Ubyssey Magazine 2019

presence

presence the ubyssey magazine february 2019

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presence

A letter from the editor We are a campus of over 60,000 people, all with different stories, backgrounds, trials and tribulations. How does UBC support or hinder those differences? How do we — as individuals, departments and communities at a university — claim our own space? How do we continue to evolve and grow when the campus around us seems not to fit us? How do we stand up for our beliefs? How do we continue to be us and celebrate our diversity?

In this year’s Ubyssey magazine, we opened the doors to the various cultures, stories, ways of life and perspectives that make UBC the unique place it is today — and discussed how we make our presence known on campus, be that through reclaiming and fighting for our space, holding our own or beginning to include ourselves in the folds of UBC’s tapestry.

Thank you to all who helped write, illustrate, edit, produce and imagine the possibilities for this magazine. You’ve created the beautiful building blocks for a little haven of support and celebration within these pages and I am so proud of the work that you have produced. For those who shared your stories, thank you for your courage, honesty and openness.

This magazine is just the beginning of all the incredible stories waiting to be told on our campus about how students, staff and faculty have shaped and continue to shape our university identity.

We hope it acts as a stepping stone for you to share yours.

CoorDinaTing eDiTor Samantha McCabe coordinating@ubyssey.ca VisUals eDiTor Claire Lloyd visuals@ubyssey.ca neWs eDiTors Alex Nguyen & Zak Vescera news@ubyssey.ca CUlTUre eDiTor Bridget Chase culture@ubyssey.ca sporTs + reC eDiTor Lucy Fox sports@ubyssey.ca ViDeo proDUCer Marina McDuff video@ubyssey.ca Blog + opinion eDiTor Tristan Wheeler opinion@ubyssey.ca sCienCe eDiTor James Vogl science@ubyssey.ca phoTo eDiTor Elizabeth Wang photos@ubyssey.ca FeaTUres eDiTor Moira Wyton features@ubyssey.ca illUsTraTions CoorDinaTor Ella Chan illustrations@ubyssey.ca BUsiness Manager Douglas Baird business@ubyssey.ca aCCoUnT Manager Adam McQueen adam@ubyssey.ca senior WeB DeVeloper Atsushi Yamamoto atsushi@ubyssey.ca WeB DeVeloper Rowan Baker-French rowan@ubyssey.ca

eDiTor-in-ChieF Lucy Fox WriTTen ConTenT eDiTors Charlotte Alden Mitchell Ballachay Andrew Ha Emma Livingstone Riya Talitha illUsTraTions eDiTor Kristine Ho Design eDiTor Claire Lloyd

WeB DeVeloper Jamie Lee jamie@ubyssey.ca presiDenT Ben Amuwo president@ubyssey.ca 604.283.2024 NEST 6133 University Boulevard Vancouver, BC V6T 1Z1 Online: ubyssey.ca Twitter: @ubyssey Snapchat: theubyssey We would like to acknowledge that this paper and the land on which we study and work is the traditional, occupied, unceded territory of the Coast Salish peoples, including the territories of the xʷməθkwəy̓əm (Musqueam), Skwxwú7mesh (Squamish), Stó:lō and Səl̓ílwətaʔ/Selilwitulh (Tsleil-Waututh) Nations.

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contents 5

reclaim

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resolve

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redefine

moving mountains

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cricket thrives on campus

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a faltering resistance

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campus roots

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unconventional courses

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the unseen labour of racialized faculty

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all access pass

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fending for themselves

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ten years post knoll protest

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hiding in plain sight

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‘science is colonial’

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problematic terminology in the classroom

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wearing presence

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presence, in pieces

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decolonizing your media consumption

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carving space in the cosmos

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decision making

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finding community

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not the type

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control and flow

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inspiration and solidarity

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canadian enough

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dr. farah shroff

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the ubyssey magazine

Campus roots How students built UBC Point Grey DarBY lYnCh

all ThroUghoUT lasT Year, a long-running joke among the student body of UBC was the length of the administration’s multi-season effort to repair the famed Martha Piper Fountain that graces the cover of every school brochure. However, the current student grumblings of the lack of progress pale in comparison to the struggle UBC’s earliest classes undertook merely to establish a campus where they could study and learn. The Point Grey campus was nothing more than farmland a century ago, and it took decades and a massive student revolution to get it built.

The story began in 1877 when it became apparent that British Columbia would start a university, inciting the first school plan to be drawn up and introduced to the provincial

government. In 1899 — after much bickering over the location and funding — it was decided that Vancouver College would run a few first-year arts courses that were partly administered by McGill University.

This was a band-aid solution to a much more deeply rooted problem, as students had to go to McGill after their first year to acquire a degree — not to mention there was only one faculty member. In response to this issue, McGill took advantage of the lack of provincial leadership and opened McGill University College of BC (MUCBC) in 1906.

BC residents were still not satisfied with this solution. In 1910, plans were finalized to allocate 175 acres to the founding of a university in Point Grey.

The unofficial University of British Columbia ran out of a hodgepodge of locations in Fairview — right next to where the Vancouver General Hospital now stands — on the intersection of Laurel Street and 10th Avenue. Classes took place wherever a learning space could be cobbled together, from people’s houses to church basements to, infamously, a tent for the chemistry laboratory. The only permanent building was on loan from the hospital, while the hasty construction of the rest of the campus prompted the nickname the Fairview Shacks.

According to some students, the university was about 60 per cent over capacity in 1921, leading to overcrowded conditions

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and often forcing many professors to give their lectures up to six times a day.

The wait time between the initial declaration of the university’s creation and subsequent construction of the campus lasted for about 30 years, which increasingly infuriated the student body.

In 1921, the relatively small size of the school population and its tight-knit community life turned out to be beneficial in rallying the vast majority of the school together when student leaders started to take up the cause of getting a better campus.

Over the summer of 1922, students worked to sign a petition for funding from the government to begin the immediate construction of the long-promised campus.

When the initial 1,014 student signatories came back for the 1922/23 school year, they returned with 17,000 signatures.

Unsatisfied with only a petition, the students planned a Varsity Week as a last-minute push to collect even more signatures. By week’s end, they had garnered not only the support of the city but an impressive total of

56,000 signatures. At the time, that number was greater than a tenth of British Columbia’s population.

Varsity Week culminated in the petitions’ grand finale: the pilgrimage now known as the Great Trek.

Students borrowed over a dozen trolleys from the city, decorated them as makeshift floats and marched through the city, from East Georgia to the bare bones of the Science Building, singing this song: “We’re through with tents and hovels, We’re done with shingle stain, That’s why we want you to join us And carry our Campaign.

The Government can’t refuse us, No matter what they say, For we’ll get the people voting For our new home at Point Grey!”

The pilgrimage crossed what would soon become University Boulevard, through fields and past acres of farmland and Musqueam territory, until it finally reached the hollow structure of the future Science Building.

The students then famously climbed up

the structure, which was four storeys above ground, waving signs and chanting UBC songs. This show of school pride fraught with indignation prompted the government to dedicate over $1 million in funds towards campus construction to have UBC Point Grey in place by 1925.

As an eternal reminder of the assiduous efforts of the students and to commemorate the Trek, a Cairn was built outside the Chemistry Building. It was composed of stones representing the ones that the students used in their protest.

The incredible capacity of our predecessors to coordinate such a large-scale and successful campaign to push for their rights is admirable and should not be left in the past. They fought for privileges that we enjoy without a second thought.

The next time you walk down Main Mall past the Chemistry Building, stop to read the message on the Cairn and ask yourself this question: Would you be willing to stand with your fellow students should you feel that injustices have been levelled against you?

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Professors step outside the mainstream to explore ‘margins of society, culture’ in unconventional courses anDreW ha

very year students flood UBC’s Reddit page and Facebook groups with questions about easy classes to boost grades, have fun or simply fulfill credit requirements.

For some professors, the unconventional elective courses they teach are serious, even though they may not line up with subjects students typically associate with academics.

Professor of film studies Ernest Mathijs’s cult cinema course, FIST 300, sees high

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demand from students across different faculties. His class explores how films with cult followings like The Rocky Horror Picture Show were conceived and how they came to have such dedicated fan bases.

The class goes deeper than just watching cult classics. “[These films are] often quite progressive in terms of sexual politics, going back all the way to the 1970s … These films were expressing that, and something stuck,” he said.

noT all FUn anD gaMes In the faculty of land and food systems, Professor David McArthur shares his passion for wine in FNH 330, his introduction to wine science course. Students delve into wine production regulations and taste different wines to determine what aromas are present.

Many students enrol in FNH 330 expecting a relaxed class, but no drinking is allowed.

McArthur said students are surprised when

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they realize how in depth the course goes with wine tasting techniques from smelling the wine, judging its mouthfeel to analyzing its aftertaste.

“This last term I went through, I find that some people didn’t have their own spit cups, and I went, ‘Nope, you go to the recycle bin and find something to spit into and then get back in here afterwards,’” said McArthur. “...

There’s no drinking. They have to spit the wine ... And then they move on to the next one.”

Before taking this class, students often think all wines taste the same. Before long, they start to identify nuanced flavours that are sometimes hard to describe.

“There’s ... maybe some blackberry or … some cassis, notes like that. But eventually, it becomes kind of like, ‘Well, it’s hard to describe that exactly [but it] tastes interesting.

Why?’” he said.

Mathijs equally said that his class isn’t just about having fun watching movies, and sometimes he screens videos that are not what students expect.

“I showed [students] a five-minute clip and then they say, ‘Can I have the five minutes of my life back?’ But you know what?

Ten years from now, you’re going to talk to someone else, [saying] ‘You saw that film?’” he said. hUMBle Beginnings Both courses, as with all new courses, required UBC Senate approval before mak-

ing it on the official academic calendar. According to Chair of the Senate curriculum committee Peter Marshall, the committee receives a plethora of proposals for both new courses and new programs each year.

While the latter require intense scrutiny, the Senate allows for greater diversity in elective course topics.

“I think there’s lots of opportunities for creating courses that are of general interest ... without necessarily contributing directly to a particular program,” he said.

The committee rarely rejects proposals outright, most often concerned about “provocative” proposed course titles that may cause controversy. In these cases, it will ask departments to provide further rationale for the proposed course topic or title. But overall, the committee understands that departments know what’s appropriate to be taught.

“It’s not our job to ... censor the kinds of material that’s discussed or anything like that,” said Marshall.

According to him, departments often pilot courses first to gauge student interest.

Based on student feedback, new courses are either nixed or find the support to survive. In the case of McArthur’s wine science class, enrolment increased from 30 students in its debut semester to a class size now capped at two lectures of 100 students each. Mathijs’s cult cinema class experienced similar growth, starting with 25 students in 2008. Now he says he “could easily do 200.”

The Bigger piCTUre For McArthur, elective classes like these allow for students to study topics they might not have previously been aware of. Although many students enter university wanting to pursue conventional majors like biology or physics, many discover their passions in elective classes.

Despite wine science not being as prominent as other disciplines, McArthur said he thinks that his department is just as important, which he said was also the case when he studied horticulture at the University of Alberta.

“This guy was the molecular biologist in our faculty [at the University of Alberta] and he was full of himself ... talking down the rest of the faculty in terms of ... hard science,” he said. “It doesn’t mean that [our science is lesser], it just means we’re applying it in a way that’s functional and useful for society.”

Mathijs similarly emphasized the importance of unconventional classes like his own, saying that they are essential to university educations because they allow students to think differently. “[My class] asks students to pay attention to what is otherwise seen as the margin of society, the margins of culture, those elements that are seen as the other or not accepted by mainstream culture,” said Mathijs. “... Explore what’s around you, because this might be the only time you ever get the chance to do it sanction-free.”

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The unseen labour of racialized faculty Zak VesCera

he tissue box on Dr. Benjamin Cheung’s desk is empty, even though he has never used one.

“The usage rate hasn’t been too, too long,” he said, pointing at the large, empty cardboard shell perched on the corner of his desk. It’s exam season, and Cheung’s desk is covered in papers from the roughly 1,000 students he teaches each year. He schedules three office hours a day.

He spends many of those hours listening to and helping students in distress. Students who feel there’s no one else they can speak to. Students for whom Cheung, who is of Chinese descent, is the first instructor they’ve ever had at UBC who looks like them. Students who need advice, a sympathetic ear, a trusted source of advice or just a good place to cry.

Hence, the empty box.

“You’re sitting in the crying chair,” said Cheung. “That one and this one, these two are the crying chairs.”

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Unseen laBoUr Across the university, racialized faculty dedicate a huge amount of time, energy and passion to helping students of colour or bridging divides within the academy.

It’s called emotional labour, but it’s very much a physical act. It demands time and it takes a toll.

Dr. Renisa Mawani is a professor in the department of sociology. She says students of colour often ask her for help navigating experiences of racism in the classroom, for advice or to help as a mentor.

Many new racialized faculty ask for similar support.

“In many respects, they are ethical demands,” said Mawani in a written statement.

Times Higher Education declared UBC to be the most international university in North America in 2017, but Canadian academics are still mostly white. A 2018 study from the Canadian Association of University Teach-

ers (CAUT) found that only 21 per cent of professors were racialized and many groups — especially Black faculty and Indigenous peoples — were severely underrepresented compared to the Canadian population.

This means that when faculty of colour are hired, they’re often sought out by students with similar backgrounds who feel that other faculty either won’t identify with them or simply won’t support them.

“I often get asked to do things for students that I don’t necessarily know very well or may not have taught in my classes,” said Mawani.

“I feel that if I don’t do it, who’s going to do it?”

Every professor dedicates time to their students. But students of colour face diverse challenges of discrimination or alienation in the university, and that’s something faculty of colour are uniquely equipped to help with.

Dr. Phanuel Antwi, a professor in the department of English, says that students from entirely different faculties often come speak to him.

reclaim “I speak to students from engineering who just have heard of me and see me around, so all of a sudden seek me out. This is not my faculty that I teach in, but I’ve met students in engineering, forestry, who just go, ‘Oh, you’re a Black faculty here.’ Okay.

Let’s talk,” he said.

Cheung, a vocal advocate for mental health support on campus, is sought out by students of all backgrounds, but says he notices a trend of Chinese and Southeast Asian students speaking to him about cultural-specific problems.

“I’ve had students who will speak to me specifically because of a perceived match in cultural background,” said Cheung.

“They’re seeking me because of things that they think I’ve also experienced and in most cases, it’s true.”

