Author: Sania Malik

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Sports

The curious case of Diane Brown

brown
Photo by Sania Malik.

How a 69-year-old personal trainer proves age is just a number

While most people spend their early 60s planning their retirement, Diane Brown decided to pursue a new career: becoming a personal trainer.

“I had never thought of pursuing it before,” said Brown, now 69 years old. “I was a single mother when I was younger, and after that, I was always worried about providing for my child.”

Brown worked random jobs most of her life in order to pay the bills. At the age of 61, Brown realized she wanted to transform her passion for health and fitness into something she could monetize––and consequently, do for a living. Today, she’s a personal trainer and also works as a floor clerk at a Jean Coutu Pharmacy, where she’s been for the past 20 years.

Diane completes sit-ups at the fitness centre in her apartment in Downtown Montreal. “I feel young,” she says.

“I don’t want to stop working,” Brown said. “I thought I’d want to retire, but really, I won’t retire until they kick me out,” she said with a loud chuckle. As a personal trainer, she has trained many people, whose ages ranged from 30 to 80.

“I don’t think age should be a factor in terms of whether or not you exercise,” Brown said. “The way I approach fitness is it’s a way to be the best version of yourself.”

For Brown, anyone can step forward and try their hand at working out—she believes there are no excuses. “Age really isn’t an excuse,” said Brown. “Neither is time. If you tell me you’re too busy to work out, I’ll tell you about a seven-minute power workout that strengthens your core. If you tell me you can’t afford the gym, I’ll tell you how to turn your living room into one. There’s really no reason not to be the best version of yourself.”

When Brown decided to become a personal trainer, she wondered whether her age would make clients hesitant about working with her. But she quickly realized that her fitness level coupled with her age was the very thing that attracted clients to her.

“I guess they could tell I was the real deal,” Brown said with a laugh. “But to be honest, I don’t really like being told I look good ‘for my age,’” she said. “I look and feel good––doesn’t matter how old I am.”

Doctors have told Brown that her body functions as if she’s 35 years old. “I feel young,” she said. “But of course, there are days where my body tells me, ‘Okay Diane, you need to take a break.’” Sometimes, her toes ache; other days, her mind will want to lift weights, but her body won’t let her. “I have the hardest time stopping,” she said. “I’m working on that.”

Diane flips through pages of her old binder, in which she keeps notes on the human anatomy. “I taught myself everything. Never went to school. Just read.”

Brown tries to give herself time off when she can but finds it hard to pause her passion. “I just genuinely enjoy it,” she said. “I love helping people realize their full potential, and I love working with others. I want to help them—it’s as simple as that.”

Brown’s passion for helping others with their fitness goals also stems from a certain place: control. “I couldn’t control most of my life,” she said thoughtfully. “Things happened to me, and most of them were bad. But with fitness, I have power—I can control how I treat my body, and as a trainer, I can exert what little control I do have to help someone become better.”

Yet, Brown still hopes she can learn to let some control go. “I’m a Libra after all,” she said. “I’m all about the balance. I just have to give myself a few talks sometimes. I’m still learning,” she laughed. “After all this time, I’m still learning to be the best version of myself.”

Brown learns from continuous reading

While Brown helps others, she also partakes in numerous competitions—specifically bodybuilding competitions.

“I came in third place last year at the International Drug Free Athletics awards, for bodybuilding,” Brown said with a proud smile. “I work hard, and I definitely want to be acknowledged for that.”

With a learning disability, it was difficult for Brown to retain complex information about the human anatomy. “I had a hard time passing my fitness test so that I could become a personal trainer,” she said. In her cluttered apartment, she digs through piles of books and finds a binder, filled with pages about the human body. “I studied this day and night,” she said fondly as she flips through the thick pages. “I taught myself everything. Never went to school. Just read.”

Brown credits numerous health and fitness magazines as her source of knowledge. “I buy them and read them, cover to cover,” she said. “That’s how I learned everything—from my own fitness to how to train others to attain theirs.”

Photos by Sania Malik.

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Opinions

If Concordia classroom walls could talk

Graphic by Zeze Le Lin.

