January 26, 2021

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THE UBYSSEY

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JANUARY 26, 2021 | VOLUME CII | ISSUE VIII FERRETS ’N’ SHROOMS SINCE 1918

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Tuesday, January 26, 2021

cover, illustr ations and design by Lua Presidio

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UBYSSEY JANUARY 26, 2021 | VOLUME CII | ISSUE VIII

EDITORIAL

BUSINESS

Coordinating Editor Pawan Minhas coordinating@ubyssey.ca

Business Manager Douglas Baird business@ubyssey.ca

Visuals Editor Lua Presidio visuals@ubyssey.ca

Account Manager Forest Scarrwener adam@ubyssey.ca

News Editors Charlotte Alden and Andrew Ha news@ubyssey.ca

Web Developer Keegan Landrigan k.landrigan@ubyssey.ca

Culture Editor Danni Olusanya culture@ubyssey.ca Sports + Rec Editor Diana Hong sports@ubyssey.ca Video Producer Josh McKenna video@ubyssey.ca Opinion + Blog Editor Sam Smart opinion@ubyssey.ca Science Editor Myla White science@ubyssey.ca

Web Developer Samuel Lin s.lin@ubyssey.ca President Rees Pillizzi president1@ubyssey.ca Social Media Coordinator Luiza Schroeder social@ubyssey.ca CONTACT Editorial Office: NEST 2208 604.283.2023

Photos Coordinator Jasmine Foong photos@ubyssey.ca

Business Office: NEST 2209 604.283.202 The Nest 6133 University Boulevard Vancouver, BC V6T 1Z1

Features Editor Bailey Martens features@ubyssey.ca

Website: ubyssey.ca Twitter: @ubyssey Instagram: @ubyssey

STAFF Sarah Zhao, Charul Maheshka, Paloma Green, Safa Ghaffar, Mahin-E-Alam, Tianne Jensen-DesJardins, Maya Rodrigo-Abdi, Danisa Rambing, Sydney Cristall, Silvana Martinez, Sophia Russo, Joey He, Hannah D’Souza, Vik Sangar, Jackson Dagger, Winnie Ha, Tina Yong, Shanai Tanwar, Owen Gibbs, Maheep Chawla, Kaila Johnson, Nathan Bawaan, Elif Kayali, Hannah Dam, Iman Janmohamed, Peyton Murphy, Lalaine Alindogan LAND ACKNOWLEDGEMENT 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 səl̓ilwətaɁɬ/Selilwitulh (Tsleil-Waututh) Nations.

LEGAL The Ubyssey is the official student newspaper of the University of British Columbia. It is published every Tuesday by The Ubyssey Publications Society. We are an autonomous, democratically run student organization and all students are encouraged to participate.

Editorials are chosen and written by the Ubyssey staff. They are the expressed opinion of the staff, and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Ubyssey Publications Society or the University of British Columbia. All editorial content appearing in The Ubyssey is the property of The Ubyssey Publications Society. Stories, opinions, photographs and artwork contained herein cannot be reproduced without the expressed, written permission of The Ubyssey Publications Society.

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E D I editor’s T O R ’ Snote N O T E To the Black Community, In 2021, the push continues. The stand-in solidarity we must take with our ancestors, survivors of brutality and with ourselves to persist and move forward, is still a present reality. 2020 was a year of resilience, fatigue, pain, violence and strength. Yet, we are here now. Breathe. We must remind ourselves that we are now, in this present moment, changing and growing, our skin is rich, deep and thick. It is time to heal our communities from the inside out, as we persist as fighters, students and human beings. In these times, be reminded of your adaptability, your focus and your sustained commitment to want more, and do better for yourselves and others. Understanding no one is alone in this fight makes us stronger even when we are far apart. Your consideration and compassion, dedication to your craft and studies make me proud to be part of something great. From the ordinary to the profound, your day-today routines or high-pressure moments have shaped you into who you are today. Unpacking and understanding the complex and varied nature of the Black experience takes time and reflection, so make sure that you take good care of yourself.

This issue highlights the collective efforts of the Black Student Union who are making real change in our communities with great care and pride, from us, by us and for us. I would like to specifically thank Tracy Odhiambo, who shouldered this Co-Presidency with me, and Osuare Atafo, who contributed greatly to this project.