“I think that mental health somehow affects pretty much everyone at UBC,” said Antwi. “But I’m curious, I’ve noticed that faculty of colour seem to be the ones who are talking about it the most.”

The toll You’ll never see “emotional labour” on a job description.

But for many racialized faculty, it’s a tangible part of their workday — one that takes up hours of time and often impacts their personal well-being.

Cheung says he’s more than happy to be supporting his students, but acknowledges that supporting so many of them takes a toll on him.

“I’ve had a lot of students who will talk about having engaged in self harm, who have had serious thoughts about suicide,” said Cheung. “All of that wears on you.”

Mawani describes it as a constant reality of the job.

“The university doesn’t credit faculty with providing emotional labour to students,” she said. “But Indigenous students and students of colour often feel alienated and racialized and Indigenous faculty are taxed with the responsibility of providing that labour.”

The university is pursuing diversification and reconciliation efforts, but its racialized faculty often bear a lot of that labour. Indigenous professors in particular report being constantly sought out to serve on committees and working groups related to Indigenous research.

“The targeted recruitment of racialized professors to fill spots on committees actually produces conditions in which racialized faculty members bear the responsibility of providing emotional labour for students and other junior faculty,” said Mawani.

This isn’t just to support racialized students, either. Antwi pointed out that the subject matter he teaches, which engages directly with colonialism, often forces white students to confront aspects of their own identities in the classroom.

“And that is a labour that’s very difficult to account,” said Antwi.

“I’m the first person, the first Black prof many are encountering. ... My mere presence in the classroom is a pedagogical experience.”

Emotional labour isn’t a uniform task.

Scholars interviewed for this piece were quick to point out that expectations and prejudice around one group of faculty are likely different than those around others.

“The kind of demands put on black faculty, the few of us that are here, are also different than those that are put on, say, other non-black faculty of colour and indigenous faculty. What I am trying to say is that different faculty of colour are racialized differently,” explained Antwi.

The CAUT’s 2018 study found that many of those faculty were under-compensated compared to their white colleagues.

But that doesn’t mean that those concerns are competing. Often, they overlap. In April 2018, Dr. Ayesha Chaudhry organized a round-table discussion on emotional labour with the support of the Peter Wall Institute.

Mawani says many faculty realized that they all faced similar challenges at the discussion.

“We should be paying attention to the subtle nuances and we know that racism manifests itself in very different ways,” said Mawani. “But I also think that this is a larger problem that is shared across faculty of colour and Indigenous faculty in the university.”

Changes Since she was hired 15 years ago, Mawani says she’s noticed many positive changes in the university but cautioned that many of them are only on the surface.

UBC has made recruiting more Indigenous students and faculty a priority, as per its enrolment reports and work in the Board of Gov-

ernor’s Indigenous Engagement Committee.

But where it falls behind is supporting those faculty once they arrive.

Antwi addresses this phenomenon in a reflection entitled On Labor, Embodiment, and Debt in the Academy, where he describes the “energy” of faculty of colour being repurposed to make the university more diverse. In other words, professors are instrumentalized to do what the university has already promised to do.

“The university is this beautiful machine of capitalism,” said Antwi. “... [it] can consume anything that is meant to actually make us survive here, it ends up turning it into its own [thing].”

In other words, racialized faculty are often recruited as part of an effort to change the academy. But once they arrive, they’re the ones who have to lead that change.

That job, which takes the form of emotional labour on top of countless research and working hours, can tire faculty out quickly.

“It’s not enough to hire more racialized and Indigenous [faculty], although that’s part of making the university more inclusive,” said Mawani. “There needs to be an infrastructure in place so that these newly recruited faculty can thrive.”

That’s not to say that racialized faculty dislike their jobs or are unhappy to be at the university. Largely because of one another, many have managed to thrive at the school.

“Over my years at UBC, I’ve been fortunate enough to receive support from networks of racialized faculty and graduate students of colour who have been drawn to each other — not only out of shared intellectual interests — but also out of shared ethical and political concerns about the university,” said Mawani.

Instead, scholars say that the university should consider emotional labour as an active contribution of racialized faculty. And if possible, UBC should try to bear more of it.

Until that happens, faculty worry the work of supporting vulnerable students falls almost exclusively to them.

“There have been times when a student comes into my office,” said Cheung. “And at the end, the student has used up a lot of tissue paper and leaves the room. And I have to sort out my own emotions because it can be difficult for me as well. And there’s a lineup of students outside the door, and they’re all waiting to speak to me.”

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Ten years post Knoll protest, activism is ‘accepted, expected’ and changing with the online landscape CharloTTe alDen

Ten Years ago, 19 students were arrested in the Knoll protest, a demonstration where students demanded the preservation of the grassy hill outside the soon-to-be Nest. The protest worked: the knoll they were fighting to save still stands today.

This type of activism isn’t new on campus.

Students have always protested at UBC, as the university itself was founded on protest.

The Knoll protest did, however, change activist culture on campus — a culture that has only grown with the explosion of the internet.

“In 2018, protesting has become so oversaturated,” Free Speech Club Director Angelo Isidorou said. “... I feel like people are protesting over some issue every other week to such a degree that nothing really ever stands out, whereas with the Knoll protest, it really stands out because at that time I don’t think [they] were protesting to this degree. That’s why 10 years on, people are still talking about it.”

Sociology Professor Dr. David Tindall agreed that sometimes the number of protests can be overwhelming and demonstrations lose impact due to the “issue attention cycle”: the idea that “the general public and also the media to [a] certain extent, have [a] limited attention span for certain types of topics.”

“Something will be in the news or will be of interest for a period of time. But then, people kind of lose attention for variety of reasons,” he said. “Protest is very much like that.”

According to Tindall, social media’s impact on protest culture both benefits and hinders society. “Social media plays this connector role. You can have people who at one point in time would have been relatively more isolated who are able to connect with one another on social media and … coordinate for things where that would have been much more difficult [before social media],” Tindall said.

As a result, Tindall explained that people with extremist ideas are more easily connected, resulting in those groups having a larger, more visible presence. He theorized that recent right-leaning protests on campus, including people protesting abortion and an anti-transgender protest that was quickly countered by LGBTQIA2S+ advocates, are potential examples of this new phenomenon.

It’s hard to say if that presence online directly correlates with any changes in society from those groups, though — or any group for that matter.

“We often assume that [if] a protest happened, some kind of change happens, and it’s a result of the protest, but it’s usually a lot more complicated than [that],” Tindall said. “It’s kind of hard to figure out whether protests actually lead to certain types of outcomes, because there’s a variety [of] things that could affect outcomes.”

#proTesT

Where does UBC stand on protest today and has its position changed in the last 10 years?

Dr. Neil Guppy, senior advisor to the president on academic freedom, says no. In 1976, the UBC Vancouver Senate approved the Academic Freedom Statement outlining stu-

Internet activism with hashtags, notably the #MeToo and #BlackLivesMatter movements, has grown in prominence over the last few years.

UBC’s sTanCe

dents’ right to protest. Since then, it has introduced a Respectful Environment Statement, ensuring mutual respect among people with different opinions and backgrounds.

On paper, UBC supports protest, but for some clubs it’s been harder to find a platform.

According to Emily Leung, communication coordinator of UBC’s environmental activism collective UBCC350, UBC has made it difficult since 2013 for the collective to lobby the university to divest from fossil fuels.

Leung said that in the initial stages of their divestment protesting, the UBC Board of Governors (BoG) required UBCC350 to hold two referenda to prove student and faculty support for shifting investments away from fossil fuels.

“In the beginning, they had quite a lot of obstacles for us and it was pretty hard to voice our opinions through the channels that they provided us,” she said.

After the referenda, Leung said that “they continued to not really acknowledge the effect and students’ efforts. They kind of go with their own agenda.”

But over the years, she said that the BoG has opened up to the collective and allowed them to speak at meetings. In 2017, after four years of protesting, UBC finally voted for sustainable investment.

Shifting ideas of protesting and activism brought on by the increase of online interconnectedness have changed the way students choose to make their voices heard. But while the changes in the last 10 years have changed the protest culture at UBC, Guppy affirms that UBC’s position remains the same.

“Protest is part of what is accepted, expected activity on a university campus,” Guppy said. “That’s always been the case.”

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What can we do about problematic terminology in the classroom?

ZainaB FaTiMa What do you do when an authority figure, be that a professor or anyone else, makes insensitive or problematic remarks in a classroom setting? Following these steps can work towards making students from all different backgrounds and cultures feel comfortable and included.

1. speaking Up Speak up when a problematic remark or comment is made. But keep in mind that while acting with anger may help release frustration, it likely will not change the other person’s behaviour. Avoid using “you” statements and instead use “I” statements. For instance, “I was really upset by that comment because it sounded stereotypical.” “I” statements bring forward your feelings and can help the person of authority understand your point of view. In situations like these, it is important to explain why using such language can be harmful to people or why a certain remark is upsetting to you and others.

2. DisCoVer inTenT It may be beneficial for you to ask the authority figure what the intent behind what they said was. Often, people make insensitive comments out of ignorance. You can take that opportunity to emphasize that even if they had not intended any harm, what they said can still be perceived as hurtful and can have a negative impact.

3. sTarT a ConVersaTion If you are able to speak up during a lecture, other students who share the same feelings as you might feel more comfortable voicing their opinions as well. This can open up an opportunity for dialogue and can create an environment where people aren’t afraid to share how they feel. If students are aware that their feelings and opinions matter, it can create a more inclusive learning space for everyone.

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4. reaCh oUT After the lecture, you can privately email or talk to your professor to further discuss the issue. Doing this can demonstrate that your actions were spurred by your passion for the issue and not a dislike towards the professor or their class.

5. aCCoUnTaBiliTY If the professor continues to make problematic remarks, remind them about what you said. It’s important to hold others accountable for their actions, especially if they continue to use disrespectful terminology.

You can’t force people to think a certain way, but you can request that they not use certain language in public situations or arenas.

It is important to note that choosing to publicly call out an authority figure can sometimes be a risky endeavour that may have less than desirable effects on your mental health, academic performance and more. There are resources at UBC that you can access in order to voice any complaints you may have: the UBC Equity and Inclusion Office, AMS Advocacy and Ombuds office, UBC Ombuds office and the UBC Sexual Violence Prevention and Response Office. None of these resources are perfect or comprehensive in the support they provide, but they may be able to offer a valuable starting point for students to work towards making UBC a place where everyone can feel welcome.

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Embracing all voices Decolonizing your media consumption riYa TaliTha & lUa presĂ?Dio

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or decolonization to be more than a term buried deep in academia or a distant historical process, it needs to become a way of life. Decolonizing your media consumption is one of the most accessible ways to do this.

We all need to actively seek out and engage with decolonial media — from the angry agitprop of diasporic artists to the self-assured confidence of those from the homelands, without forgetting the voices of people whose identities don’t fit into neat labels. When we speak about decolonial media, we’re talking about media that addresses and amplifies discussion about the global impact of colonization and the countries around the world who are still reeling from its legacies.

The body of work produced by current decolonial artists grapples with ancient legacies while breaking new ground. They seem to be drawn to upward trajectories and while doing so they redefine not only the paths they’re “supposed” to follow but also perhaps a new world order.

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MUsiC Horsepowar (Jasleen Powar) is a Punjabi feminist rapper who grew up in Richmond and who used to host CiTR’s Crimes and Treasons! Her music is a catchy mix of endearing and outrageous.

Anavitória is a female duo composed of Ana Clara Costa and Vitória Falcão. They launched their first EP in 2015. Listening to their feel-good lyrics and música popular brasileira-influenced folk-pop music feels like floating.

A Tribe Called Red is a electronic music group comprising of Tim “2oolman” Hill (Mohawk, of the Six Nations of the Grand River), and Ehren “Bear Witness” Thomas (of the Cayuga First Nation). Their music has been described as “powwow step” (a name taken from one of their earlier tracks) and is so incredible to listen to. Their music videos are both thrilling and uplifting, and honestly, just really cool.

online ConTenT Poesia Acústica is a music video series launched by Brazilian Youtube channel Pineapple Storm TV. It brings together various Portuguese-speaking artists to make music and rap with acoustic beats.

BBC Asian Network and BBC Africa are fantastic archives of some of the best new artists from both regions and from their respective diasporas. They’re great places to start diversifying your music playlists. gal-dem is an award-winning online magazine.

Its excellent music section features the most talented women and non-binary artists of colour, often way before they explode globally.

Indian and Cowboy is an emerging Indigenous media network that was originally a podcast sharing platform founded by Anishinaabe comedian, writer and podcaster Ryan McMahon. It is building the foundations of what is going to be a diverse Indigenous network and a cornerstone of the Canadian independent media scene.

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liTeraTUre Nnedi Okorafor identifies as “Nigamerican.” She writes about genocide, environmental issues, corruption, violence and inequality through a West-African and fantasy lens. Her writing is an immersive and auditory experience in the way she describes sounds and music, allowing them to direct the courses of her stories. One of her (many) book series is currently being made into an HBO series with George R. R. Martin attached as executive producer.

Eden Robinson is an award-winning author whose ongoing trilogy of coming-ofage novels beginning with Son of a Trickster made waves and is set in Kitamaat, where she grew up. She is a member of the Haisla and Heiltsuk First Nations whose multiplicity of identities informs her considerable and critically acclaimed body of work. She is also a UBC MFA alumnus!

Sandra Cisneros is a Mexican-American writer who has won multiple awards for her work. Her most famous novel, The House on Mango Street, is a coming-of-age story told in vignettes that capture the wonder of childhood and the difficulty in the transition to womanhood. Her style in prose is poetry-like, leaving readers with a sense of sweetness even when dealing with difficult topics such as sexual violence.

Silvia Moreno-Garcia is a Mexican author who attended grad school at UBC. Her thesis, titled “Magna Mater: Women and eugenic thought in the work of H.P. Lovecraft,” is a fascinating read. Her fiction tends to defy categorization as she writes about sad Mexican vampires, magical ’80s mixtapes and sci-fi drug crises.

Nilanjana Roy is an Indian literary critic and author of the Hundred Names of Darkness, a series about magical cats living in New Delhi’s old streets and beautiful parks. She’s extremely active on Twitter as @nilanjanaroy, where she writes lucidly about Indian politics and her blogs are themselves fantastic resources about desi literature in English.