No more holding back my response to offensive comments

“Wow! It’s like Islam is a virus.”

That’s what my journalism professor told me when I pitched a story about a girl who converted to Islam. I was shocked and appalled by her “joke” and immediately felt uncomfortable. My face dropped and she said, “I was only kidding.” But the thing is, I knew she wasn’t.

As one of the few Muslim people of colour in my classes and in my program, I’m quite aware of what my professors and fellow classmates say and don’t say when it comes to conversations about race and religion—anything that might pertain to my identity. My ears perk up when these topics arise in class discussions, and I’m immediately defensive because the last thing I want to hear is something that will offend every bone in my body. I grew up experiencing racism at the hands of my teachers and classmates, and unfortunately, part of me is still dealing with those traumatizing incidents. Part of me still expects to experience it in classes today.

This professor, the one who “joked” about Islam being a virus, made me and my Muslim classmate feel uncomfortable numerous times. When the Quebec mosque shooting happened last year, she ignored the fact that there were two Muslims in the class. She was insensitive and dismissive, and treated it as a news story or a pitch idea. Throughout the semester, she made me feel shameful for pitching ideas that related to the Muslim community in Montreal. And yet, I never said anything against her. I never complained.

The following semester, I had another journalism professor who told me Muslim women usually don’t go to mosques. He laughed about my final project that profiled a niqabi Muslim woman. His arrogant and ignorant comments puzzled me, and I attempted to brush them off—maybe he’s confused, I told myself. But throughout that semester, he also implied that all Jamaicans smoke weed and all Asians have impossible-to-spell names.

I always feel offended and uncomfortable when I hear racially insensitive comments. And I’ve realized I should. We all should.

I’ve promised myself that, from now on, I won’t stay quiet. If something bothers me, I won’t question its level of offensiveness until it’s too late to do something about it. If a teacher insults an entire ethnic or religious group in class, I won’t look around the room to see if someone is as angry as I am. I’ve realized that time goes by fast, and if we don’t step forward and use our voices, it eventually becomes harder to speak up.

Graphic by Zeze Le Lin

Categories
Music

Ostrich Bouquet defy classification

The members of Ostrich Bouquet, from left, Michael Tomizzi, Kyle Podwalski, Davide Ventulieri and Jeremy Bozzo. Photo Courtesy of Ostrich Bouquet

The band’s first EP combines psychedelic post-rock with ambient vibes

Ostrich Bouquet’s sound has been described by some as “Pink Floyd on a spaceship,” according to drummer Michael Tomizzi.

The band’s mix of psychedelic, progressive post-rock and ambient vibes with a side of jazz and blues influence plays out on the seven tracks of their first EP, On Time as Usual. The day before its release on Nov. 17, the Montreal-based group performed at O Patro Vys.

Tomizzi and keyboardist Kyle Podwalski, both 20, are currently studying at Concordia University. Bassist Davide Ventulieri, 20, and guitarist Jeremy Bozzo, 19, are students at Vanier College.

The band was created less than a month after high school friends Tomizzi, Ventulieri and Bozzo were introduced to Podwalski through a mutual friend last February. Needless to say, the name Ostrich Bouquet garners a variety of reactions from different people—some are puzzled while others are amused. The idea came from Ventulieri’s realization that the German words for ostrich and bouquet are homonyms.

Although Ventulieri is the lead vocalist, he said people come to see the entire band. For Ostrich Bouquet, the combined instrumentation is more important than the vocals. “Vocals are just like the fifth instrument,” Ventulieri said. “It’s like adding a new rhythm to the song.”

Although the band tends to stray from conventional song structures, they don’t think of themselves as unconventional.  

“We have some pop structures,” Bozzo said. “It’s not like we’re just doing weird, wonky stuff—we follow forms.” Instead of following a common bridge-to-chorus structure, they experiment with the flexibility of a song’s blueprint, often volleying between multiple parts that don’t repeat. The song “Behind Schedule” off their EP, in particular, explores this by making each section of the song sound different from the rest. The song starts with an emphasis on the rhythm between bass and drums; it then slowly trickles into a spacey-vibe. The guitar’s slow strumming comes into play, and soon the keyboards combine with the drums—it’s like listening to distinct parts of the same song.