Much love, Maia Wall ace Co-President of the Black Student Union, Guest Editor

Tuesday, January 26, 2021

who we a re :

k c a l B ACK BL t n e d u St STUDE NT n o i n UION UN Words by Chidinma Agu

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ver 65 thousand students attend UBC with only a small percentage of that number being Black individuals. With these kinds of statistics, Black students face a common issue: finding a safe space to connect with other Black students. It’s undoubtedly very easy to feel alone and isolated on campus, especially when you look around and don’t see anyone who looks like you, that can share the same experiences as you and can connect with you in a way that would allow you to feel seen. With the creation of UBC’s Black Student Union (BSU), this student-led club aimed to tackle these problems. Although the BSU has only been established for 3 years, it has made unimaginable strides in fulfilling its goal of creating a safe space for Black students to be unapologetically Black, connect with like minded people and form an unwavering community of love, support, understanding and empowerment.

If you have ever attended a BSU general meeting, you know the beautiful and unique energy that radiates within those 4 walls. The laughter, the smiles, the feeling of familiarity and acceptance are all emotions that many Black students experience at BSU meetings. Whether it be fourth years creating bonds with first years or students from the Caribbean forming friendships with students with African descent a common experience of being Black is shared and from that family is built.

Simply putting it, the BSU serves as a home away from home for both local and international Black students on campus at UBC. With over 150 members, the BSU has created an inclusive and fluid community that encompasses many intersections of the Black experience. It is undoubtedly noticeable that Black students are a demographic minority on campus.

With this in mind, the BSU’s presence on campus works to ensure that Black students are advocated for, heard and listened to both off and on campus. Our foundation is rooted in investing into UBC’s Black community through events centred around empowerment, education, advocacy and community outreach. By hosting monthly general meetings, networking events and discussion panels we have successfully created an environment where the advancement of Black UBC students is and will always be a top priority.

With the pandemic, the BSU has transitioned to an online format and we have different types of events over several platforms. This makes it easy for people to join our community from any location as we are only a few clicks away! The BSU’s versatility makes it such that there is always something for everyone to get involved in. From Instagram lives as a way

to unwind after a long day, to Zoom study sessions for that accountability you need to finish your paper, the BSU has something for you!

As a club, we also have an open invite to our monthly general meetings where members are able to come together, interact, laugh, play games and reinforce our sense of community in times where it’s very easy to feel isolated. Here is how to join: To keep up with everything the BSU has going on, following us on Instagram is key! Not only will you find the Zoom links to join our General Meetings, but we also post about all our upcoming events and collaborations. With Black History Month right around the corner, you can rest assured that the BSU executive team is working hard to bring you activities and events focused around the Black experience, celebrating Black history and empowering Black individuals for the future. This is undoubtedly definitely something you do not want to miss and should look forward to in the coming weeks!

Information found on our page is not limited to UBC’s campus, but also spans a global scale as we frequently post information relevant and important to the Black community worldwide.

You can also keep up with us on AMS CampusBase by becoming a member and looking out for posts from the BSU on your feed or adding us on Facebook and looking out for our upcoming events. We also send out newsletters on important information via email if you are more old school.

To have your email added to the list just message us on any social media platform (Instagram, Facebook, our club email or CampusBase) with your email and we’ll make sure you never miss a newsletter!

If you are looking for ways to support the BSU, we encourage you to join us at any one of our events and remember to invite a friend or two that you feel will benefit from the UBC BSU community.

We also want to hear from you! The BSU is focused on the advancement of Black UBC students and we welcome suggestions on how we can better serve you and advocate for the Black community on campus.

As a club, we are grateful for the opportunity to have a role in the advancement of the Black community on campus and we are thankful for each and every one of our members. We look forward to connecting with more students and creating more opportunities for Black students on campus. U

design by Mahin E Al am

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Tuesday, January 26, 2021

W A T C H I N G N E T F L I X A C T I V I S M T O O

I S

Words by Daniel Afol abi

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y first real attempt at racial justice activism was this past summer. But by the end of the summer, I was starting to hate it. The deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and countless other Black people prompted a plethora of different reactions. Some shared information on social media, many took to the streets to protest, and others posted black squares (what was that?). I wasn’t able to attend any protests because I was living at home at the time and my mom wouldn’t let me. But still, all of these feelings I had as a consequence of Black death were new, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Not new as in ‘brand new,’ but new as in newly emboldened and overwhelming. I had never felt so anxious and hyper-alert yet drained at the same time.

Growing up in rural Alberta, my feelings towards the racism and/or microaggressions I faced were largely passive; almost like racism was just a quirky side effect of living in a small town. It wasn’t until this year, with the peak of racial discourse that I realized my standards of what equality looked like were probably way too low growing up. It took an abysmal concentration of Black death to spur reflection on my own experiences with racism. The more I reflected, the more I realized how racism and its effects were woven into my childhood. For the most part, these instances were almost subtle, but they were present, mostly vignettes ranging from elementary to high school.