The Last Flight of the Flamingo by Mia Couto, a writer and biologist from Mozambique, is narrated by an unnamed translator helping an Italian UN representative make sense of unexplainable events happening to UN Peacekeeping troops. It forces readers to confront their ideas about the place of international organizations in colonized nations.

reclaim

people

FilM anD TV

@laetitiaky or Letitia Ky is an artist and fashion designer who uses Instagram and Youtube to share her amazing creations. She is from Côte d’Ivoire and uses her braids to create sculptures on her head that are beautiful, bizarre and unique.

M.I.A., or Mathangi Arulpragasam, was born in London and grew up in Sri Lanka.

Throughout her decades-long music career she has spoken up about the oppression of Sri Lankan Tamils, the refugee crisis, Palestine and just about every contentious issue imaginable. Her autobiographical documentary Mathangi/Maya/M.I.A. was just released on Netflix and, honestly, everyone should watch it.

@eddiendopu is a South African activist and humanitarian who is set to become the first person with a disability to go to space.

He is also the first African Oxford graduate with a disability and has founded the Evolve Initiative to advocate social transformation.

Black Beyond America is a Youtube series directed by Portia Bartley that highlights the expansive and global nature of black-ness and the experience of being Black. The excellently produced, dynamic series of videos is an ambitious attempt to grapple with an often ignored issue.

Rami Ismail is the Egyptian-Dutch indie games designer behind the independent Dutch game development studio Vlambeer.

He consistently speaks up about the Westocentrism rife within mainstream game development and actively champions emerging developers in languages other than English.

Bolivian Express Magazine is an English-language publication founded to bridge the gap between the English-speaking world and contemporary Bolivian culture. It covers everything from music to performance art. @artwhoring or Priyanka Paul is a 21-year Bombay-based artist whose work has already been featured in Teen Vogue and Elle India. She supports and publicizes other artists, talks about political issues specific to India. Following her on social media will be sure to open up the world of art, activism and solidarity that has always existed on the subcontinent.

The Reluctant Fundamentalist directed

by Mira Nair, based on a book by Pakistani author Mohsin Hamid, is an electrifying film about the individual cost of Islamophobia. It’s heartbreaking, complex, angry and doesn’t succumb to the essentialism with which Westerners tend to view the East, nor does it offer any easy resolutions.

Hasan Minaj’s Patriot Act drops new episodes every week on Netflix and is the first political-comedy show of its kind in America with a brown host. Minaj is uncompromising in his beliefs and is hilariously funny.

Ferrugem is a Brazilian film directed by Ali Muritiba and features a deliberately chosen all-female crew. The story follows Tati who loses her phone during a school trip and has her personal pictures exposed. The film style mimics internet culture and has started discussions on themes such as bullying, toxic masculinity and revenge porn.

In 1992, the director Sandi Tan shot a film with two friends and George Cardona as a mentor in Singapore; as the shooting wrapped, Cardona vanished with 70 rolls of 16mm film. Twenty years later, the movie —Shirkers — reappeared, prompting Tan to go on a journey of reconstruction of the past. It’s on Netflix and was featured in the Vancouver International Film Festival.

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Finding community Should UBC be collecting racial data? sarah Zhao

ombining UBC and UBC Okanagan’s student populations, there are almost 65,000 students who claim UBC as their school. Three Canadian prime ministers have graced the halls as well as eight Nobel Prize-winners, and UBC varsity athletes have won a combined 65 Olympic medals.

UBC makes this kind of data readily available, but for students of colour an important question remains without a statistical reply: What’s the demographic makeup of racialized students on campus?

C

‘irreleVanT’ in aDMissions Historically, racial minorities have been underrepresented at UBC. According to a 1930 UBC student census, three per cent of 1,904 students were of colour.

UBC has a comprehensive application that asks applicants to respond to short answer prompts and to describe their extracurricular activities. However, UBC doesn’t ask much more on personal data than the applicant’s name, birthdate, gender and citizenship status.

In a statement to The Ubyssey, Director of Undergraduate Admissions Andrew Arida said that “student race and ethnicity data is not collected during the application and admissions process because the information is irrelevant in determining who is admitted to the university.”

WhY raCial DaTa shoUlD Be ColleCTeD Gavin Gordon, co-president of UBC’s Black Student Union (BSU), said that while student race and ethnicity data may not matter

to the admissions department, it matters to some students themselves.

“As people of colour, we want to know that there is a community,” he said. “... A big part of the appeal of UBC is the diversity.”

According to Gordon, the BSU seeks to create connections and bring together a Black community at UBC that is “fragmented” but “growing.” The BSU and other clubs for racialized students are places where people can express experiences that others are unable to relate to. “[Race data] could help us better position ourselves to be comfortable,” he said.

“If we ever need ... support that the general public or UBC as a whole can’t provide, [we] know those communities are there for us.” raCial DaTa aT oTher CanaDian UniVersiTies A 2017 CBC investigation found that more than 60 Canadian post-secondary schools don’t fully understand student racial diversity because they don’t collect data on how students identify racially, including UBC. In Ontario, Ryerson University began asking its undergraduate and graduate students to fill out the Student Diversity SelfID census asking about racial identity in November 2018. It emphasized that there would be a “prefer not to answer” option for each question so that the census would remain voluntary.

According to the survey’s FAQ, any data, including self-reported data, could help outline diversity issues and “[Ryerson needs] the full picture to enhance the learning experience for all students. If we don’t know what the problems are, we can’t fix them.”

According to the Ontario Human Rights Commission’s Race Policies and Guidelines, many Canadian organizations are under the mistaken impression that collecting race data is “antithetical” to human rights concerns. The document says collecting that data is “necessary for effectively monitoring discrimination, identifying and removing systemic barriers, ameliorating historical disadvantage and promoting substantive equality.” looking aheaD Back at UBC, racial discrimination still remains problematic.

Thirty-eight per cent of students who completed the 2018 AMS Academic Experience Survey reported experiencing racial discrimination at some point in the 2017/18 school year, and UBC’s Equity and Inclusion Office received 59 complaints of racial discrimination or harassment compared to 24 in the previous year as reported by The Ubyssey in 2018.

UBC and the AMS have planned to tackle racial discrimination with an anticipated update to Policy 3 which covers how racial discrimination and harassment can be addressed by the university.

Despite increasing attention on the issue and moves by other Canadian schools to gather that data, there remains no plan to collect the demographic data on the racial identity of students like those in the BSU. “I feel like that data is very important to feeling like you belong here,” said Gordon.

“And by keeping that data from us, I feel like they’re kind of trying to hide something, whether they are or are not.”

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Moving mountains Supporting marginalized students at UBC goes beyond funding to build community Moira Wyton

D

r. Sara-Jane Finlay knew there wasn’t enough pizza.

Dozens of students were milling around at a Get Connected event hosted by the Equity & Inclusion office during Jump Start 2018.

Finlay, the associate VP Equity & Inclusion, had never expected such a turnout for the

second year of the event series that aimed to support and connect queer and trans students as well as students who are Black, Indigenous and people of colour (BIPOC).

“We had to madly run around to order extra pizza because there were many more students than we had expected,” recalled Finlay.

The event wasn’t just for fun and free food. When UBC implemented the 41.5 per cent international tuition increases in 2015, the Commitment to Diversity Fund was created as a portion of the Strategic Investment Fund to “recruit and support diverse students,” despite pressure from this “big

resolve financial change for students,” AMS President Marium Hamid explained.

“Inclusive excellence is not just about having a few people talk about how amazing the university with inclusion would be, but rather every single unit on a systemic level saying, ‘Yes, but how do we also do this?’” she said.

Now, the Student Diversity Initiative (SDI), which began realizing the goals of the fund in 2017, is committed to answering these questions. But it grapples with a finite budget and limited resources as it seeks to support underrepresented and marginalized students.

“The work that they’re doing is work that is highly nuanced and one that requires a systemic change within UBC,” said Hamid. ripple eFFeCT With over $2 million allocated in the 2018/19 fiscal year, the SDI is hardly in financial ruin.

But as Finlay — who helped build the initiative from the ground up in 2017 and now leads much of its work — noted, the SDI and the Equity & Inclusion office are both “small units on a very large campus with a huge range of work to do.”

“Whether it’s the work that we’re doing as part of the Student Diversity Initiative or the work that the Equity & Inclusion office does, we can’t do it without partners and without partnerships,” she said.

Now in its second year of operation, the SDI is collaborating with faculty, students and other campus units “to change the institution to actually recognize the diversity of students that we have, rather than thinking that our one-size-fits-all model is going to work,” said Finlay. As of right now, only two faculties — arts and sciences — have embedded team members from the SDI, a figure Hamid wants to see grow as other faculties begin to inquire about what they can do.

“If every single faculty does not feel the need to opt into the ideas that these individuals [at the SDI] are trying to spread in the university, it really doesn’t matter,” said Hamid.

It’s no wonder these questions seem to be surfacing at many levels and institutions outside of UBC. Universities in general are faced with a completely different student population than previous decades, where very few attended post-secondary at all.

“There’s a much larger proportion of people who go to university, which means it’s a whole different type of student who’s coming,” said Finlay. In 2016, 54.0 per cent of Canadians had post-secondary qualifications, up from 48.3 per cent in 2006, according to Statistics Canada.

“And yet, universities are designed to educate the historic population who came.”

According to Darran Fernandez, associate registrar and director of the student support & advising unit in Enrolment Services, UBC itself consciously identifies four core populations that are underrepresented at the institution: low-income students, first-generation learners, students from rural communities and Indigenous students. Over time, the rates of enrolment for these populations have increased, but most are not at levels proportionate to their representation in the general population. For example, self-identified Aboriginal students made up 2.9 per cent of domestic students in 2017/18 compared to 4.9 per cent of the population of Canada who identify as Indigenous.

UBC doesn’t track data on the race, sexual orientation, gender identity or self-identified disabilities of its students, but data from enrolment reports and the Academic Experience Survey (AES) run by the AMS each year points towards a diverse and rapidly diversifying student body.

As previously reported by The Ubyssey, over 4,400 students from China alone were enrolled at UBC in 2017/18, an increase of 147 per cent from 2013/14. Numbers of students from India, the third-largest country of origin for international students after China and the United States, are smaller but growing at an even faster rate. In 2017/18, 726 students from India were enrolled — an increase of 263 per cent from 2013/14.

According to the 2017 AES, 12 per cent of students identify on the LGBTQP spectrum.

“As UBC has expanded, the kinds of people we see here also have,” said Hamid.

Finlay sees much of the SDI’s work in these early stages as foundational, but pointed to three key achievements in re-

sponse to this changing demography: the success of the Get Connected events, a partnership with the Centre for Teaching and Learning Technology to educate faculty on inclusive teaching practices and collaboration with administrative units to make changes that help students feel more welcome through small but meaningful interactions.

Working with Enrolment Services, the SDI made it so that students’ chosen names could appear on class lists instead of their legal names, which may not reflect their gender identity or name they go by when in Canada.

“Now, not only are we hearing from students how pleased they are that their chosen name shows up on class lists, but also lots of pressure from faculty and staff for us to make that happen for them as well,” said Finlay, noting the process took 18 months and tackled only 2 of the 170 systems that track and store data at UBC. “It was a bit of one of those instances when you move a mountain.”

Now, the SDI is comfortable where it is and is looking ahead to build relationships with new faculties — which Finlay said are coming to her in droves — to increase its capacity to make these changes that make a difference far beyond what the small team could imagine.

“Sometimes these little things can have big impacts, big ripples that you’re just not aware of at the time.” aCknoWleDging + ValiDaTing Feeling welcome on campus while balancing financial strains is another story.

For fourth-year international relations student Will Shelling, finding his place on campus isn’t just about attending Get Connected events. The major entrance scholarship he received while on a choir trip to Seattle is how he feels the university demonstrates that it values his experiences as an African-American first-generation university student from a single-parent household.

The Bill Levine Entrance Award is the reason Shelling could pick UBC and the opportunities it offers over a smaller school closer to his home in Tsawwassen.

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24 the ubyssey magazine “Personally, I think that education is a really big catalyst for change,” said Shelling, who currently serves as associate VP external for the AMS. “But I think it’s also a big hindrance because people definitely see universities still as institutions where they’re not welcome.”

He stated that there have been “multiple times at UBC where [he] felt excluded because of [his] race.”

Hamid echoed Shelling’s concerns, noting that students who self-identify as Black score significantly lower than average in terms of satisfaction across multiple Undergraduate Experience Surveys and AES scores. Through her leadership as chair of the Senate Committee on Academic Diversity and Inclusion, Hamid is working to further gather data on where these interactions are taking place and how the institution can address them.

Part of this may be changing how merit-based awards are adjudicated and how needs-based awards are expanding as a whole. “[Awards committees] were looking at certain criteria of an individual that maybe 50 years ago was easy to find,” said Hamid, noting that many students — particularly those from disadvantaged groups — now rely more on part-time work to fund their studies. About 48 per cent of undergraduates work to fund their studies, according to the AES. “There aren’t that many people who look like me who tend to win these awards, and I’m definitely directly referencing race,” said Shelling.

“If you only reward students who are the ideal student, who may have already had many advantages in their lives ... It creates this never-ending cycle of rewarding people only based on all the good things that are happening, but not on people overcoming diverse issues of adversity in their lives,” Hamid added.

And as the SDI leverages its financing to support diverse and marginalized students, Enrolment Services is working to understand how they can help these students at the material level.

“Providing adequate support that can bridge that inequity is important,” said Fernandez. Financial aid and scholarships administered through the university totalled over $25 million in 2017/18, and bursaries reached over 5,000 students that same year.

Under Policy 72, the university has made a commitment to bridge the financial gaps between the cost of studying and living at UBC and what students can obtain from working, government loans and other resources like family support and scholarships. UBC fulfills this obligation through its bursary program, but it is only available to domestic students who have already exhausted these resources.

“The policy is very focused on domestic students in part because we do require international students, everyone, to come to Canada being able to fully fund their studies and not be reliant on financial aid,” said Fernandez. He added that like domestic students, international students are eligible for almost all scholarships and other funding opportunities such as emergency funding.

Fernandez says that, year by year, Enrolment Services sees a “steady increase” in the need for bursaries and emergency funding. He attributed this to a rising cost of living and changes to provincial and federal student loan programs, which 30 per cent of domestic undergraduate students rely on.

These changes impact students from historically marginalized populations, who may rely more on financial aid and loans than other traditional students.