“I like experimenting with tones that are dissonant or spacey, and just outside the norm,” Podwalski said. On Time as Usual plays around with time, chord changes and set boundaries in terms of writing music. When asked about the choice to experiment, Tomizzi responded bluntly: “I personally feel that, if you’re a musician and you’re not trying something new, you might as well not be a musician.”

Ventulieri had a slightly different opinion. “If I’m writing something, I want to write something that I’d listen to, instead of just verse/chorus.” Tomizzi added that he believes, once a person knows how to play an instrument, they should want to make it their own instead of being a carbon copy of someone else.

“I agree with both of them,” Podwalski said. “But it’s not like: Why would you make music that’s similar to everyone else? It’s more like: ‘Why not do something different?

Although the band always takes constructive criticism seriously, if someone dislikes their music because it doesn’t follow standard structures, they disregard the critique. “I think there’s a genre for everyone,” Tomizzi said. “We definitely have our niche, and people who like that type of music will be able to like us.”

According to the members of Ostrich Bouquet, liking your own music is the key to any band’s success. When discussing their music, their passion is clear—but it’s even more apparent when the musicians speak about their instruments. Bozzo praised the versatility of the guitar and its ability to “do everything.” Ventulieri described being connected with the drummer and holding the song together on bass. For his part, Podwalski said he believes the keyboard can lock into any groove and find a perfect fit in any song. However, the drums are the backbone of any song in Tomizzi’s opinion. “Nobody notices it until it’s not there anymore,” he argued.

While the band puts a lot of emphasis on their sound, Ostrich Bouquet puts equal passion into their performances. When the group took the stage at O Patro Vys, Bozzo closed his eyes as he strummed the guitar, Venturelli made eye contact with the audience, Podwalski had a small smile on his face and Tomizzi mouthed the words to the song from behind the drum set.

Despite the distinct performing style of each band member, the friendship that links Ostrich Bouquet is hard to miss on stage when their collaborative creativity comes to life.

Ostrich Bouquet’s EP, On Time, As Usual, is available on Apple Music, Spotify, Tidal and bandcamp.

Photo Courtesy of Ostrich Bouquet

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Opinions

Another manifestation of Islamophobia in Quebec

Graphic by Zeze Le Lin.

How the construction and timing of Bill 62 is just another election campaign tactic

It’s disheartening that the same society that supports a woman’s choice to wear a short, black dress criminalizes a woman’s right to wear a long, black burka.

Since the National Assembly passed Bill 62 on Oct. 18, people have voiced mixed opinions about the “religious neutrality” law. The bill states that in order to give or receive public services—like public transit, healthcare and educational services—a person must have an uncovered face, according to the Montreal Gazette. While Bill 62 doesn’t explicitly target Muslim women who wear a face veil (the burka or niqab), it seems obvious the bill is geared towards that minority.

The fact that this religious neutrality bill was voted into law beneath a crucifix hanging in the National Assembly is as hypocritical as it gets. If Quebec really wanted religious neutrality, they would get rid of any symbol that directly refers to a religion—not just Islamic symbols like face coverings. Quebec doesn’t seem to know where it stands on religious neutrality, which just stirs up more confusion and controversy.

In Quebec, the exact number of Muslim women who wear a face veil is unknown, but according to the social research forum Environics Institute, three per cent of women in Canada wear the niqab. That number is even less in Quebec—which raises an important question. Why spend so much time and effort creating a law that marginalizes such a small group of women? The answer, I’ve realized, is a sickening election campaign trend in this province.

With less than a year until the provincial elections, this law has taken media outlets by storm and has created a tense, divisive political climate in Quebec. People are once again divided over a debate about Muslim women’s choice to wear what they want. It brings us back to 2013, when Parti Québécois leader Pauline Marois attempted to remove all religious symbols under the guise of the Charter of Values.