It was a really strange and darkly humorous feeling to just sit with all of these memories that some would classify as ‘racial trauma’ and not really know what to do with it. It was there, and it seemed dormant.

In sharing these feelings with friends, we came up with an idea: a petition addressed to calling for the inclusion of Black Canadian history and anti-racism teachings in the Alberta curriculum. All those kids in middle school were just uneducated, I thought, and this was surely an easy, uncontroversial change to the curriculum that could only do good.

We launched the petition and marketed it on our social media platforms and it blew up. More than 44,000 people across the country signed the petition. It wasn’t long until I was being contacted by the mainstream media. My friend and I had a phone meeting with Alberta’s Education Minister, Adriana LaGrange. All of it was really fun at first: a way to work on something cool with my friends and resolve childhood trauma? Amazing! I happily accepted offers to do interviews, and I’m very grateful for the platforms my friends and I were afforded. But as the summer went on, the marginal returns of fulfillment I got from each interview started to diminish.

At first, I ignored the twinges of fatigue I was feeling towards the project.

I probably just needed to sleep more, I thought, and I couldn’t give up now.

But it was really hard. Yes, people were hearing about the petition, we had a lot of support from family and friends, but it was seeming like nothing was really being accomplished. My friends had never gassed me up more, but I felt guilty because there had been no real changes announced to the curriculum, only email platitudes like ‘We’re reviewing,’ ‘We’re re-evaluating’ and ‘We’re reflecting’ from those able to change something.

Along with the guilt over the stalled progress, I was also fighting a growing sentiment that I really didn’t want to continue this. I had started my job, classes were coming up, and the once-pleasant feeling of productive activism was starting to feel like stagnating emotional and mental labour.

I felt guilty about feeling tired. There were so many inspiring Black people around me doing so much inspiring work and so many that face much harder experiences than I had. I was simply doing my part. There was so much work to be done, and that could be done, so why wouldn’t I want to do it? Fortunately, I wasn’t the only one feeling like this project was beginning to spin its wheels. The friends I worked on this initiative with had classes and other projects coming up too. The

project wasn’t making as much ground as we hoped and so we ultimately agreed to focus on our other initiatives.

To this day, no changes regarding the increased inclusion of BIPOC history and anti-racism teachings have been made to the Alberta curriculum. It feels wrong to say, but I am okay with that. I had to learn —and I’m still learning— that sometimes it’s fine to step away from work, especially work like racial activism, that gets draining. Sometimes that means muting the activism page you follow for a day too.

At times, at least for me, the work of fighting against injustice seems inherently unfair. Many Black people, especially Black women, know it is unfair yet do the work anyway. It seems so odd to me that the fight for racial equality has gone on for centuries, yet we still seem so far from achieving it. I still consider myself a part of that fight, but along the way, I’m gonna listen to Lil Baby and save up for those Jordans and hang out with my friends. It seems so obvious now, but Black self-care is a form of Black protest, and some days it’s the most important form. Obviously, I can’t speak for all Black people; what I can do is speak out against what I know is wrong when I have the capacity to do so. I’m still learning a lot, and I know my fellow Black students at UBC are too, so I hope we can take some time within our radical existence to have fun. Hope to give you The Nod in person sometime soon. U

Tuesday, January 26, 2021

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illustr ation by Dior ah Ozoh

It seems so obvious now, but Bl ack self- care is a form of Bl ack protest, and some days it’s the most important form.

Better Alternatives to Animal Based Medical Research

progressiveresearchsociety.com follow us:

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Tuesday, January 26, 2021

B L A C K A T U B C , O N L I N E : F I N D I N G C O M M U N I T Y W H E R E I

A M

Words by Maya Preshyon

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n my experience, being Black at UBC (even online) has been characterized by a number of textbook interactions. In my first year, living on campus, I encountered these scenarios and clichéd characters for the first time; as I met them one by one, I became acquainted with the ways people will behave around you simply in response to being Black.

On move-in day, I walked to my dorm room at the end of the hall passing all the open doors on the way, seeing my new neighbours unpack. Predictably, none of the people that I saw in that moment resembled me. When I got to the bathroom, I winced, becoming aware of the perhaps silly, but genuine concern: ‘Shit, if I leave any hair in those showers it obviously won’t be any secret who it came from.’