In Shelling’s case, his award meant that he has more flexibility in his social life. He has found himself calling nights early to save money when friends were still staying out but noted that UBC has done a balanced job of approaching scholarships.

“It’s one thing to receive funding for your tuition

and for your housing, but it’s another thing to also kind of receive a stipend as well,” he said.

“That way, you don’t have to worry so much about taking on an extra eight-hour shift on [a] weekend rather than going out getting a coffee with your friends.”

The bottom line is that money can’t ensure diversity and inclusion at UBC on its own, but it can take students and the university closer to their goals.

“There’s a big part for us about what it means ... to acknowledge and validate people in underrepresented populations and marginalized populations,” said Fernandez on how financial support is allocated.

As Hamid advocates for increased needs-based awards and for the renewal of SDI’s funding in the next budget year, she underlined the importance of centring students when making these decisions.

“These are students who I think might not always fit our idea of what it means to be an amazing student at UBC, but are making history in their own ways every single day by being at UBC despite big odds against them,” she said.

— with files from Lucy Fox

resolve

Where the Tigris and Euphrates convulse, The beautiful city of Basra is made, A city filled of simplistic splendour, Love, poetry, sorrow, kindness, This is what makes Basra.

I see its streets, roads, walls, everything, I can describe it all in perfect detail.

Such a mysterious place, filled with magic.

It is my home, where my blood is, Where my father grew up, Under both, Yahya and Abdul Ghani.

This city is me.

The thing is, I am a foreigner to this city.

I have never seen it, I don’t know what the writings on the wall mean, I can only wish to speak the languages of my people there, But yet I know all its details, This is because when I think of you, I am in Basra.

-YahYa aBDUl ghani

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All Access Pass CiTR’s Accessibility Collective advocates for students with disabilities Sonia pathak

BC’s Centre for Accessibility has been implementing Policy 73, which was fully reviewed last December by the Board of Governors for the first time in 19 years.

UBC’s radio station, CiTR, was ahead of that curve in supporting those with disabilities on campus today — four years ahead, in fact.

All Access Pass — CiTR 101.9 FM’s radio show that delves into accessibility news on and off campus with topics such as housing, mental health and sexuality, viewed through the lens of those with disabilities — has been on air for almost four years, broadcasting every second Wednesday from 2 to 3 p.m. The show is run by CiTR’s Accessibil-

U

ity Collective, a small team of students and community members with disabilities.

For Collective member Lidia Cooey-Hurtado, the show acts as a space for people with diverse accessibility needs to express themselves as well as a public education tool to give visibility to those with disabilities. “[It forwards] the perspectives of people who have had to fight to occupy these spaces often times, and who are also fun to listen to,” she said.

The Collective is one of the few spaces on campus specifically for students with disabilities, and members agree that UBC leaves several accessibility problems unaddressed despite their fairly progressive accessibility policy.

Among these issues, the Collective has identified the lack of accessible parking, loud noises from construction and the cost of paperwork that the Centre for Accessibility (formerly known as Access and Diversity) faces to accommodate student needs. “... It’s a lot better [than it was]. Is it going to be perfect? No,” said Deepi Leihl, Accessibility Collective Coordinator. “I don’t really know if there is a perfect world that will be totally accessible, but people can work on it.”

According to Leihl, students with disabilities make up a diverse portion of our campus.

“There’s going to be people with wheelchairs and with walkers or pain or even people who visually look like they have a disability but they actually don’t,” she said.

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Students with accessibility needs can register with UBC’s Centre for Accessibility, currently accommodating over 3,200 students with disabilities. It is a one-stop shop offering services such as academic concessions, exam accommodations and priority housing.

According to Janet Mee, director of the Centre for Accessibility, the Centre is currently implementing the newly upgraded Policy 73. It hopes to broaden the activities available to those with disabilities on campus among other initiatives. Now known as the Academic Accommodation For Students with Disabilities Policy, it only applies to academic activities. Once the new policy is passed, UBC will rename it the Accommodation Policy, broadening the range of activities that students are involved in, such as experiential learning and leadership opportunities.

Additionally, UBC proposed upgrades to its review and appeal procedure and clarification to both the university’s and the student’s responsibilities.

To prepare for its implementation, the Centre plans on updating their website,

hosting workshops with faculty deans and department heads, as well as consulting with the AMS and the Graduate Student Society.

“It’s just a huge opportunity to do a whole educational campaign that really not only talks about the policy, but also talks about accessibility on campus,” said Mee. Despite the amount of time since its last revision, Leihl supports the change.

“Obviously, it would have been nice if it was done way before ... but I do hope things change for the better,” wrote Leihl in a statement to The Ubyssey.

The Centre is also preparing for an open house in early March. Mee anticipates hearing student feedback at the event and hopes that it will serve as a way to talk about what the Centre does on campus.

“Students with disabilities contribute so significantly to the fabric of our educational institution,” she said. “... Ensuring that they have the opportunity to do so in a manner that is respectful provides them with agency and gives them independence.”

‘FighTing For The neXT generaTion’ With a student population of almost 56,000 that is growing every year, “there’s so many students, and they’re not all able-bodied people,” said Leihl. “... Every day someone is living with a disability, so it’s important that we acknowledge that and that they too have needs and goals and want to be a student.”

According to Alison Klein, a member of the Accessibility Collective, it can be isolating to not know others who share a disability.

“But to have others who also have disabilities and we can share those experiences, it’s not as isolating,” she said. “So I think for the next generation, it’s so rewarding.”

“We’re fighting for the next generation so they don’t have the same struggles as we do.”

If students are interested in joining the Collective, they can email Deepi Leihl at accessibilitycollective@citr.ca or send a message via the All Access Pass Facebook page.

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hiding in plain sight

Unsung heroes define Thunderbird varsity culture MiTChell BallaChaY

e

mma Kallner started her first season with the UBC women’s soccer team in a quiet fashion. Though she saw decent field time and played well, her rookie season was just as much defined by how unremarkable it was to the naked eye.

As a defender, she doesn’t often see opportunities to be the hero — she doesn’t normally get the chance to score game-winning goals.

Beyond this, the team surrounding Kallner was fractured, dealing with multiple coaching changes and veteran departures over the years prior.

All that was about to change in her second year, when current head coach Jesse Symons took the reins in 2016.

Symons knew that in order to straighten out the team and prepare them for years to come, they needed to redefine what it meant to be a member of UBC women’s soccer team.

Being a teammate and being a leader didn’t necessarily mean that a player need-

ed to be a top scorer. Instead, they needed to help enrich the culture of the team and work to make those around them better every single day — he found a perfect example of this in Kallner.

“He came in and saw that I was a player that was essential to be on the field, but he knew that I wasn’t necessarily going to be the player scoring all the goals,” said Kallner of her coach’s arrival. “[Symons] gave me an opportunity to see that I was essential to this team, that I was a part of it, and he gave me the confidence that year to step into a role that would kind of develop me for when I was a senior.”

From there, the relationship between coach and player continued to flourish as Kallner became an essential part of the team’s leadership group. As Symons worked to overhaul the culture of the team, he needed players that could share his vision and Kallner’s natural leadership abilities made her a perfect fit.

“I [wanted] to leave this program having fixed it and having left a mark on it,” said Kallner of her sophomore year. “I only had three years left to accomplish my goal and I needed to really step into a role where I could talk to people.”

Now in her final varsity year, Kallner continues to be a solid defender on the field, but her contributions to the women’s soccer program as a whole extend much further.

As a captain, Kallner works with the core leadership group to create what she hopes is a meaningful experience for teammates around her and, even more, a lasting legacy that can outlive her time with the program.

“My biggest motivation was wanting to leave on my last day with this team knowing that the future is in a very secure spot to continue growing,” Kallner said. “I said in my [first] year that I hope that players in the future would have a different experience from what I had ... that [the program] would

resolve actually develop players as a person, not just solely as a soccer player.”

Although the specifics of Kallner’s story are unique, there are important similarities between her team and other Thunderbird squads.

In fact, nearly all the Thunderbird teams have distinct team cultures built on the backs of unsung heroes — players who quietly define and demonstrate leadership behind the scenes.

For the women’s basketball team, longtime head coach Deb Huband’s culture is built on leaders by example — players like third-year guard Gabrielle Laguerta.

Laguerta, like Kallner, is not a flashy player. In her sophomore year last season, she averaged just four points per game. This year, her role has expanded. Though she continues to play off the bench, she’s become an important member of the team’s leadership core.

“I just stepped into a leadership role this year being in my third year and being one of the oldest people,” Laguerta said. “Just keeping everybody organized and focused ... with practice and things like that. I do my best to bring my energy and keep things fun.”

For Huband’s young roster, Laguerta is an excellent role model. Having dealt with injury troubles in the past, she believes in not taking her opportunities for granted and working to earn every minute of time she gets to play.

“I come with the mindset of being grateful to be here, being grateful for my opportunities to even play,” Laguerta said. “I want to get better and be the best and I want the best for our team, so I feel like maybe that’s contagious.”

For Laguerta, leadership doesn’t take the form of a title or team-leading statistics. Instead, since her rookie year, she has let her leadership role on the team develop naturally as players are inspired by her attitude and approach to the game.

“A lot of what I’ve learned about leadership is about leading by example and not necessarily needing to be given a role,” she said. “I love basketball, so even though I was just watching from the bench, I had so much fun getting excited for our team.”

The UBC women’s field hockey team — infamous for their winning ways — has a team culture that is grounded in structure and tradition.

Gabriella Switzer, a senior on the team and long-time member of an outstanding UBC goaltending duo, spoke of the formalized leadership system that guides the team.

“All of our players have what we call buds.

We have two or three other players that we sort of look after. There’s an infrastructure that’s already built into the team to develop leadership,” Switzer said. “I’ve taken that to heart, and so have most of my teammates as well — just looking after teammates, we’re all responsible for one another.”

Switzer, like Kallner and Laguerta, had a choice to make early in her university athletics career when faced with the prospects of a limited role.

“In my first year I was red-shirted, so I didn’t play. It sort of became a decision of whether or not I just wanted to fall to the background or contribute in any way possible to our collective goal, and be a part of the group whenever I had the opportunity to be. While that was challenging, it provided me an opportunity to strengthen my leadership skills off the field and just contribute to team cohesion.”

Now in her final year with the program, Switzer speaks fondly of the way the team’s culture has translated into a unit that is a perennial championship contender.

“We have been successful for so many years because everyone, no matter what their role was, was really committed to winning and to supporting one another,” said Switzer. “We’re all collectively responsible for one another, and I think that’s the most unique thing about our team. We really consider each other as family, so we’re all leaders.”

Successful teams are an assembly of integral pieces that come together to form a cohesive unit. For this reason, athletics programs have learned to develop systems that prioritize culture and build teams from the ground up. Everyone has a role to play, and every role is important — no matter the size.

On Thunderbird teams, this is reflected in no better way than in the quiet and understated leaders that inspire their locker rooms. They may not necessarily score the big points or make headlines, but they define what the Thunderbird programs are and will continue to be.

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wearing

presence danielle olusanya

resolve

suyesha jamie Suyesha Dutta is a third-year political science and history double major. She considers India home.

Jamie Wu is a fourth-year arts student who identifies as Chinese-Canadian.

sydney Sydney Henry is a third-year political science student who describes herself as of Jamaican descent.

Tell Me aBoUT YoUr CloThes. hoW Do The CloThes ThaT YoU Wear Tie YoU To hoMe or To VanCoUVer? I’m wearing pure cotton as one of the major things in India is that it’s very hot, so you need to wear breathable fabric.

I always choose to wear cotton. My shoes are from Pondicherry, which was a French colony in India. I really support cotton and that’s where I carry India with me. I sometimes wear a Jaipur coat in Rajasthan, but when I wear it here people will ask, “What are you wearing?”

divita Divita Raithatha is a fourth-year political science student. She identifies as Kenyan and is of Indian descent. hoW Do YoU DeCiDe WhaT To Wear?

I think for me, I dress very plainly but there are two or three certain articles of clothing that I choose to wear — a bracelet with the Kenyan flag on it is very symbolic for me. I wear a lot of jewelry, I don’t take it off. I think it’s very important as an Indian to wear certain jewelry.

My mom thinks it’s lucky. My Kenya flag doesn’t come off, it was pretty much sewn onto me.

WhaT are heaD Wrap DaYs? In terms of clothes, I try to wear what’s most comfortable. I tend to like wearing dresses, I like clothes that I feel comfortable moving around in, like a loose shirt.

The stuff you wear affects your comfort levels.

noor Noor Tawfiek is a second-year student studying at the Sauder School of Business and she identifies as Arab.

Where Do YoU ConsiDer To Be hoMe? I guess I call home right now Kuwait, because that’s where I went for my last five years of high school, but Kuwait is not home in the same way because my friends are not there. I feel like my style ties me back to Kuwait in the way that there is a typical Kuwaiti girl of Kuwaiti style. ... The thing is, the style in Kuwait is a lot more conservative and what’s great about it for them is that people can wear [things] with the hijab. I wouldn’t say that I dress conservatively, but there are days when I feel like covering up.

Some days I feel more connected to home, there are days when I feel like I’m connected to Vancouver and days where I feel connected to nowhere.

Head wrap days are when my hair is doing the most, so I put on a head wrap, but those are the days when I feel eyes.

When I’m doing something or being something that is atypical, I feel like I’m taking up more space than the average person because there’s a bubble around me that’s drawing all this attention.

It’s weird because for me my culture is very American. My parents came and assimilated, my mother changed her name and my dad’s only exposure to being Black was watching Roots. For me, there is the feeling that we have to represent whatever our culture is supposed to be. I came from a city where everyone was Black and brown. As a political science major, when I’m in class, being a racialized person is just a heavily political thing; so when [classes talk] about issues in Africa or police brutality in the United States, it feels like there is this weight.

For full interviews, visit our website at ubyssey.ca/magazine

31

Carving space in the cosmos For marginalized students on campus, navigating the Greek system comes with ups and downs BriDgeT Chase

M

iselta Ihekwoaba describes the Greek system as “a tiny universe.”

“It’s the exact same feeling I’ve had my entire life,” she said, “of walking into the room and being the only Black person. It’s no different [here].”

For Ihekwoaba, who was born in Nigeria but grew up in Alberta, the idea of joining a space concentrated with people who didn’t look like her was deterring. But after accompanying a friend to rush in her first year as a support, she was surprised to find that she really liked the atmosphere.

