, I loved starting my day with a tasty beef tapa or longganisa with a medium-cooked sunny side up over rice before heading to school. On weekends there was always chole bhature or my mother’s home-cooked crepes to look forward to. Breakfast was a morning ritual I cherished, and became a comforting start to the day before getting caught in the whirlwind of work and academics.
When I started university, my favourite meal of the day unexpectedly — and unfortunately — slipped away. I traded it for a few more minutes of sleep, getting ready to rush to class, or shoving in a course reading right before heading out the door.
As I’ve observed, skipping breakfast is perhaps one of the most common invisible sacrifices of a university student’s fastpaced life. In fact, national data shows that 48.5 per cent of adolescents in Canada skip breakfast at least once a week, and 39 per cent of students eat breakfast fewer than three days during the week.
Like many students, the most important meal of the day for me became an apple on the go, a protein bar, or more often than not, nothing at all.
For a lot of people, skipping breakfast may seem just an unhealthy habit — a small sacrifice stemming from laziness. Others simply don’t have an appetite in the morning. However, I came to the harsh realization that skipping breakfast reflected a deeper issue rooted within my mindset. On a constant basis, I subconsciously told myself that I should use all of my spare time to be productive — that I must work tirelessly to justify my expensive university education. It’s not that I consciously believed
I was undeserving of breakfast, but my habits implied otherwise. Like many others, I fell victim to the harmful doctrines of work culture.
My family comes from India, where hard work is deeply ingrained in our culture. It is a means of rising and becoming better, no matter what level you start at. This value was instilled in me from a young age, and while I am proud to be a hard worker, I’ve also grown to question certain aspects of this mindset. Are we meant to live for
Breakfast is no longer sacrifice I make, but my daily anchor and the start to my happiness throughout the day
work, or is work meant to support our lives? Why does success often seem most valid when it is accompanied by sacrifice? How much of the pursuit of productivity and achievement comes at the expense of health and happiness?
Eating breakfast is an act of self-care, which is why I believe that as one grows older, a commitment to one’s own wellbeing is often sacrificed for academic or professional achievements. What may appear as a small sacrifice actually leads to bigger negative impacts on one’s physical and mental health.
According to research conducted by the European Journal of Pediatrics in 2024, young adults in Canada who skip breakfast are 2.55 times more likely to experience stress, anxiety, depression,
and psychosomatic symptoms. Food fuels you with the energy you need to perform cognitive functions, so not only will breakfast make you feel better but also think faster! Actions like eating breakfast, exercising, or keeping your living space organized may seem inconveniently time-consuming. However, once these actions become habitual, they speed up all other activities because they keep you energized and healthy.
Recognizing my unhealthy mindset was the first step to eventually unlearning it, and with small and gradual changes, breakfast slowly found its way back into my life. This simple, fundamental act was my way of permitting myself to start the day with both physical and psychological nourishment. Setting a morning routine was key to making myself feel more in control of my wellbeing. Equally essential was transforming my self-critical mindset, which meant not punishing myself if I was a few minutes late to class or missed a chunk of my reading. Eating breakfast again signified regaining a healthy balance between selfcare and work for me, but this balance can certainly be achieved through other actions for you — sleeping earlier, exercising regularly, or making the time to call your family. There is no one-sizefits-all when it comes to taking care of your wellbeing.
Breakfast is no longer a sacrifice I make, but my daily anchor and the start to my happiness throughout the day. As I’ve slowly learned to reintroduce my favourite meal into my life, I invite you to do the same. We all deserve those few minutes to ourselves before we race against the clock. No one should feel the need to earn their first meal of the day, and that small shift in thinking may just make all the difference.
Photographer | Kaisa Kasekamp
In this piece, I reflect on the many sacrifices a woman must make throughout her life: pain for beauty, sex for love, autonomy for affirmation. With each trade, the cage enclosing her closes in further, until she awakens to find there is no longer an exit. Her atrophied wings can no longer take flight, even if she wanted to.