The rest of my first week was no different. I scanned the dining hall during every meal. I peered into the tiny windows of lecture hall doors as I waited in Buchanan corridors for my own classes to begin. I surveyed the jam-packed commons block. All in search of any other Black folks, often to no avail.

Although I have experienced a slew of negative, or at the very least, uncomfortable interactions, it’s the positive, instinctual and naturally close bonds with other Black students at UBC that grant me comfort and maintain my sanity. Especially amidst the depths of what I and many of those around me have perceived as UBC’s fake inclusive, microaggressive and apathetic nature.

I’ve always found it astonishing that every step taken, move made and hand shaken in the orientation period of first year somewhat determines the makeup of your university social circles going forward. By a pinch of coincidence and a dash of tough luck, I ended up in a network of friends in which I was one of the only Black people. It was these people who surrounded me through the

pandemic summer and into our online learning second year.

The frailty of those circumstantial connections became viscerally clear during the surreal transition period of first year’s end into summer. As fear settled in, people hopped on flights and we all got very well acquainted with Collaborate Ultra from home. It all unfolded rapidly like a ridiculously bad sci-fi coming of age flick. The strangest part of that time in mid-March was the unexacting unravelling of many of those relationships that happened the moment we all parted ways. Ultimately, many bonds depersonalized into vapidity or nonexistence. Of those that persisted though, interactions and encounters within the digital realm mirrored the ones of on-campus first year, to an extent.

Being Black at UBC has conditioned me to keep a thick skin and downplay the microaggressions, inequities and ignorance in an effort to get by. After all, who around me could ever corroborate these issues when it flies over their heads by nature? The divergence of perceptual sets has always been unmistakable.

This was most definitely the case during in-person classes.

However, when June came around, as we all know, Black voices online got louder. For me and so many others, vocalizing was one of the only ways to get through it all without bursting at the seams. As the social climate intensified and the online activism scene was plagued with aggravating performativity, I found that connecting online with other Black UBC students kept me grounded through the BS inflamed by oppressive institutions.

Eco-fascist, sustainability-minded students who adopt activism as a hobby, or new and disposable personality trait. Students who advertise and benefit from their connections to 100 year old oppressive social institutions.

Alt arts kids who think having “ACAB” in their Instagram bio makes them saviours. Every non-Black student who is more comfortable avoiding conflict than holding their racist peers accountable. These are just a few of the characters who may pop up in the plotline of a Black student at UBC, even online.

The perpetual letdown of being surrounded by those archetypes of people left me feeling incredibly isolated. As a natural response, I sought reassurance from my Black peers via social media because I knew that they could substantiate my aggravations. Fellow Black students can say ‘Yes, I know!’ instead of ‘Oh, I don’t really understand.’ This is an invaluable validation of all that so often goes unaddressed. Taking these relationships, which I for so long lacked, with me into online school was incredibly healing and unmistakably necessary. COVID-19 makes it hard to connect as it is, and I am extremely grateful that I have a handful of people who, even at an arm’s length, can be looked to as a reminder of belonging and community.

It’s as simple as sharing one another’s frustrations, or even texting at 3 a.m. for picture updates on the DIY butterfly locs that have taken far too long to finish. It’s replying to Instagram stories and earnestly thanking them for also speaking out and mutually standing ground. It is also seeing their face in the cameras on Zoom during class for the first time and thinking, ‘Thank God, someone else that can call out this old white prof’ when the need arises.

UBC is a predominantly white institution on stolen land. It masquerades as though it is impeccably socially conscious but ignorance lives here (wherever ‘here’ is for any of us at the moment.) However, alongside it lives perseverance, excellence and community and being Black at UBC means tapping into all three. No matter where we are. U

Tuesday, January 26, 2021

I AM SOMEWHERE There is a place, somewhere A land that births and shelters A land of refuge where children play until the sun carries them home If you listen closely, this land speaks It speaks your name It speaks my name

TO BE SO SOFT

You may hear the rivers of life that flow through you You make hear the winds of solace You may hear a cry You may hear a scream You may hear laughter This is the sound of a land you and I know too well Is this land not generous? For it has kept your chin afloat and in elevation Is this land not generous? For it has kept a place for you too Is this land not generous? For it is composed of the same elements that make you Are you not this land?

Will you reveal wonders to the children that play over you?

My eyelids Weigh heavily On my face They beg for rest From the going going going Of life And ask me What is the rush?

Is this moment not enough?