Two years later, Ihekwoaba has carved out a microcosm for herself within the greater Greek cosmos.

“I counted and [I think] there’s a total of [about] eight Black people in sororities. And the community I have with them is something inexplicable.”

This story is not uncommon. For marginalized folks — people of colour, the queer community and people with different abilities — finding spaces within larger institutions can be complex. Fraternities and sororities are no exception, and these organizations present their own unique issues. going greek “I’d always wanted to join a sorority,” said third-year student Amelia Kimberlin. “I

thought Canada was probably a place where I could do [it] a little bit easier than the States.”

Kimberlin, who is from Southern California, was quick to point out the “beachy blonde vibes” associated with sororities in her area. As a sister at Alpha Omicron Pi, Kimberlin is much more keen to sport a suit than don a dress.

“At UBC, I would say that there isn’t a typical sorority girl, which is what I like most about it,” she explained.

“It’s very easy to assume that we are the same because the letters look the same. If you hear about rush maybe you think that’s the same thing as the States, but it’s not,” said Jamie Gill, outgoing president of UBC’s Inter-Fraternity Council (IFC).

Gill, who comes from New Hampshire, was immediately struck by the amount of visible diversity at UBC. Throughout his four years in Phi Delta Theta, he claims to have witnessed nothing but inclusivity — much unlike the stories coming out of the US. And while no one could quite put their finger on what differentiates the organizations, everyone agreed that they can’t be equated.

“Everybody has this idea that Greek life is just rich, white, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant men,” said Delta Kappa Epsilon brother Will Shelling. “I mean, let’s not beat around the

bush, that’s exactly what every stereotype of Greek life is.”

Shelling, who identifies as African-American, feels that the diversity within UBC combined with the size of the UBC Greek system — the biggest in Canada — allows for a breadth of people from all walks of life to make up the unique organizations in Vancouver. a CoMpleX galaXY “It’s nothing new, which is an awful thing to say, but microaggressions are to the max,” Ihekwoaba said. She explained how she often has to lay down ground rules with other members when they may not see the full depth of an issue, such as touching her hair without permission.

For fourth-year student Miley Leong, these issues were just too pervasive — and too easily disregarded, in her opinion — to continue engaging with the system. After being a part of Gamma Phi Beta for three years, Leong stepped back and re-evaluated her reasoning behind her association with sororities. Eventually, she decided to leave Gamma Phi Beta in the summer of 2018.

“The Greek organizations aren’t built for people of colour,” she said, discussing how their traditional disengagement with marginalized communities has affected how

resolve spaces are designed and programming is developed today.

From focusing on primarily Eurocentric ways of connecting with others to basing events around traditionally Eurocentric holidays, Leong named simple ways that women of colour may feel alienated in the sororities.

Leong at times also felt like she was self-censoring, not only due to her race but her political views. During the 2018 AMS election, a wide-reaching post within a sorority Facebook page that called out an AMS candidate for spewing racist sentiments was deleted, after an executive member deemed it “too political” for newer members to read.

“Having that [happen] kind of confirmed to me the different ways that the Greek system, sororities and fraternities, aren’t even having conversations around gender, race or social inequalities,” said Leong.

Structural Issues When it comes to LGBTQIA2S+ problems, the issue may stem more from a lack of visibility than anything else. Kimberlin called the space “heterosexual by nature” — and though there are a number of queer sorority members, they are more often than not “less out than one might want.” Kimberlin didn’t necessarily place the blame on sororities alone, as a large number of factors inform whether or not someone feels comfortable or ready to come out.

“People haven’t told me, ‘Oh I’m afraid of coming out within my chapter,’ it’s more just that they’re not there in their process yet for their own selves,” she said.

In terms of transgender representation, there seems to be little to none. Grace McKenzie, a former AMS president and alum of the fraternity Phi Delta Theta, waited until she had left UBC to come out as transgender. While she was an active member of the fraternity, she presented as male — her gender assigned at birth.

“I think it would have been a very interesting crisis of opportunity to explore and ask these questions, had I or other folks that I knew come out during their time [in fraternities],” McKenzie said. “I have yet to hear of a single transgender or gender non-conforming person within one of the IFC or Panhellenic [communities].”

McKenzie, who came out in November 2018, explained that she has spent a lot of time reflecting on her time in the fraternity and how masculinity was presented and performed.

“Looking back, there were definitely instances throughout my time in the fraternity system where I probably performed my assigned gender a lot more strongly or forwardly than I was actually comfortable with or that was actually natural for me,” she said. “I used to feel dysphoria at formals, or when we’d have events with the sororities where I’d [feel] like ‘Maybe I do belong over there.’”

It was also difficult to find solutions for people with differently abled bodies or people who have disabilities. While the Greek system seems to make an outward effort to promise accommodations for physical disabilities, it is hard to say how different bodies would fit into Greek spaces and programming.

Ihekwoaba acknowledged that the activities, especially those planned for new pledges, involve a lot of physical activity.

“Even a lot of the philanthropies are sports events,” she added.

The Panhellenic vice-president recalled that out of approximately 500 applications during a recent recruitment period, only one person had checked a box stating she would be unable to stand for long periods of time. Ihekwoaba confessed that the executive team “wasn’t really sure what to do,” and that she has no idea whether or not that woman is now a part of the sorority system.

Representation as a requisite “Representation is important,” stated Shelling. “And seeing people like you going out for positions, going and joining clubs, is huge.”

“If I want to see change, I have to go up for it. You have to be willing to enact that change and also be someone that people can refer to and talk to.”

It is with this idea in mind that many of these students have taken on leadership roles in tackling the challenge of enhancing visibility in Greek life, in one way or another.

After Kimberlin wore a rainbow pin on her shirt during recruitment, she was pleased to be approached by an inquisitive queer woman. “One girl came up to me and was like, ‘I saw your pin and I knew I should talk

to you.’ I was so happy about that because even if it just worked on one person, that’s important.”

Kimberlin also took initiatives to create opportunities for queer connection within the system. After having a conversation with her Panhellenic delegate, there was the — possibly first ever — LGBTQIA2S+ sorority mixer.

“There were only four people, but it was fun! … I think that there has been a door opened by that.”

For Ihekwoaba, she recalled that diversity on the Alpha Gamma Delta Instagram page was what originally drew her towards that particular chapter. Now, as the VP of UBC Sororities, she wants the organization as a whole to expand that visibility across all of its marketing.

“It’s not okay to just market white girls.

That’s not all there is, that’s definitely not all we’re trying to attract,” she said.

And for McKenzie, though she didn’t come out until after taking leave from UBC, she hopes that through open dialogue and visibility, she can make an impact on those who may be confused or questioning their own gender identities while being in a binary-coded space.

“I have no problem calling myself a brother of Phi Delta Theta if my brothers still consider me that way,” she said. “All I know is that it’s my responsibility to make space for folks who are less visible. If that means remaining a brother of Phi Delta Theta and also using female pronouns and being the person that I feel inside, [well] if I’m okay to do that and my brothers are fine with that, I don’t care.”

McKenzie, who felt that the reaction from her brothers to her coming out was “overwhelmingly positive,” recognizes that sometimes having tough conversations may also prove helpful in education and growth.

After a close friend and former roommate who had previously expressed transphobic sentiments didn’t reach out to McKenzie post-coming out, she reached out to him herself. Within 10 minutes, her brother recognized that she was still the same person. “[He] said, ‘It took no time at all for me to realize that you’re still [you] ... it’s just you becoming a more authentic version of yourself,’” said McKenzie. “Which is ironically the motto of Phi Delta: become the best version of yourself.

“I think I’m living the motto of the organization — maybe a little bit creatively.”

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34 the ubyssey magazine

Not the type Danielle olUsanYa

resolve

it happened again.

Last Friday night, I was just standing there — unassuming, unprovoked — when the same words I’ve heard time and time again ripped into me like an untreated, open wound.

“You don’t seem like the type to be in a sorority.”

Eleven words. Eleven seemingly harmless words, which are always meant light-heartedly and yet, for some reason, they always make me feel just a little bit hurt.

I ask the person to elaborate.

“It’s just you seem so… It’s just that you’re not...”

The person always pauses then. They gesticulate, hoping that their arm movements will fill the words that they don’t quite know how to say. Of course I know what they mean to say and yet they never say it: you’re not white, not blonde, not skinny, not Aritzia-wearing — Danni, you’re not that type of girl.

What interests me the most about this is that initially I didn’t consider myself that type of girl either; on Imagine Day I simultaneously sneered and avoided the UBC Sororities table, thinking back to the sorority flyer that had instantaneously graced my bin just a few weeks earlier.

I remember offering a few pitying glances at all the smiling women surrounding the table, unassumingly trapped in a web of glitter and pink smoke. I thought I was better, smarter, above all of it. I had no idea that a year later, I would find myself at that table.

“

You don’t seem like the type to be in a

sorority

”

I learned pretty quickly upon joining a sorority that I would have to explain myself to outside parties. Strangers, acquaintances, my best friends; they talked at me like I had temporarily misplaced my brain and had proceeded to sign my life away. I began

to wonder if the people who questioned me thought they were better, smarter and above me, especially because I didn’t seem like “the type” (code for: not white).

It only took a few times for it to eventually begin to irk me. Why did I constantly have to explain why my presence graced this space? Why did my participation have to negate everything I previously stood for?

And even more importantly, why did it suddenly define me?

I began to feel like less of a person and more like a 24-hour advertising company constantly listing my Top Ten Reasons to Join UBC Sororities: “No, sororities aren’t like they are in the movies,” I would say.

“No, I have never been hazed, UBC Sororities has a zero tolerance policy on hazing.”

“Yes, they are diverse.” Sometimes I would even add in, “Did you know that all UBC Panhellenic Sororities have philanthropy events where they raise money for charities?”

This grew exhausting, especially as I wasn’t seeing direct parallels between the things I was saying and my actual experiences; why did playing sorority have to be so hard? Why wasn’t I allowed to mention how ugly I felt being around seemingly perfect women all the time or how hard it was to dance in a frat house with all my new sisters and friends yelling the N-word in my face?

Making friends was hard, trying to juggle my old friendships and commitments with my new ones was harder.

And yet, I was the one who had centralized myself in this catch-22. Even though no one was making me say all these positive things, it felt like a torturous silent agreement that was self-inflicted, yet never ending. Would admitting the truth be admitting my own failure; would it prove the point that this space was impermissible and that ultimately my body’s melanin was cemented in nothing but maladaptation?

With this, I turned on my hair straightener, singeing every curl into a straight black line and proceeded to walk into a room where I cast myself as the role of the outsider. Whether I knew it or not, a part of me resigned that I would never be able to truly belong.

Soon after I talked to a friend — when the question came up again about why I was in a sorority — I readied myself to recite my rehearsed spiel. But then I stopped.

“Oh, I’m the token, the gateway Black,” I said. I laughed and he started to laugh too.

“I’m just a means to an end, a way to recruit hotter Black people.”

Looking at those words I said so often hurts to see now. It hurts to see how detrimental to my confidence internalizing my difference was. But I thought I was being funny — that I had finally found a way to be in on the joke instead of the butt of it. Those who questioned me liked that answer better.

“

a part of me resigned that I would never be able to

truly

belong

”

Despite this, my membership continues.

A year and a half later, there is still a part of my belonging that feels conditional — token even. There are times when I feel excluded, unappreciated and like I’m standing just outside of a circle I was never meant to be close to. Those moments have been some of my darkest at UBC. But for all of those moments where I have felt like leaving, there are so many more moments I cannot shake. Sisters who have stayed up painting and hot glue-gunning with me three nights in a row, new friends who have edited my essays into the early hours of the night and have laughed with me until my sides hurt. Sisters who are always ready to challenge, motivate and propel me forward.

And it is this that continues to confuse me the most. How can the thing that so regularly builds my confidence be the very same thing that breaks it down?

Maybe everyone is right, maybe I’m not the type and, who knows, maybe that’s even because I’m Black. But I look to a future that is very different than my present. I look to a future where the burden isn’t placed on minorities to justify their existence in these coded spaces. A future of our presence.

35

Control and flow Tools for presence of mind Johann Cooper & saV siDoroV

The neW Year has become symbolic of new beginnings and serves as an incentive for self-improvement.

As the year progresses, however, motivation toward resolutions often begins to fade.

That’s why it’s important that solid foundations are built early on for any progress to be made. How can this actually be done?

Presence of mind — the notion of staying focussed on the present moment — is the crucial component. If properly understood, it can serve as an effective state to help you through life.

Not only can it help you fulfill your resolutions but it can keep your mind from wandering, ward off procrastination and help you successfully execute plans. For this to be achieved, two tools need to be understood: control and flow.

To begin, what does it mean to have presence of mind? It is not daydreaming nor procrastination. Presence promotes activity over passivity, and awareness over ignorance. It means focussing solely on the present moment and being hyper-aware of your environment. In honing the skill of

presence, you develop harmony between yourself and the world around you. As a result, you gain more control over your environment. But how can control be cultivated?

UnDersTanD YoUrselF There has been extensive research showing that the brain contains two distinct parts: a rational and a primal part. Achieving presence is a balancing act. It requires you to understand how the needs of each part can be met without completely rejecting the needs of the other.

A brain in conflict can often cause you to resort to instant gratification over productivity.

However, focussing entirely on productivity can leave you void of motivation and happiness.

1

2

UnDersTanDing The WorlD aroUnD YoU

To be most effective at understanding the world around you, begin by paying attention to your environment and the interactions between you and others.

Through this understanding, you can start

to parse through all the aspects of your life and identify those that are in your control and those that are not. By focussing solely on what is within your control, you can become maximally effective.

The UnClear What if what you can and cannot control is not clear? What if there are aspects of your situation that you have yet to discover?

A good strategy is to overestimate your degree of situational control. In this state of confidence we often attempt things we previously disregarded. There are few downsides to overestimating — if you overreach and fail, you can adjust your model of understanding.

If you overreach and win, all the better.

Acknowledge that you know very little about the world and are open to adjusting your beliefs, and at the same time realize that others don’t know much, either. This allows you to be more ambitious and try things that go against conventional wisdom.

As you start to fully internalize these two facets of control, your inner desires and the

resolve

world around you, you begin to notice a deep interconnection. There is no clear boundary between your internal self and your external environment — everything is part of one universe. The relationship between your control over the universe and your desires is actually cyclical. It’s a feedback loop that perpetually optimizes itself.