Illustrator | Vicky Huang
What’s strangely beautiful about the termites’ altruistic nature is how ordered and simple it is. There is no termite philosophy, no existential crisis that prompts them to self-destruct. “ ”
A termite’s guide to self-sacrifice
A guide to the sophisticated lives of the most selfless critters
Writer | Tristen Ashworth Illustrator | Jaylin Kim
II hesitate to admit that when I think of the concept of sacrifice, the first thing that comes to mind is termites.
Specifically, Neocapriter-
mes taracua, or the ‘exploding termite.’ These insects truly live to die!
As the species age, they become increasingly detonative — strategically exploding to release toxic enzymes to stop intruders in their
nest — all for the colony’s good. It’s death in its most dramatic and selfless form. I hope that learning about these taracua challenges your ideas around sacrifice and the nature of altruism, just as it did for me.
The sophisticated life of termites
Let’s give credit where credit is due. Taracua runs on a highly organized and complex social system that scientists have recognized as “very sophisticated behaviours” for social insects.
Imagine a termite colony as a single, large, multicel-
lular organism, where each individual termite serves a distinct role, just as the cells of your body do.
Much like the cells in your body, each termite has a different role. Some termites are responsible for processing food, while others maintain the nest or care for the young. Their interconnectedness resembles how your own cells defend and sacrifice themselves for the greater good.
Termite love and puberty?
You may wonder, “Can all termites explode?” Don’t be silly! If all termites could explode, that would
obviously be impractical — they would all be dead!
Termites have three main stages of life: worker, pre-soldier, and soldier. Workers are young termites that are responsible for tasks like colony maintenance or grooming nestmates. Only when the colony needs more defence does a worker transform into a pre-soldier and then finally moults into a soldier.
This process, like everything in the termite colony, is highly regulated. I like to think of the termites as one big collaborative family, sacrificing out of love for each other.
Perhaps your social life is more akin to termites
than you would have ever imagined. Personally, my roommate and I identify as worker termites and we feel no shame. We do not have a complex social system; we’re just trying to make it work.
Now, how do these termites transition through these life stages? The answer is hormones!
The Ras-interacting pro tein 1 is more highly ex pressed in soldier termites, playing a key role in their development and aggressive behaviour. In worker ter mites, the juvenile hormone (JH) is predominant, which keeps them in the soldier caste. JH prevents the de velopment of soldier charac teristics. It’s all a hormonal roller coaster throughout their little termite lives, kind of like termite puberty, if you will.
But this scientific context sends me crashing back
caustic foam called benzoquinones that pours from its carcass onto the enemy. I think of it as taracua wearing a cute little blue backpack that is going to eventually kill them and whatever is attacking their colony.
Another fun fact about these termites: we can identify the oldest in the colony
tenna against the soldier’s — like a little kiss of luck — before making their exit… leaving the soldier termite to die.
Embrace the chaos
I could go on and draw metaphorical connections to the human experience, mak
to reality, begging the question: is it really out of love for their colony that they explode, or is it just biology?
Dying in style
“Man! How does this explo sion even work?” you say. Well, Neocapritermes taracua termites carry a toxin-laced abdomen, which is a mix ture of the blue laccase BP76 chemical and hydroquinones that is stored externally. When a termite begins to rupture, these enzymes mix to produce a rich, sticky
Content warning: This article mentions blood and violence.
Olympia — circa 776 BCE.
Under the watchful eye of the gods, 100 oxen are slain at the altar on the third night of the Olympics. The altar, a mound built up with the ashes of sacrifices, reaches up to seven metres high in the Peloponnesian sun. The Ancient Greeks undertook this ceremony for a fruitful harvest, good health, and protection from the wrath of Zeus, king of the Gods.
According to Heather Reid, a contemporary philosopher of ancient sports, “Most sport in Greco-Roman antiquity was a form of religious sacrifice.” Athletic performances, combined with the ritual sacrifice of animals during the Olympics, were considered a ceremony for the gods, and offered as a service to the community.