Marylise Habiyambere

Moussa Niang

BLACK WOMAN

I N R E T R O S P E C T. deep inside my element craving nothing but sentiment thinking back to the old times where we had fun, just for the hell of it. people crying, laughing talking, just to stay relevant; but please hold on to your elegance. development comes easy when you move intelligent be resonant with your past but, let your future be a testament to the settlement.

Black woman is on the ground Black woman is the ground Black woman is bitterness on the tongue A body too strong to swallow Black woman says Love me Believe me Care for me And is met with grief Another wound to mend After all What is a Black woman If not a cup to pour into?

Marylise Habiyambere

Oreoluwa Abikoye

SUNDIATA K EITA On days like these he is amazed by the way his shiny skin dances with the August rain The August rain, his shiny skin A ceremony of water and clay A reminder that he is the foundation of god’s art A reminder that he too is a spirit in need of a libation Birthed from an ocean of abundance A testament of his ancestor’s wisdom A rewriting of what has been written A haven of colorful stories On days like these he remembers that both his name and skin speak a language that is ephemeral at the hands of an ivory phantom Moussa Niang

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Tuesday, January 26, 2021

T H E

A R T

O F D O I N G N O T H the art of doing nothing

Words by Danni Olusanya ay 26th: I lay in the fetal position facing away from my window, swaddled in my blanket and scrolling in horror as I watched various accounts unfold, documenting the death of George Floyd. The summer had already ruthlessly attacked Black bodies, our lives and lungs brutally attacked by a virus that was disproportionately killing us. Not only were our lungs incapacitated in hospital beds, but even on the streets, we couldn’t breathe. The autopsy may have declared his death a result of asphyxiation, but it was clear that his life was taken because he dared to have Black skin. And while we mourned for him, we learnt of others ­— Ahmaud Arbery, Regis Korchinski-Paquet, Breonna Taylor, Oluwatoyin Salau. These were people who lived and died, their lives were more than a slogan, a t-shirt or an Instagram story.

Before the day I learned of his death, my default reaction would have been an exhaustive but temporary outburst of rage. In these instances, I found no time to grieve and sit with the fact that even in the 21st century, Black lives are still under a constant threat of being lynched. But as I curled up under my covers, anger didn’t feel like an appropriate enough reaction. It felt pointless.

As I scrolled through my timeline I waited for the rage to come, but it didn’t. The feeling that came over me was much darker. It was like sitting in the bottom of a vast, dark pit, an emptiness that weighed down on my whole body, rendering my limbs heavy and my senses numb.

Gone was my ability to act, or my ability to respond to the vast amount of messages that took up an unhealthy amount of storage on my phone, gone was my ability to stand up and speak out like I had done in the past as if on autopilot. I stayed in my bed for days, doomscrolling into the early hours of the morning and sleeping intermittently through my summer classes. For 72 hours, I embraced the art of doing nothing. Clicking through well-intentioned infographics and violent clips of Black suffering on Instagram, I wondered about how it would feel to not recognize yourself in the images and videos of Black brutality. To sit and watch George Floyd die, to watch his cries and pleas for his mother was more than a viral moment.

It was a warning, a reminder, that on the wrong day it could be our fathers, our brothers or even ourselves whose lives were cruelly and violently snatched for nothing more than a result of our Blackness. No amount of black squares could reassure me of my safety and still, I allowed

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the anger and outrage of others to wash over me, wrapping me up in a weighted blanket of reassurance that only further emboldened my inaction.

As I nestled further into my cocoon, I became keenly aware that the act of doing absolutely nothing is contrary to everything that I have been taught as a Black woman. For as long as stereotypes of Black people have existed, the act of doing nothing or being lazy has been deemed completely unacceptable. This is a sentiment that has stemmed back to the Transatlantic Slave Trade, in which white slave owners justified the enslavement and degradation of Black bodies by arguing that Black people possessed the inability to run their own lives. By emphasizing negative traits within Black people, particularly characteristics of submissiveness, dishonesty and laziness, slave owners rationalized the commodification and brutalization of the Black body. Though this sentiment has metamorphosed through generations, this point of view has been deeply embedded in institutions and their policies. It has guided governments to over police and surveil their Black people especially when they appear to be doing nothing.

Black women have particularly been forced to navigate negative preconceptions. On top of fighting racism, they are also forced to navigate sexism and often as a result of both, classism.