“This ban shows that the government is trying to steer away attention from real issues,” said Razia Hamidi, the Montreal representative of the National Council of Canadian Muslims. “It’s not a priority for Quebecers. We’ve seen polls from the Angus Reid Institute that show that this issue is rated as very low priority. So why does the government continuously bring it up and give it so much attention?” In Hamidi’s opinion, the fact that this debate is happening with an election around the corner isn’t a coincidence and isn’t acceptable. “They can’t go around pushing such legislation whenever they need to get their voting rates up.”

A new Angus Reid Institute poll suggests 70 per cent of Quebec respondents favour the ban, while 23 per cent discourage it and only eight per cent say the niqab should be welcomed, according to the Montreal Gazette. Another poll from the same institute found that one in five Quebecers said Bill 62 would be an important factor when deciding which party to support, according to CBC News.

It seems to me the Liberals are playing a game of identity politics by attempting to appease future voters who dislike the niqab. And in a province where 42 per cent of the population dislike Islam, according to a 2016 Forum Research poll, it is an unfortunately effective tactic.

A conversation with Hafsa Hussain, a Muslim woman from Montreal, furthered my understanding of how strong anti-Muslim sentiments already are in Quebec. “I wear the hijab and abaya (a long loose dress). As it stands, I have received many verbal assaults out in public,” she said.

Hussain said she feels Bill 62 wasn’t intended for security reasons, but was a product of Islamophobia. “There hasn’t been a single case where a person wearing the niqab has posed any kind of threat,” she said. “I don’t see how this is a security issue. Whenever identification is required, women wearing the niqab don’t have any problems with complying and showing their faces. We have so many problems in Quebec to tackle, I find it ridiculous that they spent their time discussing dress codes instead of housing, health and education problems, to name just a few.”

At a press conference on Oct. 24, Quebec Justice Minister Stéphanie Vallée attempted to reassure citizens that they would only be required to uncover their faces for identification purposes and when speaking directly with a public service employee. This would nonetheless prevent veiled women from checking out library books, speaking with hospital staff, picking up their children from daycare or attending classes, according to CBC News.

Educational institutions like Dawson College and Université de Montréal were quick to insist that women who wear face coverings should still be allowed to attend class, according to the Montreal Gazette. Similarly, a McGill spokesperson said the university must accommodate religious differences and “will continue to do so.” Here at Concordia, the history department condemned the bill and the CSU announced its intent to take action against the the legislation. Concordia president Alan Shepard himself said the status quo will remain unchanged on campus.

While it’s refreshing to see people protesting against the bill and speaking up, it’s also important to analyze the construction of Bill 62 and understand where it comes from. The harsh truth is that it is just another manifestation of Islamophobia in Quebec. It targets a small group of women and criminalizes their choice to wear a religious garment.

This bill also emboldens those with Islamophobic biases. Among other remarks, I’ve often heard the question: “If they want to cover their face so badly, why don’t they go back to their country?” The thing is, those countries don’t preach diversity and acceptance—Canada does. Our federal government seems to pride itself on accepting and promoting immigration and multiculturalism. So why shouldn’t women be allowed to freely express their religious beliefs? Legislation like Bill 62 contradicts Canada’s identity as a nation, and therefore should hold no validity.

Truthfully, a lot of people misunderstand Islam and spend more time disliking the faith than learning about it. With a little bit of effort, people could come to understand why Muslim women choose to wear the face veil. Asking their opinions instead of assuming negative stereotypes about them could solve this entire ignorant debate.

Freedom of choice dictates that one should have the right to express their individuality whether it be in the form of a little, black dress or a long, black burka. The government should have no place in telling women what to wear. After all, we live in a free society for all. Don’t we?

Graphic by Zeze Le Lin

Categories
Opinions

The inconvenient truth about white people and racism

Graphic by Zeze Le Lin

Munroe Bergdorf and the L’Oréal controversy highlights a deeper, systemic problem

“I’m not racist. I don’t even see colour. Plus, I have a ton of black friends.”

These are common excuses most white people choose to reiterate whenever the heavy topic of racism arises in conversations. Regardless of the excuses, there is a sense of discomfort that white people feel when discussing racism. It’s a state that’s being labeled as white fragility.