To be an athlete in the ancient world was to be a facilitator of symbolic
El Tajín — circa 1000 CE. Amongst the limestone and concrete temples, the Maya kick a rubber ball at a ring on the wall, trying to flick the ball precisely into the ring. At times, the game serves as a stand-in for war; other times, captives of war played to avoid being ritually sacrificed. While not every game of the Meso-American ballgame involved a human sacrifice, archaeological records show that sacrifices were nonetheless central to the ceremonial games of the sport. These human sacrifices were thought to bring favour and blessings from the Mayan deities.
Many of today’s sports have their origins in war games and training for soldiers. It’s no coincidence that the language of war and imagery of violence is deeply embedded in sports: tactics, wins, battle, formations, destruction, glory, sacrifice.
Of course, the stakes are wildly different today. Yet sacrifice remains central to and omnipresent in sport. No matter the level, you couldn’t go a few halftime team talks or post-game interviews without the word being thrown around. A ubiquitous, romantic trope.
These five ‘sacrifice’ plays capture the unique drama of sports, and showcase how sacrifice can lead to some of the most exciting moments in athletics.
The queen sacrifice (Chess)
“That’s chess!… You’ve got to make some sacrifices!”
The most famous chess ‘sac’ of all time doesn’t belong to a Fischer or a Carlsen; instead, it occurs in the dungeons deep within Hogwarts Castle.
As Ron Weasley exclaims, sacrifice is a central chess tactic. Sacrificing the queen — the most valuable piece on the board by points — is bold, and you need an ironclad strategy to pull it off. While relatively rare, the queen’s sacrifice demonstrates that the best move isn’t always the obvious one.
Heed this advice from this 800 Elo player.
The sac fly/sac bunt (Baseball)
It’s fitting to include this play, which is literally called a sacrifice.
The sac fly occurs when a batter hits a flyout — which is when a batter hits the ball in the air and a defensive player catches it before it hits the ground, resulting in an out — allowing their teammates on base to earn a run. The sac bunt is similar, except it occurs when a teammate advances on base, and isn’t usually a fly ball. The batter hitting a sac fly or bunt sacrifices their atbat for the team.
Of course, the play is worth it, if not for the high-fives in the dugout until your elbow goes numb.
The intentional red card (Soccer)
The most controversial play on this list: the intentional red card. Some argue that this action is unsportsmanlike and goes against the spirit of the game. Additionally, red cards almost always result in suspensions and fines.
A recent example that comes to mind is Real Madrid midfielder Federico Valverde. With five minutes remaining in extra time of the 2020 Spanish Super Cup Final, he committed a crunching tackle on Atletico Madrid forward Álvaro Morata, who was clear on goal. Valverde received a red card and the game went to penalties instead of conceding what seemed like a sure goal. Real Madrid went on to win the shootout.
Another infamous example is Uruguay’s striker Luis Suráez, who committed a handball at the goal line in the 2010
World Cup Quarter-Finals against Ghana to prevent a sure goal. Asamoah Gyan missed the subsequent penalty, and Uruguay went on to win the penalty shootout, advancing to the semifinals for the first time in 40 years. To this day, Suárez is hailed as a hero in Uruguay, while in almost every other country, he’s seen as the ultimate villain.
The blocked shot (Ice Hockey)
Nothing screams bravery like blocking a puck — the embodiment of physical sacrifice. Risking injury from the puck hitting any part of your body, including uncovered areas of your face, reflects the burning desire and courage of athletes.
In the NHL, where shots can reach 160 kilometres per hour, blocking becomes an art more akin to Jackassthan Miracle But with this pain comes immense respect from all who watch and, of course, a guaranteed beer from your buddies and stick taps all around.
Anything in any combat sport ever
Stepping into the ring is a true testament to an athlete’s sacrifice. Any competitor in combat sports constantly risks injury — and even death. While numerous safety measures, training protocols, and policies are implemented to minimize these risks, in boxing, it’s estimated that 13 amateur and professional boxers die in the ring every year. Additionally, one of the longterm health effects of combat sports includes chronic traumatic encephalopathy — a disorder caused by blunt force trauma to the head which can cause behavioural and cognitive difficulties.