To be accepted, Black women are often expected to be superheroes ­— unfeeling, agreeable, background figures who work behind the scenes of movements without asking or expecting recognition for their hard work. Black women are expected to protect the world from their own wrongdoings, to stand behind white women in their fight for gender equity and stand behind men in the struggle for racial equity. During the civil rights era, Black women were expected to choose a cause to fight for, whilst being negatively and in some cases more harshly affected by both. Decades later, Black women still find their needs and desires overlooked by both movements, their work remains uncited, their voices talked over. For every Martin Luther King Jr. , there is an Ella Baker, a Fannie Lou Hamer, a Coretta Scott King. For every Malcolm X, there are countless Black women who were and are vital in making the world a better place. Yet there are no days to commemorate their work, their speeches remain unquoted, their legacies continue to be unrecognized.

Black girls are conditioned to expect mistreatment in every aspect of their lives. When I

Tuesday, January 26, 2021

was six I innocently made the mistake of saying “what” in response to a question instead of “pardon;” my teacher responded in a fit of rage, her face reddening as she screamed insults at me until I burst into tears. She sent me to the back of the classroom to sit in isolation for the rest of the day. No other students were allowed to talk to me so I could think about what I had done. As I sat at the table, alone, I made the conscious decision to do everything in my power to not allow history to repeat itself. Sixteen years later I don’t forget to use the word pardon.

Even so, innocence is not something that is afforded to Black girls. A study from Georgetown University conducted in 2014 found that Black girls as young as five are viewed by adults as inherently “less innocent” and “childlike” than their white counterparts, resulting in the belief that Black girls are less deserving of protection and a nurturing environment. This has resulted in harsher punishments and higher suspension and expulsion rates for Black girls in the classroom.

As I got older, the treatment that I received from the adults in my life only worsened. Adults who were entrusted with caring for my wellbeing were actively responsible for endangering it. While non-Black students were allowed the benefit of the doubt, Black students were met with distrust and suspicion; our errors were treated as intentional acts of sedition.

I endured weekly music lessons with a man who took it upon himself to verbally castigate me every time I played a wrong note. I would sit defencelessly as he would berate me mercilessly, week in, week out, about how every mistake I made was actually rooted in my intrinsic laziness. Some weeks he would lecture about my shortcomings for several minutes, other times he would raise his voice into an almost shout before blaming me for making him lose his temper.

His other non-Black students never received the same kind of treatment. While their errors were treated as simple mistakes, I was expected to

present perfection and rebuked for anything less than. I have been followed, surveilled, policed and unfairly criticized more times than I would like to recount. But what makes it much worse is the fact that I know that my experience is far from singular. Black girls know that the world will not fight for them, the same way they know that they are expected to fight for others. And so we armour ourselves, on guard and ready for the next unfounded attack.

In the last few years, I have worked to pursue a path to absolute perfection, filling my days with endless tasks, pushing myself to the brink of breaking point, masking insecurities with a veneer of resilience, replacing genuine feelings of anger with action. But as I lay undisturbed for those 72 hours, I saw another path.

I embraced a future that wouldn’t expect me to be on the frontlines of every battle, a path that allowed me every once in a while to sit on the sidelines and take a fucking break. In its own way, choosing to sit out can and should be allowed to be its own form of radical resistance. Prioritizing our mental health is just as important in the preservation of our lives as marching and organizing.

Our lives matter even when we make mistakes.

Our pain, our anger and our joy, it matters.

Eventually, I got out of bed. I hopped in the shower and put on fresh clothes. I had the energy to open my emails and read my messages. And days later, when I was ready to join the fight, I allowed myself to get off the sidelines. But my actions didn’t come from the same place of anxiety, nor was it coupled with my self-worth.

I surrounded myself with other Black folks, we allowed ourselves to be angry, to make mistakes and despite the horrors that were occurring within our community and despite all the darkness, we even let ourselves laugh. And a few nights later when I climbed into bed, I felt the darkness, the numbness and the weight of my existence lift slightly from my body. U

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Tuesday, January 26, 2021

S E E K I N G :

A F E S P A seeking: Ssafe spaces

C E S

Words by Mik ael a Joy K awale y-L athan

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here’s something about taking a step back from a situation that truly allows you to look at it from a different frame of mind. If there’s anything I’ve been given this past year — it’s perspective. All the time I spent in social isolation gave me the time to process my relationship with my Blackness, it gave me the time to pick apart the comments that swirled in the back of my mind affecting me in ways I didn’t have time to comprehend. I think we all have them — those things people said to you that don’t quite sit right, but for your own sanity you attempt to let go.

‘Your hair is so fun!’

‘Where’s the other one?’ (The other Black girl) ‘You’re the first Black girl I’ve dated — you should be honoured.’