Once you achieve this kind of internal and external control, you can then enter a new, transcendent state: flow.

Flow is a psychological term coined by psychologist Dr. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi.

Explained briefly, it is a euphoric state of intense, excited concentration. When people recall times when they were “in the zone,” they are referring to flow.

Control is a prerequisite for flow. Once you maintain your environment with control, you can further advance and improve through flow. Flow, however, is a tool that should be used in the right circumstances and on the right problems.

In his book on the subject, Csikszentmihalyi describes the characteristics of a flow state: Your goals are clear, not confusing or contradictory. You understand the rules of the game.

You have a system of immediate feedback, providing insight into how well you are doing.

The challenges you face are exactly matched with your skills. You are on the edge of your own abilities and right on the border of chaos and order. You feel neither overwhelmed nor bored.

Your focus becomes singular, you’re only thinking about the task at hand.

You lose your sense of ego and self-consciousness. The activity becomes the singular focus, crowding out notions of self-image.

Your sense of time is transformed. Instead of the task adapting to however much time you have, time seems to adapt to the task.

It’s possible to misuse flow. When performing an unenjoyable task, working a boring job or fixing a bad relationship, flow can be used to “learn to love” the experience. To avoid this state, you must first fully internalize the notion of control. Flow is best used once you’ve charted a path and intend to pursue it. Here, flow makes the challenges ahead less daunting and more achievable.

Everyone’s path to harmony and self actualization is different, but flow provides an incredibly effective tool that anyone can use to help them on their way.

Honing presence of mind is, in a sense, a path to wisdom. If we define wisdom as how close your perceived knowledge is to your actual knowledge, then by achieving presence, what you’re really doing is cultivating wisdom.

After all, isn’t a new year an opportunity to become a better, wiser version of yourself?

This piece was inspired by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, Tim Urban and Daniel Schmachtenberger. For further insight into this topic, check out their work.

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38 the ubyssey magazine

Inspiration and solidarity How two T-Bird head coaches are defying underrepresentation in UBC Athletics saManTha MCCaBe

poonaM sanDhU’s dad raised her to be a field hockey behemoth.

A two-time Olympic player in 1984 and 1988, Nick Sandhu is a Field Hockey Canada Hall of Fame inductee and was Poonam’s coach just as she started playing the sport as a child. Even as she grew up and went on to play under many different coaches, she kept up a post-game tradition of sorts: coming home and dissecting each game with him, devoting time to just sitting around and analyzing the play-by-play. “[My family] always jokes around that they were actually building little coaches in the house,” Sandhu said. Apparently the system worked.

As of this past May, she is now the head coach of the UBC women’s field hockey team, just a few short years after graduating as a fivetime national championship winner with the same team in 2014.

Deb Huband, head coach of the UBC women’s basketball team, has been coaching for a few decades after starting her tenure in 1995. She’s now the longest serving and most successful women’s basketball coach in UBC history.

“It’s been challenging, rewarding, frustrating — it takes you through all the emotions,” Huband said of her career. “But I think the thing I enjoy about coaching is just the impact and the influence that you have.”

Huband has an entirely different background from Sandhu — her area of athletic and coaching experience is in an entirely different sport, after all.

So what do the two have in common?

Take a careful look at one key section of the UBC Athletics staff page and you’ll find out: between the two of them, Huband and Sandhu are the only female coaches on UBC’s 20-strong varsity head coaching roster.

This localized statistic, at first glance, seems like an almost laughably accurate

case study of the male-dominated nature of coaching varsity athletics — The Atlantic even dubbed it “the field where men still call the shots” in a 2017 headline.

But both these women have asserted their strength and claimed positions at the top of their fields. Huband is the only Thunderbirds basketball coach to win three national championships, male or female. Sandhu, after winning five national championships as a Thunderbirds midfielder, is focussed on a seamless transition for her team while pursuing her master’s degree.

Learning from her dad, 27-year-old Sandhu said she never felt like an expressly female player or a female coach — she just felt like a player, like a coach. (At times her dad even “treated [her] like his son.”)

“I see it as a coaching career, and I am female,” said Sandhu. She’s new to UBC coaching, but she’s already working hard to keep the team sharp.

Huband and Sandhu recognize how obvious the gap is within UBC Athletics. But interestingly, both in some way trace the source of widespread gender discrepancy in coaching to those early-life experiences that validate who is deemed “fit” to be heavily involved in the sports community, and hence, who retains the skills to go on and become a coach.

Huband points to stereotypes and conventions within the larger athletics community that reinforce male-centric coaching traditions. If women athletes and sports enthusiasts are never allowed to entertain coaching as a viable career option, she explained, why would they consider it?

“You’re limited by your applicants. And so basically, I’m wondering where the applicants are — because sometimes, the best applicant is a woman — sometimes, there might not be a female applicant that is on your shortlist,” said Huband, speaking about her experiences on hiring committees for coaching positions.

“How can we get more people, female coaches, developing their skills and wanting a profession as a university coach?”

If more opportunities for women and minorities are to be opened up in varsity sport, openness and acceptance need to be made apparent from the beginning. Luckily, Huband and Sandhu are training the next generation of female athletes (and maybe, someday, coaches) to do just that.

Being a female athlete of colour, a lot of Sandhu’s coaching mentality comes from considering the individual diversities of each player and taking these backgrounds into account to create a one-on-one approach. She aims to teach her players to have confidence in every decision that they make and foster a commitment to their community.

Huband names values of teamwork, resilience and discipline as the backbone of her coaching.

“We want people to come in … understanding that it’s going to be challenging and difficult, but it’s supposed to be if you’re going to grow and learn and be more than you thought you could be,” said Huband.

Though both Sandhu and Huband are humble, they each assert their accomplishments as coaches and as mentors, and hope that women can find the inspiration and the solidarity to pursue a career in the coaching field.

“If you don’t have confidence, you’re not going to be able to succeed in the way that you want to succeed … especially in a field that is particularly dominated by men,” said Sandhu.

“Coaching is a demanding profession, but it also is an extremely rewarding one,” said Huband. “Persevere to get involved, find a way that works with your life and your lifestyle. It is a growing profession, there are more opportunities coming.”

resolve

10%

of T-Bird head coaches are women

1 in 5

T-Bird assistant coaches are women

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40 the ubyssey magazine

Canadian

Enough TARA OSLER

OCCASIONALLY people will ask for the meaning of my name. It’s not uncommon — everyone seems to know these days and is ready to tell you that “Sarah means princess!” or that “Katelyn means pure!” People like having names with definitions like that: a single, positive adjective that they can attach to their identity like a zodiac sign, as if the moniker their parents picked at their birth has any bearing on their personality.

My name is a little bit harder to define.

The answer I’ll give depends on my audience. The short answer is “Oh, it’s a place in Ireland.” The longer answer is “It’s the place where the kings of Ireland lived.”

These seem to satisfy people, but it’s always a bit disappointing when everyone else can say “My name means beautiful!” or whatever other oversimplified descriptor they’ve come to from centuries of linguistic evolution. The “true” definition of my name is as follows: “an anglicization of the Gaelic Teamhair, which was the Hill of Kings in

Ancient Ireland, which in turn took its name from a legendary queen named Téa.” I understand the allure of being able to define your name with a simple, attractive definition like “beautiful” or “pure.” What’s the fun of being named after some long-forgotten ruin in a country half a world away?

My name is the reason I started learning Gaelic. I couldn’t fit my anglicized vocal cords around the strange sounds of my own name in its original form. Nowadays I can say hello, introduce myself and curse at someone to kiss a certain body part. That is the sum of my knowledge of my ancestral language and when I speak I could make all of it up because I don’t know a single other person who speaks it. The vestigial Gaelic of my name is one of the only things that ties me to the culture of my ancestors. I’m third-generation Canadian. I have no family left in Ireland and I certainly wouldn’t qualify for dual citizenship. However, I have this strange,

undefinable Gaelic name — one last line connecting me to my pre-Canadian roots.

Growing up in Canada, I was always aware of our “multicultural mosaic.” All my friends were “_____-Canadians” of some sort. I loved being able to experience so many cultures growing up, but I’ve always wondered why none of us were ever just Canadians. In the fourth grade, we had a culture fair where every student prepared traditional food from their culture. Mine was Irish, of course, and my nine-year-old self pored over Wikipedia trying to understand a culture that I was supposedly a part of, despite not having been raised in it. When another student chose their culture of origin as “Canada” — with all-dressed chips as a traditional dish — everyone was speechless. “Yeah, we’re all Canadian, but aren’t you something else too?”

That was the first moment I remember where being Canadian didn’t feel like enough.

For those of us whose hereditary connection to another nation is a hand-me-

resolve

down, is the modifier before “Canadian” necessary? The phrase “Irish-Canadian” always felt defensive in my mouth like I needed to have examples of my Irishness on hand in case someone questioned it. I’m always ready to list off the Irish names of my extended family, to curse in Gaelic or to rattle off facts about Irish politics until whoever asked regrets doing so. It’s a competitive sort of cultural identity.

The Irish-descendant populations of Canada and the United States are substantial due to the mass exodus from Ireland after the Great Famine. In the two centuries since, we’ve expanded to occupy a noticeable portion of the general population and the remnants of our previous culture have held on stubbornly — the enduring tradition of the “Irish” pub, the raucous festivities of St. Patrick’s Day where everyone claims to be “Irish for the day.” However, like most of the Irish-descendant population, North

American “Irish” traditions bear limited similarity to their cultural ancestors. St. Pat’s has evolved into an excuse to party and pretend we like Guinness, and one rarely comes across an “Irish” pub serving solely Irish cuisine. The Irish connection we claim is tenuous — but Irish-Canadians continue to hold on to it with a proud stubbornness.

The question I think we must ask ourselves is “Why?” Why is our identity not complete by sole virtue of our Canadianness?

I was born in Canada to parents born in Canada, without a single word of Gaelic between them besides the names they gave my brother and me. I say I’m Irish-Canadian, but the flag I sewed on my backpack is red and white, with a passport to match. My children will be Irish only by virtue of the names I choose or choose not to give them as they move further and further from our ancestors.

To everyone other than myself, I am just Canadian like the millions of other Canadians

whose ancestral heritage is several generations too far to reach. Can we deal with being just Canadian, without modifications?

From most points of view, it is the Canadian facet of my identity that is most important.

This is the only nation in which I can vote.

When I travel outside these borders, I’ll tell people “soy canadiense.” I’ll uphold the tradition of smugly looking down on our American neighbours. Can I still define myself as Irish, when my Canadianness is my defining feature? From Ireland, I have a name, a great-great-grandfather and a somewhat misplaced sense of national pride in a country I didn’t visit for the first time until I was 17.

Am I Irish? I still don’t have an answer as to whether or not my Irish heritage is part of my identity — or whether or not I am Irish enough to count. The only answer I can give is that I hope that one day Canadian will be enough for us, without any hyphenated modification in the front to separate ourselves from Canada.

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Dr. Farah Shroff

professor of UBC’s first public health course in political science CASSANDRA BETTS

resolve Dr. Farah Shroff prefers not to be called a ‘resistor.’

After talking to Shroff, it is clear that nothing she does is by the book. “‘Resistor’ is always putting something else at the centre of what I do,” she explained. “I like to put my own goals and attention, my dreams at the centre of what I do.”

“

reducing preventable maternal and infant mortality in the poorest regions of India.

“We have these walls and these governments being elected on platforms of hatred.

The ones who typically lose out the most in those kinds of political scenarios are … working class women and children, and racialized working-class women and children,” Shroff explained.

[I]mproving the social determinants of health means creating a more just world ... socially, economically and in all ways.

Founder of Maternal and Infant Health Canada, professor of the first political science course on public health at UBC, avid yogi and advocate for all things creative in the classroom, Shroff has been inspired to make a difference since her parents took her to India, where they were born and raised, when she was fourteen.

“Both of my parents were raised working class,” said Shroff. “My dad’s father was a World War I vet who suffered hearing loss, so my dad was raised in real poverty … On my mom’s side of the family, her dad was murdered when she was 12. My grandmother ended up raising five kids in India all by herself.

By virtue of that, my mom also struggled a lot.”

Shroff explained that, at 14, she was impacted by the shock of the poverty and oppression in India, but that her connection to her family allowed her to recognize the amazing things there, like the deep spirituality, kindness, yoga and meditation.

“People who don’t have the same heritage that I have come away [from a trip to India] with a greater sense of disconnection I think, whereas I came away with a sense of connection,” she said.

“This was a place where I could have been raised, it could have been my home.

And so instead of wanting to become a rich and wealthy famous lawyer, which is what I had always wanted up until that point, I came away saying that I wanted to spend my life making a difference for the people I saw around me there.”

So far, Shroff has achieved this goal. She founded Maternal and Infant Health Canada (MIH Can), an organization that focuses on

”

“[We’re about] being able to sustain this shining light on people whose lives are often considered throwaways, often considered garbage.”

This organization is part of Shroff’s larger goal: to make the world healthier. One key component of creating a healthier world is improving the social determinants of health.

But according to Shroff, creating a healthier world doesn’t just mean building hospitals and healthcare systems.

“In just very plain language, improving the social determinants of health means creating a more just world, a more just social world socially, economically and in all ways,” she said.

Luckily, Shroff has a classroom full of students with whom she can share these truths.

She teaches courses on global health, violence, and social justice.

To some, her teaching methods may seem unconventional, but they’re designed so that she can truly understand where her students are starting from and how they can then move together in learning.

“Instead of saying something like I’m toppling the sage on the stage andragogical dominant technique where the teacher has all the power and students have no power, I will usually say I teach student-centered active teaching,” she said.

In her classes, Shroff keeps the lectures to a minimum and focuses on different exercises.

“I use this Brazilian technique called teatro del oprimido, which is a social justice theatre technique. It’s about taking elite theatre away from the elite and giving it to people to talk about their struggles, their lives, their passions. I use poetry, I use drawing, I’m a yoga teacher so I do relaxation exercises.”

For one of her courses on social justice Shroff wanted to show how creativity is valuable in social movements and so they created a video called Under Creative Construction: A More Just World.

“We had videos interviewing Morgane Oger, who’s a transgender activist and Dale Edwards, who’s an anti-racism activist. [At the] launch for the video we had singing. A

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“ ” I like to put my own goals and attention, my dreams at the centre of what I do.