Las Vegas, The Sphere — 2024 CE. UFC 306. It’s Mexican Heritage Night, and the Sphere displays huge graphics and videos celebrating Mexican history throughout the night. Mexican fighter Irene Aldana competes in the women’s bantamweight division against Norma Dumont. After a brutal hit to the head, Aldana’s forehead splits open, exposing her skull, and her face is splattered with blood.
The crowd roars, the fight continues, and the audience hollers for more blood. Aldana splashes crimson across the betting ads on the octagon floor. The Giant 3D-rendered Mayan deities look down from the LED screens.
| Sara Moretto
| Kaisa Kasekamp
Perfect body, perfect soul
The sacrificial performance of femininity in Medieval and Victorian societies
Writer | Charlie Bendell
“
The pressure to comply with systems of oppression starts early and sometimes its effects aren’t addressed until it’s too late. ”
Photographers | Zeynep Poyanli & Kaisa Kasekamp
Content warning:
This article discusses self-harm, eating disorders, and death.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, under my parent’s roof and without a driver’s license or another town within walking distance, my world was as small as it’s ever been. Also bored, my parents made conversation with the limited topics available as we worked all day in the same room. “Are you on top of your assignments?” and “who are you texting?” became my life’s soundtrack. Each innocent question became judgemental as I chewed on it. I was convinced they wanted to catch me in a trap. They didn’t know about my recent falling marks, or about a relationship I’d been hiding for years. I grew bitter. My paranoia turned me saccharine some days — desperate to compensate for my lies — and short-tempered on others. I felt like a cornered animal. I ruminated constantly on my failures as a student, a partner, and most egregiously, as a daughter.
Something strange happened soon after the lockdown began. In a quiet, moonlit house when only I was awake — the most carefree part of my day — I leaned over the sink with a pair of craft scissors and cut off as much of my hair as I could. I chose inner sections, trying to be discreet. After hiding my shorn hair under layers of garbage I sorted through by hand — gross — I felt a little uglier and a little less guilty. Eventually, every failure I saw in myself was taken out of my body using increasingly macabre methods.
Looking back, I realize nobody wanted me to be ‘perfect,’ least of all my compassionate parents. All this criticism came from myself.
Unfortunately, many are not so lucky. Oftentimes,
people who are forced to face the scrutiny of oppression can only access self-agency and self-expression through their bodies. For example, the oppressive frameworks that pressure women into making sacrifices to become desirable to men. In Medieval Europe, St. Catherine of Siena sacrificed her entire life to escape the role of a wife. In the Victorian era in the US, thousands of girls sacrificed their health to attain the desirability expected of them.
Medieval Europe
Women make up just 17.5 per cent of over 800 documented Christian saints from the years 1000 to 1700. Despite this low presence in sainthood, women made up 29 per cent of extreme asceticism, which is the practice of severe self-disciplinary abstinence, largely in the pursuit of spiritual virtue.
Dr. John Giles Milhaven of Brown University argues that ascetics derive unique pleasures from self-denial and self-punishment. He calls this “the pleasures of self-mastery… or the pleasure at repentance of the sinner”.
with heaven than the Earth where she felt she had no place. Catherine is quoted to have repeatedly referred to her own body as a “prison” from which she wished to escape. Feeling inherently sinful, Catherine flung headlong into self-punishing rituals, which she believed would purify her soul. Noticing that others did not scrutinize themselves as harshly as she scrutinized herself, she punished herself on behalf of her sinful loved ones, so that they might be redeemed. Catherine whipped herself, deprived herself of sleep, and kept a chain around her waist so that even walking was painful. Most notably, Catherine hardly ate.
more. For women competing to marry into a wealthy estate, periodicals on desirability became guidelines to success.
Physician Lucien Warner’s book from 1873, A Popular Treatise on the Functions and Disease of Women, stated that excessive meat-eating would lead to a high sex drive in girls during puberty. To preserve images of sexual purity, young women readily abstained from meat.
On a smaller scale, think of the satisfaction you might feel after coming home without having spent any money on treats — knowing you’re doing your wallet favours by keeping your cravings in check.