Ingrained deep in a place in my brain that I can’t quite dig out is the belief that if I get angry, it’s unjustified — I’m just being ‘the angry Black woman’ stereotype. So I laugh it off. Shake it off. Shove that anger into a ‘don’t think about it’ zone.

It’s heavy, and it’s exhausting.

I don’t quite know what caused the shift for me.

Maybe it’s age — now in my fourth year at UBC, others’ perceptions of me just seem less important. Maybe it’s that being an upper-year student, I feel a responsibility to protect those coming after me from the same unspoken feelings of inadequacy that have haunted me throughout my undergraduate degree.

It wasn’t the black squares.

However it happened, last summer, I made a conscious choice to use that anger to fuel productivity and create safe spaces for myself and other Black people.

There was just one problem — the whole global pandemic thing.

It seemed like everyone on social media was doing their part by going to protests and marches. If I were living by myself I probably would have done the same.

The reality is, half of my household is considered highrisk. In my case, going to a Black Lives Matter protest put the lives that matter the most to me in danger. I felt guilty, like the work I was doing wasn’t enough. With the ‘performative’ word getting thrown around, I wondered if it applied to me. I, like many other Black students in the summer of 2020, found myself suddenly becoming an (unpaid) inclusivity consultant as clubs, faculties and companies frantically tried to create some proof they were anti-racist, by creating a statement standing with the BLM movement.

It seems like a simple enough task, but there were many mistakes I saw being replicated by multiple groups. Some groups were making statements supporting BLM without making any effort to support Black people in their clubs, faculties and companies. Others made statements supporting BLM without accounting for the way they upheld systemic racism or engaged in harmful practices. Some even made statements without

acknowledging the absence of Black people in their organization. That in itself is a sign there’s something wrong.

Mostly I found groups were making statements without outlining the ways that they planned to change to better support the Black community (most had no plans of actually changing).

Unfortunately, the most shocking of these was one that was close to my heart. A club that I had dedicated a full year to as a VP reached the pinnacle of laziness when it copied and pasted its statement from somewhere else. This led me to a shocking new reality — not all the communities I’m in are worth saving. Although I was no longer a VP, I offered myself to the president and the new executive team to talk them through creating a better statement. I steered them away from some pointless campaign (getting pictures of non-Black people holding up BLM signs without actually doing anything to support the Black community) and created an outline of an event they could do internally that would allow them to educate themselves on Black experiences.

But the time and emotional labour I put into helping develop this idea was in vain. They used the idea to have discussions on other marginalized groups, but not Black people. They held a fundraising event the same week they told me they didn’t have time to implement my idea, but none of the funds were raised for the benefit of Black people. So, I left. I love this group of people. This club had been like a second home to me, but one where my Blackness felt suppressed. I still have good friends from that group but I do not consider it a safe space for myself or other Black people.

Unfortunately, at UBC safe spaces are hard to come by.

Is it worth the emotional labour to turn this space into a safe one? Not just for me, but for any other Black people who may one day join. At the time, I felt like my leaving was cowardly. Looking back, I realized that leaving meant I had enough emotional capacity to focus on the other spaces I was trying to create — the spaces that were willing to meet me halfway.

It’s hard to imagine a future where I don’t have to budget my emotional capacity to ensure I have enough left to deal with being the only Black person in ‘inclusive’ spaces. I’ve seen groups hiding behind the term BIPOC, using it to try to simulate diversity. I saw an Instagram highlight from a UBC club showcasing its BIPOC series, but none of the people featured were Black or Indigenous. I messaged them asking why they didn’t call it a POC series — it’s more accurate. They responded saying that they wanted it to be more inclusive, but no Indigenous people signed up. They then asked if I wanted to be included. Using the term BIPOC doesn’t automatically sign you up for a one-way ticket to wokeness and inclusivity. The term BIPOC is not a bat signal for Black and Indigenous people. Expecting us to miraculously appear in spaces that haven’t been safe to us before without making an effort to reach out is just a way of hiding the

Tuesday, January 26, 2021

oppressive systems that have always been there.

I found myself grappling with whether I wanted to reward their performative diversity by giving them actual diversity or let them continue and leave myself out of it. This is a tug of war that constantly occupies my mind, especially when I think about my future. I find myself scared to apply to grad school. Even though I’ve found programs that excite me, that I’m passionate about — I’ve also seen research on Black experiences not being done by Black researchers. Again, it seems selfish to look past this when I could ensure that a Black person has a say in research being done about the Black community.

Logically, I know that having Black people in all fields within academia is important and valued. Optimistically, I hope that these programs will make a greater effort to recruit and promote Black people who are passionate about research in the Black community. Realistically, I feel this won’t happen unless there are Black voices directly talking to people in positions of power.