“The public health literature over the past number of decades in dozens of countries has shown us that this very counterintuitive truth: that money and power are what create health, so people with more money and more power are the healthiest people. It’s not access to healthcare. The medical system plays a really small part in whether or not people are healthy or not. It typically blows apart people’s conception [of how to create a healthier world].”

professional singer [led] a song on social justice, me and my friend dabbed…and Morgane came and did a reading.”

In that class, Shroff even performed a dance for her students.

“That was the hardest thing I think I’ve ever done as a university professor,” Shroff admitted. “I wanted my students to see how important it is to be vulnerable and take risks, to grow through this process of really wanting to bring about social justice. And see that the creative process is part of that.”

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redefine

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Cricket continues to thrive on campus, despite not having an official roster

lUCY FoX

etween Rashpal Dhillon Track and the National Soccer Development Centre in Thunderbird Park lies a small parking lot. It’s nothing to write home about until you hear about what used to stand in its place: Spencer Field.

Funded by a $75,000 donation from the Chris Spencer Foundation, Spencer Field used to be the home of field hockey and cricket at UBC. Cricket has a history on campus that, according to the UBC Athletics website, dates back to as early as 1938. Renowned UBC athlete and professor Dr. Harry Warren was the first to bring the sport to campus alongside UBC cricketer Basil Robinson. It took off from there.

Spencer Field — alongside an artificial wicket nearby at Wolfson Field and some allotted gear storage in the old Sports Medicine Clinic — hosted UBC’s three cricket teams at the sport’s height. In the ’70s and ’80s, those teams were UBC One, the Occasionals, and the varsity team whose roster was initially the third-tier team of the trio.

“It was probably [called varsity] because, way back in [the beginning], it had been a varsity team full of young, bright undergrads waving the UBC flag and whatnot,” former team captain and manager in the ’70s and ’80s Norman Baldwin explained in a 2017 interview.

At the time, all three rosters featured students, staff and faculty interested in the sport — many of which still hold roles on

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campus today. The list includes chemistry professor emeritus Brian James, geography professor emeritus David Ley and UBC forestry Associate Professor and Program Director Simon Ellis, who led the varsity team with Baldwin in the late ’70s.

Though many of the sport’s original athletes on campus were British, cricket was a hub for those interested in the game and brought together various cultures as it continued to grow.

“We had students from Zimbabwe …

South Africa, from England and whatnot, coming out [to play] for a year or two or just coming out to do their master’s or their PhD,” Baldwin said.

For Baldwin, those years playing at Spencer Field are some of his fondest memories, both for the games themselves and the tribulations of cricket being a niche UBC sport.

“A number of times, we’d be in the middle of a game and all of a sudden the sprinklers would come on. You can just see 22 people running across the field, very funny.”

After a peak in the ’70s where all three teams flourished, age would be the program’s downfall. As athletes aged out of the game and new blood stopped coming in, the varsity team absorbed the Occasionals — a move that renewed UBC cricket for another few years.

“I ended up sort of in charge of that team and captaining that team for a number of years … we had a very, very strong team —

won several divisional championships and we moved our way up the divisional ladder here,” Baldwin said. “That was a great time for cricket at UBC.” The teams even took over maintenance at Spencer Field to ensure that cricket kept running. Alongside teammate and longtime friend Ellis, Baldwin worked with UBC’s groundskeepers to ensure their pitch was in good condition.

But, as a non-funded UBC team, their reign in Thunderbird Park didn’t last.

“The university wanted to start charging fees and that precipitated our departure and it wasn’t so much, I think, that they wanted to start charging us fees, it was the number of fees they wanted to start charging us. It was basically an offer we had to refuse — they wanted us out,” Baldwin said.

For Baldwin, it wasn’t that UBC wanted cricket off campus; it was just time to start upgrading facilities in the area, and something had to give.

“We didn’t really want to stand in their way and so we just did what all the other cricket teams do in Vancouver which is [to] just use one of the Vancouver Parks Board parks,” he explained.

The UBC team had dwindled down to just one roster by that point. They moved to Trafalgar Park on West 23rd Avenue, where they survived under the UBC name and then as the Shaughnessy Cricket Club for several more years before dissolving.

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Baldwin still drives past Thunderbird Park today and remembers his old stomping grounds.

“I loved playing there; fantastic ground.

Beautiful grass, nice sort of surroundings, was a great place to play and a great part of my earlier life. It’s great that it’s now still being used for sports, now with the Whitecaps, but every time I drive by it’s hard not to think of all the many times I played there as a very young boy.”

Thirty years later, the sport does live on, though, in a similar light to its UBC beginnings by flying under the radar, without UBC funding and with an innate ability to bring together international communities.

On August 15, 2018, a group gathered near the Forestry Building and lined a box on the grass. For passersby, it was just another group of students gathering to play a casual sport. It was nothing to write home about, until you took a second look: it’s a cricket game — though admittedly one using the rules of its smaller cousin, box cricket.

Played on India’s Independence Day, the game is one of several that the Indian Graduate Students Association has organized in recent years. This summer, they played in the more accessible box cricket format to appeal to more recreational athletes. They had around 40 graduate students show up and participate, with each getting a chance to bat and bowl.

Since the sport’s varsity decline, games like those hosted by the Indian Graduate Students Association have been one of several ways the sport continues to adapt to campus. The UBC Rez Cricket Club (now seemingly inactive), UBC Recreation cricket drop-in hours and cricket match viewing parties hosted by the Indian Students Association have also provided an outlet for UBC students to enjoy the sport they love.

For Prashanth Krishnamoorthy, the games are an added bonus to the slow-growing community of cricketers coming to UBC — a community that has helped him find his place in the sea of students.

A PhD candidate in mechanical engineering from Southeast Asia, Krishnamoorthy came to Vancouver knowing no one. Through the grad studies fair hosted in his first months here, he found his way into Vancouver’s cricket community, particularly the Indcan Cricket Club in Burnaby.

The team, as Krishnamoorthy explained, has approximately seven UBC students currently playing for them with several UBC alumni too.

“I met a few of my very good friends here while playing cricket, most of them Indian, either first generation or just moved here from India,” Krishnamoorthy said.

Meralomas Cricket Club based out of Connaught Park is also a base for UBC players.

“A lot of people do know about cricket,

but most of them are from Asia or the UK or South Africa or Australia,” Krishnamoorthy said of those he knows here in the Point Grey cricket community.

Though he plays more competitively off campus with the Indcan team, Krishnamoorthy still appreciates the opportunity to play with other students when games are scheduled at UBC — it brings together his cultural community on campus.

The game’s transition into the culture for Indian students on campus parallels the sport’s own growth worldwide. Originating from England, the sport was adopted into Southeast Asia and grew rapidly after India’s Cricket World Cup win in 1983. Today, it is the most popular sport in India, with televised leagues and professional teams across the country.

Though the varsity days of cricket may be over on campus, it was, perhaps, never a sport that asked for that status in any case. Labelled “the gentleman’s game,” it’s a sport where rules are followed, etiquette is admired and its worth comes from watching it played, not particularly in how it’s promoted.

“We had a ground, we had enough people that wanted to play, and that was it.

I don’t think anybody wanted or expected more than that,” Baldwin said.

The sport’s humble beginnings and its ability to bring international communities together still resonate on campus. You just have to find out where the wickets are placed.

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a faltering resistance eMMa liVingsTone It’s two days before Christmas. I’d just returned home the night before, and the next morning I’m staring up at the fluorescent lights of the ER. Nurses are rushing around asking if I hit my head, shoving flashlights into my eyes to check for signs of a concussion, slapping my arm looking for a vein to draw blood from. It feels like a vivid dream. I’m hazy, confused and so tired. My brain just released an amount of energy my body did not know how to contain, and amidst all this, there’s a voice in the back of my mind whispering over and over: “You’re an idiot.

Why did you try to fight it?”

I’ve been in this position before — waking up in the hospital; in an ambulance; on my bedroom floor. I have epilepsy. I’ve been diagnosed since I was 17 but looking back, I’ve probably had it since I was 14. All the times I once classified as “shaky days” were actually the beginnings of a neurological disorder — getting worse and worse until I needed prescription pills and an overhaul of my lifestyle to handle it.

That first day in 2015 when I walked out of the neurologist’s office with a prescription in hand was the day I started my resistance movement. I didn’t want to be classified as epileptic — as someone whose brain was so broken it couldn’t keep ahold of my body’s movements.

I’m lucky that my epilepsy is fairly well-controlled.

My seizures can usually be prevented with medication, sleep and low stress.

I have days where I feel absolutely normal. Where there’s nothing else to feel. Then, I have days where I feel like jolts of electricity are pulsing through my arms and chest. There are mornings where I spill coffee and spend the rest of the day suppressing a quiet panic that maybe the rest of me will spill too. There are days when I feel like I’m floating inside my body, like a ghost detached from the world of the living. Sometimes it fades but sometimes it doesn’t.

I can usually sense when I’m about to seize and every time it happens my first thought is: not now. I can fight this. I tried to fight before I ended up in the hospital on

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December 23. I was getting ready for work and I thought if I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths maybe the feeling would pass.

But it never works. Depending on how long the warning signs are sometimes my rational brain pushes through and says: don’t do this, lie down, be smart!

But, often there’s not enough time. It’s a fight or flight response and I always choose fight. Every time I try to resist I hurt myself and I hurt the people around me who have to watch me make the same mistake over and over.

The voice telling me to fight is also telling me I shouldn’t be seizing. I’ve convinced myself that because I am not the worst-case scenario I don’t really have a problem. I’ve equated lying down to giving in and shamed myself for getting to this point of no return.

But, every time I hurt myself trying to fight back, I prove there’s a part of me that’s still not fully comfortable with who I am.

Maybe I can take steps to prevent the seizure. I’m working on accepting that in the moment, I cannot stop my body.

There will always be other people who have it worse.

But I have to realize — everyone in a similar situation as me has to realize — that those other people do not matter. It can be easy to fall into the trap of wanting to classify ourselves on a scale-of-one-to-ten severity chart. But that does not encompass the full picture — we all have our own obstacles and it’s okay to be a little selfish for our own well-being.

I grew up believing: Life is tough, no one’s gonna help you but yourself. This internal dialogue caused me to pace around Indigo debating whether I should buy Brian Orend’s Seizure the Day: Learning to Live a Happy Life With Illness, because I thought: Do I have a serious enough illness to justify this self-help book? It’s also why it took me three years before I registered with the Centre for Accessibility.

It took me so long to learn it’s okay to ask for help.

It’s okay to carve a space for yourself instead of trying to squeeze into the pre-existing one around you. Our (dis)orders and (dis)abilities don’t make us any less independent, intelligent or capable. But often, as I have found, the hardest person to convince that that’s true is yourself.

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Fending for themselves How Thunderbirds Sport Clubs carve their own paths to victory BrenDan sMiTh

he year 2013 marked a turning point for athletics at UBC. As a part of the Sports Review, many prominent teams were stripped of their varsity status. For these teams, the future was uncertain without UBC Athletics as a financial lifeline.

It’s been an uphill battle since, but many teams have marked a new chapter in their stories and continue to thrive as an integral part of the sports culture at UBC — many of them with tremendous success on the field too.

There are currently 11 sports within the UBC Thunderbirds Sport Clubs (TSC), a program that was formed in 2015 as a way for teams to compete without varsity status.

UBC TSC are all student-led teams that compete outside of U Sports and National Association of Intercollegiate Athletics competition. Without official varsity status, the financial resources that are normally provided to teams by UBC Athletics are largely unavailable.

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Instead, UBC TSC teams turn elsewhere to raise funds to support their teams. Often this means that players have to pay out of pocket.

“It’s a pay-to-play system,” Tomás Syskakis said of the Thunderbirds Lacrosse Sport Club. Syskakis is the current head of the club and has been with it since inception. “It would be nice to take the emphasis off team fees, so guys don’t have to worry about finding a way to pay every year.”

That said, UBC Recreation does provide the teams with some financial support throughout their seasons.

Current Sport Club Coordinator for Recreation Christina Donnelly says that beyond team fees, TSC teams have access to financial aid in order to augment their own fundraising activities.

“There is a ton of funding that is available for clubs, one of them being a competitive enhancement fund,” she said. “Clubs have the opportunity to fundraise on their own and then we match fundraising dollars, up

to $1,000 per team.”

In addition, Donnelly explained that teams are able to access a competitive enhancement fund for coaching. Coaches that meet certain requirements allow their teams to obtain another $3,500.

“Some teams supplement [coaching funds] with additional payment, but they have access to $3,500 from us and as a team that is going to move you forward competitively,” she added.

Qualify for nationals and TSC teams can access even more funding, though the amount varies depending on the size of the team and the length of travel. But rarely does this cover the entire cost of participating at national events across the country.

Syskakis reiterated that the lacrosse team gets “a lot of help from [UBC Recreation]” and that they are very thankful for what they do receive. But for many teams, player fees and UBC Recreation support can only go so far.

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Though the lacrosse team makes use of both the competitive enhancement and coaching funds, they still search for additional support elsewhere. Its current strategies include acquiring sponsorships and hosting bar nights, among other fundraising activities. It hopes to start an alumni night in the future so graduated players can give back, too.

Jared Pozzobon, a second-year member of the lacrosse team, plays a critical role for their TSC team. As head of marketing and communications, he finds local sponsors and does community outreach — a newfound source of funds for the team.

“This is our first year putting together sponsorship packages,” Pozzobon said.

“Reaching out to local businesses and telling them what we want and what we can provide for them in return.”

Through its fundraising strategy, team fees and support from Athletics, the lacrosse team has been able to sustain itself and provide its players with the equipment they need to compete.

Syskakis remarked that he feels the current fundraising model is sufficient, but that their budget is still significantly below where it would be as a varsity team.

“We’re never going to say no to more money,” he said.

Despite the challenges it faces with financing, the TSC banner has provided the lacrosse team an opportunity to compete

and thrive that would have been unavailable otherwise.

The lacrosse team was initially established in 2011 by players who played for the love of the game. The club was able to join the Canada West Field Lacrosse League in 2014 and went undefeated in 2016, earning them the title of Team of the Year among the UBC TSC teams.

The story of TSC success is not unique to the lacrosse club. The TSC banner has opened the door for teams, both remitted and brand new, to flourish and continue to find competitive success — each carving out its own place on campus.