St. Catherine of Siena took this idea and ran with it. She wasn’t interested in marriage — she dreaded the loss of her virginity and promised from an early age that it would never be taken from her. Catherine found solace in religious texts and a personal relationship with God, associating herself more
As the church in Italy dissolved into chaos during the War of Eight Saints, a conflict between the Pope and the people, Catherine finally lost her ability to cope — the discord tortured her. She begged her followers and the Pope for peace and made a deal with God. She said, “Here is my body… I now offer it to thee; may it be an anvil for Thy beatings, to atone for [the Church and people’s] sins.” She gave up water in addition to her many punishments and collapsed in 1380 as a result of her self-abuse. She attempted to recover by eating and drinking again but died within months.
Victorian Era
The enlightenment movement of the eighteenth century involved a newfound interest in the ‘natural sciences’ which led to an explosion of scientific discovery. Periodicals of every genre found their way into the hands of the average citizen of the West, giving them access to information on scientific theory, trends in fashion, literature, and much
In the US, this caused the disease chlorosis, known today as anemia, to affect young women in almost epidemic proportions. Some girls were grateful to have this disease, which caused paleness and weakness. These girls ignored their appetites entirely, since to be thin and frail was considered especially feminine. The term “robust”, which describes healthy individuals, became an insult to women — so widespread was their quest to be sick and beautiful.
History repeats itself
While the resources to escape oppression in the Medieval and Victorian Eras were meager, systems of oppression today are being increasingly and readily exposed.
In my short life, I’ve known and loved people hospitalized or become permanently disabled as a result of disordered eating. The most beautiful musician I’ve ever heard will likely die from an eating disorder. I’ve met a 10-year-old girl with anorexia. The pressure to comply with systems of oppression starts early and sometimes its effects aren’t addressed until it’s too late.
It’s time that we reexamine the standards of perfection society demands from people, and look back to history to better understand the frameworks of oppression that exist today — and not to repeat humanity’s past mistakes.
Who receives the medal of honour if the victor is dead?
How The Green Knight (2021) reevaluates sacrifice
Writer | Emi Cermjani
Ashrouded figure clad in green charges into King Arthur’s court on Christmas Day. He comes to deliver a letter and has the queen read it aloud to those gathered.
It is an invitation to a game: let whoever is boldest rise and try to strike the Green Knight, and whoever succeeds to do this shall inherit glory, riches, and most importantly, the knight’s blade.
However, the challenger is bound to some important terms. On the next Christmas Day, he must set out to find the green chapel, where he would face the knight. The knight would reciprocate whatever blow the challenger lays upon him, whether it be a simple cut on the arm or a slit to the throat. Only then may they amicably part.
Sir Gawain — nephew to King Arthur — scarcely allows the queen to finish reading the terms before he leaps to action, taking Arthur’s sword and facing the knight. Eager to look the part of a hero, and willing to put his fate on the line before anyone else’s, the young Gawain provokes the Green Knight, who does not move but sets his own weapon
down and settles onto his knees, bowing.
Stunned but determined, Gawain musters enough courage to cry, “Never forget what happened here upon this Christmas Day!” before crashing Excalibur down onto his neck. The hall, which had been bursting with merriment only a few moments before, is now entirely silent. After a few beats, only one sound rings through the court: wicked laughter.
The owner of this chilling voice is none other than the Green Knight, and it seems to grow louder as he gathers his severed head, mounts his steed, and rides off as quickly as he appeared.
This particular rendition of Gawain was created by writer and director David Lowery for the film The Green Knight (2021) and hides a warning beneath the surface.
The duty to sacrifice
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is a fourteenthcentury Medieval English poem by an unknown author, about a green knight who proposes a game to King Arthur’s court. The Green Knight demands a volunteer to decapitate him
on the condition that the executioner will also face beheading in a year’s time.