At UBC, it seems all the Black spaces are created

by Black women for Black people. Over the past few months I’ve loved seeing groups pop up, determined

to start the difficult conversations within different faculties and programs at UBC about race. For me, it was FABIPOC (Fine Arts for Black Indigenous People of Colour) that gave me an outlet to approach the department of Theatre and Film about necessary changes.

I was surprised with the abundance of support from my fellow students and from alumni. It’s student-led initiatives like FABIPOC that work to demand systemic change, that protect minority students from having their experiences silenced. It’s slow work. I’ve been accused of going on a witch hunt, had staff members say I’m just making noise ‘because I’m bored’ and have heard whispers of white department heads say how difficult it is for them to learn about their own privilege.

Thanks to the encouragement of students and alumni around me, I’ve found a space to process safely, then when I’m ready, keep going. Although I’m happy where I am, seven months in I’ve started to think about how I’ll know when I can stop. Creating safe spaces hasn’t started with me, and won’t end with me. But, how can I trust myself and those around me to take on the baton and continue this work? When will I know it’s time? U

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Tuesday, January 26, 2021

LET ’S CHAT words by Miselta Ihek woaba design by Mahin E Al am

W

ellness is an integral part of one’s existence! As Black bodies, the pursuit and sustenance of wellness are essential to our, at times, constant and arbitrary experiences of violence. In most societies, there is also work to be done in the decolonization of wellness and its practices to encourage participation of traditionally excluded groups, including Black bodies.

Touching more on barriers that exist to culturally competent care, the centralization of white bodies in wellness spaces, and especially those relating to the land is another aspect that comes to mind as a depletor of wellness resources for Black bodies.

Existing in community is also essential, along with the healing force that shines through this alone. Community-based wellness is one that focuses on an extremely important but easily forgotten aspect — togetherness. Over several human rights movements that continue to take place, common institutional tactics to destabilize Black activists were to infiltrate and destabilize their personal relationships. That is, powers that aim to divide seem to realize the unbeatable power and abilities generated through togetherness. So, its position as a unique healing force should likewise be continuously embraced.

Here are a few wonderful resources I’ve found that could help work towards this that are all campus and/or Lower Mainland based: Here2Talk Free 24/7 counseling & potential referrals for BC post-secondary students.

Accessible anywhere in the world!

UBC Counselling Many will already be familiar with this, but I’d like to draw attention to the virtual group counselling which can be extremely helpful and supportive, especially in these more isolated times.

UBC Student Assistance Program Free multi-faceted support & advice for students with tons of intake & referral options available.

Kendra Coupland Yogini, educator, and artist, Kendra Coupland’s Black Community Wellness Retreat gained well-deserved recognition over the summer due to various factors, including its centralization of Black bodies and the fact that very few of such opportunities exist for that. Another series hosted by the artist is Spiritual Wellness with Black Bodies that features yoga & restorative movement to centralize healing for Black folks. In this series, Coupland also features community conversations which are discussions surrounding the contemporary realities of existing in Black bodies. Coupland offers many more wellness sessions and workshops, some of which have been hosted by the SVPRO, and they can all be found on her website.

Desiree Dawson Desiree Dawson is a yoga teacher, singer, songwriter & recording artist from Vancouver. With her art, Dawson emphasizes the role of music in healing and helping individuals reconnect to themselves and the land they are on. In a session with Dawson, you’ll likely hear some of her soul-touching poetic works. Dawson also incorporates restorative movement into some of her work, and this serves to re-ground individuals and instill a sense of wellness.

Coupland, Dawson, and many other BIPOC wellness professionals in the Lower Mainland are featured on Healing in Colour. Healing in Colour is a digital directory containing what I would describe as culturally competent BIPOC wellness resources. In addition to wellness professionals, it also contains a directory of therapists that have agreed to their statement of values, which include promoting an anti-oppressive practice and personal values, shining through practice, to include pro-Black, pro-Queer, protrans, pro-sex worker, and anti-colonial approaches.

In a year that instilled the need for healing more than most others, here’s to hoping we find sustainable, connection-focused opportunities to take good care of ourselves and each other. In a year that also taught many that you can be Black and mentally ill, processing trauma while buttoning a blouse for a Zoom job interview, protesting the world’s injustices and going right back home to face all your own — ­ we need to make sure we’re filling our own cups. It is a must to take care of yourself in order to advocate for others effectively. We have to top ourselves up to be able to leave others’ cups overflowing.