For instance, the cycling team moved from sixth to third in its competitive rankings since joining TSC in the 2016/17 season.

The first year that the alpine ski team joined TSC, it finished in the top three at the regional championships.

“At first, I saw it as not a great thing for the alpine team, [but] now looking at it, it’s actually been the best thing,” said Donnelly, a former alpine skier at UBC. “They end up saving a ton of money and can spend it on other things that the team actually needs.”

The UBC Ultimate teams are another example of accomplished TSC teams. During their inaugural year in 1996, the team finished in the top 10 in North America before placing third the following year. Nowadays, under the TSC banner, there are separate

men’s and women’s ultimate teams — both regularly qualify for the Canadian University Ultimate Championships.

Overall, the creation of the TSC in 2015 has presented teams with opportunities to play their preferred sport at an elite level.

They also give student athletes a degree of autonomy over their sport and the chance to expand how they want to.

“They have the freedom to go after any sponsors they want, they have the freedom to travel how they want, when they want, [and] they get to decide what competitions they want to go to,” said Donnelly. “It’s really student teams led by students, and they really get a voice in what their experiences [are] as a student athlete here.”

Syskakis noted the amazing progress he has seen from both his team and the TSC program as a whole in his time on the lacrosse roster.

“To see it grow from a student idea, to a few teams, to what it’s become today,” he said. “Just a bunch of guys throwing a ball around, to winning games against actual collegiate competition.”

In the end, perhaps it’s just the opportunity to play that matters, not where all the funding is from.

— with files from James Vogl and Mitchell Ballachay

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‘Science is colonial’: The complex history of scientific and Indigenous communities JaMes Vogl he relationship between the scientific and Indigenous communities has a turbulent history. This is especially true in countries that were built on colonialism, like Canada.

That painful history of exploitation can present a barrier to researchers who are interested in working with Indigenous communities and to members of those communities who are trying to share and act upon their own traditional knowledge. These opposing forces contribute to the perpetuation of the gulf between the scientific community — with its decidedly Western roots — and Indigenous communities.

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a ‘painFUl anD ViolenT’ hisTorY “Science is colonial,” said Dr. Teresa (Sm’hayetsk) Ryan, a postdoctoral teaching and re-

search fellow in UBC’s faculty of forestry. She is a member of the Tsm’syen First Nations.

“It purports to be objective … [but] it tends to be used as a beacon to justify political will or political decisions, which is really frustrating for Aboriginal or Indigenous communities.”

Beyond the use of science to inform the exploitation of Indigenous communities, according to Ryan, many communities also struggle with having their traditional knowledge perceived as less valid than scientific knowledge. That traditional knowledge, developed over generations of experience interacting with the environment, is particularly undervalued by regulatory agencies involved with resource management.

“It’s not considered legitimate, it’s de-valued,” Ryan said. She has had firsthand experience with that de-valuation of traditional knowledge through her work

studying the management practices for Chinook salmon fisheries.

“It’s difficult because here we are trying to increase our capacity in this field of science, and yet when we conduct the science, it’s still not held with the same rigour as the regulator’s science.”

Because of these conditions, it can be difficult to develop the trust necessary to conduct research ethically and effectively.

According to Dr. Janette Bulkan, an assistant professor of Indigenous forestry at UBC, some students have told her they feel like “lightning rods” for feelings of frustration, anger and pain over the injustices of colonialism, especially when they benefit from this system.

She emphasized the importance of starting from a place of awareness and honesty when it comes to researchers’ relationship with Canada’s colonial legacy.

redefine “We just don’t wander in there with this objective and neutral science,” she said. “We are standing on the shoulders of a history that has been painful and violent. The student often does not know the past experiences of the interviewees and their communities with individual settler and government agencies.

“Young people are very often not prepared for those sorts of dynamics.”

‘There isn’T a MeChanisM For Us To applY oUr knoWleDge’ Overcoming obstacles presented by the scars of history is difficult. But there is also a wide agreement that seeking free, active and informed consent and observing principles of responsibility and reciprocity are important basic steps for anyone seeking to work with an Indigenous community.

The First Nations Information Governance Centre has articulated a specific framework for conducting research in First Nations communities. It emphasizes ownership over their information, control over the research conducted in their communities, access to data obtained through studying those communities and the physical possession of data.

Many communities also have their own specific ethical protocols like those laid out by the Six Nations Council, which represents members of the Mohawk, Oneida, Cayuga, Seneca, Onondaga and Tuscarora nations.

But Ryan expressed doubt that science and traditional knowledge will be able to coexist as true equals until Indigenous peoples throughout Canada are given equivalent jurisdiction to regulatory agencies when it comes to resource management.

“There’s a false notion that we can take Aboriginal knowledge systems and put [them] right beside science knowledge systems, and make comparisons or draw elements from the Aboriginal knowledge systems to put them into the science systems and that’s not the way it works,” she said.

“I think that it’s useful to have an awareness of differences and there are elements

that can be exchanged — but right now, at least in Canada, there isn’t a mechanism for us to apply our knowledge and that’s frustrating. That’s really frustrating for communities.”

‘The MosT iMporTanT parT is The people’ Currently, UBC’s faculty of science is working to build connections with Indigenous communities while students are still undergraduates, and incorporate Indigenous issues more fully into its curriculum.

But as Bulkan noted, forming relationships of trust with communities — a process that necessarily takes time — can be difficult given the short-term character of many research grants.

“The difficulty in university terms is if you’re in graduate school, it’s expensive, your funding is probably for two years at the master’s level and four years at the PhD level. So to build a relationship, to build this respect with a host community, it is very difficult to be accommodated in these [grant] deadlines. This is quite different from students working from laboratory benches and computer models,” Bulkan said.

Ultimately, Liman said he believes one of the most valuable things that can be done to foster a better relationship between Indigenous and scientific communities is to increase Indigenous representation in scientific fields.

“That goes right back to getting more Indigenous youth who can speak the language of science as well as feel comfortable with who they are culturally,” he said.

Ryan agreed, but also stressed the need for opportunities for Indigenous students to put their education to use once graduated.

“There [have] to be the incentives that are attractive to students to pursue these kinds of opportunities, such as jobs in their communities,” she said.

‘TheY are righT in oUr FaCes’

“Right now, it’s been left in the hands of instructors, in giving them the freedom to try and incorporate that,” said Joel Liman, a senior advisor and recruiter for Indigenous students in the faculty of science. “Science is starting to come along on how to conceive some of those issues and I think the most important part is the people.”

He pointed to successful collaborations between Indigenous community members and the faculty of land and food systems, such as the Indigenous Health Research and Education Garden at the UBC Farm, as a potential model for other collaborations.

The path towards reconciliation is uncomfortable and painful, and it is similar to the path towards increased trust between Indigenous communities and the scientists who wish to work with them. But the issues it raises are real, relevant and more than just intellectual curiosities.

“It’s one thing to have goals and aspirations,” said Ryan, “but it’s another to take action and implement plans that are effective.”

“In terms of UBC and Indigenous peoples, I think these issues of the past and present misuse or uncaring use of Western science are not academic, they are here and now,” said Bulkan. “They are right in our faces.”

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presence, in pieces Moira WYTon

Find me In the drywall that peels Off the walls of Buchanan Every crack a birthmark Every tear an ephemeral satisfaction I have Shredded it raw Waiting for an impossibility Find me In the ink of your home address I am running Down the envelope Inside, a t-shirt Is a grenade You pulled the string before I even found it Find me In the green that crackles with a history Hot sauce packets filling the cushions My heart is alight With their heat To lie here Even in pieces Is to lie at peace Find me In the paving stone you trip on In my middle name, remembered In my earring, forgotten In the door, jammed just for you In the bench that never dried after it rained The parts of this place not captured by a transcript My presence is in pieces, not missing — illUsTraTion BY lUCY FoX

They belong elsewhere now.

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Decision making Our human experience and continued existence on Earth Jake Clark SINCE THIS PAST OCTOBER, a substantial number of discourses has turned towards an impending apocalypse. This isn’t unusual: at any given point, there are at least a handful of people with the conviction that the end is presently approaching. However, this is one of few incidents where the findings of the United Nations have informed such a sentiment, as many people have taken the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change’s (IPCC) 2018 report to indicate an unavoidable climate meltdown.

The content of the report forecasts an average temperature rise of up to two degrees Celsius by the end of the century. For reference, the last ice age shifted approximately four degrees in the other direction. The prospective impact on sea level, biodiversity, disease factors and human displacement with ensuing instability, panic and violence, is severe across the board.

The situation demands carbon reduction, calling for cuts in consumption and emissions before 2030 and a goal of total carbon neutrality for 2050. The tenability of these goals is debatable and things are slat-

ed to get much worse unless a more sustainable target is set and pursued.

Contrary to popular belief, though, at no point in the UN report is an apocalypse predicted. The earth will still be here — the question is whether humans will be.

There are various objections to the IPCC report, but currently it stands as an overview of the scientific community’s stance on climate change and is easily the most widely circulated analysis of its kind. Because terror and despair are becoming dominant themes in discourse, such that climate anxiety has become a diagnosable condition, younger people can feel robbed of a future, even here at UBC. Fourth-year mathematics and economics student Leena Lababidi is still concerned with the capacity for progress. Having witnessed the damage to weather and air quality caused by the oil industry in her home country of Bahrain, she feels the severity of the forecast in the IPCC report is necessary to produce action, particularly among disinvested major governments.

“Our generation will be the one to suffer the consequences,” Lababidi said. “I think

we should just take it more seriously, especially in Canada, where the consequences may not seem as direct.”

WHERE WE’RE HEADED While development in sustainable fields is still facing an uphill battle against the market, there is a growing body of innovators who take climate issues seriously. Dr. Gary Bull, the head of UBC’s forest resources management department, has worked with both conservationist academics and energy companies in pursuit of sustainable systems. He described the European effort as underway, with cities such as Stockholm and Copenhagen setting total carbon neutrality goals for the next few decades.

While Bull is confused by the lack of initiative on this side of the Atlantic, he said he is optimistic for Canadian innovations like Prince Edward Island’s initiative to implement a network of wood chip- and pellet-based heating systems for government buildings.

“From a climate change point of view, it’s an enormous challenge, but prices are coming down,” Bull said. “Economics talks

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58 the ubyssey magazine about marginal cost curves — costs going down over time — and right now, solar, wind and biomass are truly competitive with oil.”

The market’s adaptive sluggishness in this respect, as Bull points out, requires action on both fiscal sides of the equation.

“We’re going to have to see an acceleration of investment in renewable energy and we’re going to have to put a price on carbon,” he said. “You have four provinces in Canada no longer committed to the federal carbon tax. This kind of noise, some of it is legitimate, but most of it is not and it creates — from an investment point of view — a huge inertia.”

This challenge is compounded by the representation of climate change as a divisive concept within the scientific community, although sources like “Consensus on Consensus” published in the journal Environmental Research Letters show that agreement on climate change is at approximately 97 per cent among scientists.

Much of this misdirection can be attributed to the lobbying ventures of several large companies, which the 2017 Carbon Majors Report estimates to be responsible for over 70 per cent of global emissions. Exxon Mobil, among others, acknowledges the existence of climate change originating from human activity to the point of lobbying the government of Texas for a seawall around its Houston refineries, as described by Reuters’ John Benny and Gary McWilliams. Here, an externality has already been revealed as a valid incentive — what remains is to ensure action and accountability.

HOW TO HELP Lifestyle change has been the most widely discussed strategy for dealing with climate

change; however, the solutions are often presented as all or nothing choices that are at best prohibitively inconvenient or at worst practically unsustainable.

In his study, “The Climate Mitigation Gap,” UBC psychologist Seth Wynes showed a discrepancy in information on these changes.

The factor with the highest impact — having one fewer child — was ignored completely, as were other high-impact factors such as buying green energy and a meatless (or at least beef- and dairy-free) diet.

Assistant professor of psychology Dr. Jiaying Zhao characterized these larger decisions as “rare but important.” She said the discussion is particularly marked by the political polarization around these issues, especially diet and family planning. These factors obscure a real and pragmatic concern for the future of our species.

“People associate this with a moral issue or a religious issue, but this is purely an environmental argument,” Zhao said.

She also described climate anxiety as an understandable but unproductive sentiment. “It’s okay to feel anxious, given the state of the world. We’re justified to feel that way, but we need to do more. We need to have a coping mechanism for this anxiety, and specifically, we need to start to change our own behaviours.”

Geography professor Dr. Simon Donner shared this sentiment and characterized the recent coverage of climate change as the propagation of despair when action is still possible. The time available for adaptation is visible in areas such as Kiribati, where Donner has documented the threat of climate change and where populations are still going on with business as usual.

“There are reasons to be concerned about the future of Kiribati. There are reasons to be concerned about the future of Delta, BC. But that future’s not tomorrow,” he said. Because consequences are stretched out, climate change seems both distant and unstoppable, when in fact there is significant room for adaptation.

“I really do think that it is possible and likely that over the next few decades we are going to transition away from fossil fuels.

My concern is that we’re not doing it fast enough to avoid some of the worst consequences of climate change,” Donner said.

To effect greater change, Donner stresses the importance of demanding account-

ability, particularly with regard to politics.

“One person can only do so much. We need collective action. You’re only one vote, but those votes get added up together, and if you get enough of them, you can get the effect you want.”

While the cynical political climate seems to discourage the effort, Donner points out that politicians need to gain practical insight into their constituencies. “I cannot stress this enough, they do not hear from you,” he said.

This is not a call to revamp one’s transportation, alter one’s diet or fire off strongly worded emails on one’s own. Isolation is, in many respects, what has produced this anxiety and misinformation in the first place.

UBC has several sustainability organizations to provide direction, including the Climate Hub and Common Energy. The Climate Hub aims to instigate institutional changes in climate action, while Common Energy focuses on implementing sustainable practices in student life.

Director of Common Energy Karolina Lagercrantz describes isolation as the core intensifier of climate anxiety, with Common Energy’s operations putting a social goal to sustainability ventures. This revolves around a concept of community, including monthly get-togethers at Seedlings.

“Climate change is as much a social problem as a geographical problem. We need to create a common ground for people to act together in their capacity,” she said.

She also encourages hope.

“We cannot say that hope is lost, and then not act. We need to act, and then hope will come. Fear is such a powerful disabling feeling, and if there’s one thing we need to beat climate change, it’s to not be scared.”

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