The poem concerns itself with the problem of conflicting tenets. To become a knight, a man must commit to a life of bravery, loyalty, humility, and an enduring duty to protect those in need. Sir Gawain maintains his position as a pious knight while also committing the necessary violence required by the chivalric code of conduct —
which includes duelling as a means of establishing and maintaining honour?
Lowery’s film adaptation subverts the notion that honour and the pursuit of it are inherently noble causes, using Gawain to illustrate this point. Gawain’s story, while complex, follows a common trope in legends: a young man desperate for renown is disgustingly quick to abandon his moral character to commit unspeakable violence — even
Tears threaten to fall, and Gawain, defeated, manages one last question: “Is this all there is?”
Illustrator | Vicky Huang
willing to sacrifice his own life — in the name of obtaining honour.
Despite his actions, Gawain will never achieve honour. To understand why, it is crucial to discard any previous understanding of the pursuit of honour as an indisputably virtuous endeavour, and to reevaluate its significance anew.
Death’s insignificance
Thomas Nagel is an American philosopher who published an essay in 1970 titled Death, where he puzzles over whether or not dying is an objectively bad thing. Nagel begins by addressing that, “If we are to make sense of the view that to die is bad, it must be on the ground that life is a good and death is the corresponding deprivation… [death is therefore] bad not because of any positive features but because of the desirability of what it removes.”
Nagel is dissatisfied with our simplistic perception of death and argues that it must be reevaluated as a concept on its own, focusing on its “positive features” rather than solely on how it threatens the concept of life.
The positive feature of a concept is akin to the definition of a word: both are the agreed-upon facts representing the term or concept they are ascribed to. Nagel posits that positive features must be carefully assessed when evaluating whether a concept is good or bad, rather than relying on its relative position to another concept.
Death’s positive feature seems to be nonexistence. Nonexistence itself is
neither good nor bad: we are just as oblivious of our own nonexistence after death as we are of our nonexistence before birth, and thus no benefits or harm befall the individual from nonexistence. Nagel concludes that since at no point in time is an individual aware of their own nonexistence, death — not to be confused with grief — has no living subjects. Thus, it can be interpreted that death does neither good nor harm to an individual, as the individual is not alive to experience its consequences.
This line of reasoning applies to honour as well. Similar to death, the type of honour exhibited in legends, where people perish on battlefields or dangerous pilgrimages, has no recipient. The high respect and admiration we feel for a person when they are martyred cannot be felt by the one for whom it actually matters: the one who has been sacrificed. One cannot experience the honour of having died for a cause, for, at that point, one is not able to feel anything.
An honourless fate
This is the caution that Lowery presents in The Green Knight: the attainment of honour through self-sacrifice does not provide the individual with enlightenment as it is advertised in legends; it will only please others to have a new story to entertain themselves with.
Lowery’s warning reverberates throughout the film through his usage of visual imagery, dialogue, and score. Individual characters caution Gawain directly,
acting in opposition to what persons of authority — namely Gawain’s own family — taught him about the violent duties that must be performed for him to obtain knighthood. Most chilling, however, is the warning that resounds at the end of the film.
Gawain makes his appointment at the Green Chapel by Christmas Day, finding the Green Knight sleeping. Upon waking, the Green Knight asks Gawain if he has come to see his blow returned, and receives a meek confirmation. Gawain kneels, apprehensive about meeting his fate. The Green Knight raises his arm twice, which has Gawain flinching in return.
Tears threaten to fall, and Gawain, defeated, manages one last question: “Is this all there is?” His voice is heavy with disappointment. The Green Knight’s answer is simple: “What else ought there be?”
Only then does Gawain finally understand that the desperate pursuit of honour does not build character but instead leads to an unsatisfactory and premature death. Gawain, out of options, finally resigns himself and the Green Knight drags a finger across Gawain’s throat, mouthing, “Off with your head.” But we do not watch Gawain die.
Lowery’s warning can be understood more intimately through the unique first-person point of view used throughout the film. Just like how no person is able to witness their own death, the viewer does not witness Gawain’s.
Anticlimactic as it may be to end a film on such definitive terms, we are meant to die with Gawain. The conclusion emulates what Gawain would have felt: nothing.