According to the Huffington Post, Dr. Robin DiAngelo, a social justice educator, created the term to describe a state in which even a minimum amount of racial stress becomes intolerable, triggering a range of defense moves.”

Some of these moves include fear, guilt, anger, silence and defensiveness. A recent example of white fragility can be seen through the L’Oréal controversy. L’Oréal hired their first black transgender model Munroe Bergdorf, but she was recently fired because of the comments she made condemning racism in response to the events in Charlottesville, Va.

In a now-deleted Facebook post, Bergdorf said: “Honestly, I don’t have energy to talk about the racial violence of white people any more. Yes, ALL white people. Because most of ya’ll don’t even realize or refuse to acknowledge that your existence, privilege and success as a race is built on the backs, bloods and death of people of colour. Your entire existence is drenched in racism […] ”

After this post received a lot of negative attention, L’Oréal fired Bergdorf. In a statement, the company said they support diversity and tolerance towards all people—regardless of their race, background, gender and religion. The company stated: “We believe that the recent comments by Munroe Bergdorf are at odds with those values, and as such, we have taken the decision to end the partnership with her.” Bergdorf’s comments can be understood to mean all white people are inherently racist, which can be considered promoting a negative view of a certain race—ultimately going against L’Oréal’s policy.

In an article in The Guardian, Katherine Craig, a human rights lawyer and social change consultant, wrote: “If you grow up in a racist society, through no fault of your own, some of that racism is bound to stick subconsciously. It’s an unconscious conspiracy in which we are all complicit, unless we fight it.”

In a BBC interview, Bergdorf elaborated on her comments by saying that white people are socialized to be racist, just as men are socialized to be sexist. She emphasized the idea that it is each person’s responsibility to “unlearn” that socialization.

Bergdorf and Craig make similar points: white people can be inherently racist, not because they choose to be, but because they are born into a world that places their lives and wishes above everyone else’s. When we grow up, we are influenced by everything around us and the argument that all white people can be intrinsically racist is a plausible one. Whiteness has long been considered a positive thing, while darkness a negative thing. If one grows up seeing only white dolls and white actors on TV, it’s possible they might grow up with the idea that their race is better, prettier and superior to others. If that’s what our society is promoting, why wouldn’t someone unconsciously believe that?

Speaking from my own experience, growing up enthusiastically following white characters in TV and pop culture, I really believed that my brown skin made me inferior to white people. I barely saw representation of people of colour, which led me to internalize the racism I was surrounded by. If that was my reaction to these messages as someone who isn’t white, isn’t it possible that white people can feel superior due to the same exposure?

Bergdorf explained in the same BBC interview, “white people need to get over the fact that yes, [this socialization is] a really uncomfortable and inconvenient truth. Get over that discomfort. Think about how it makes us feel.”

Bergdorf’s comments were racially charged, but she was calling out white people for their racism. If you find that offensive then you are part of the problem. When Bergdorf said, “Yes, all white people,” she isn’t wrong—white people inherently benefit from the fruits of a society built on white privilege. Systemic racism, which emphasizes how white privilege is built into every level of society—like education, health care, criminal justice and housing—and will always favour white people over people of colour.

White people don’t really have to worry about being victims of violence by law enforcement. No one will ever question how you got a job—it’s assumed you were qualified and right for it. You are able to speak about a certain subject without being expected to represent your entire race. You will never walk with the weight of your skin colour bearing heavy on your shoulders.

A lot of people are arguing if the comments made by Bergdorf were made about black people, they would be considered racist. In my opinion, Bergdorf’s comments shouldn’t be labeled as such.

Racism is more complex and powerful than just discrimination and a feeling of superiority. Sure, a person of colour can feel superior to and discriminate against a white person, which isn’t right. But those are individual acts—not systemic. Racism is ultimately the result of power and prejudice. People of colour do not hold any power against white people—therefore they will never be able to systematically oppress them.

As a white person, you can walk away from prejudice. People of colour cannot walk away from racism. Wherever people of colour go, racism is an inherent part of the society we live in. We can change our hairstyles, our clothing and our mannerisms—but we cannot change the colour of our skin.

Bergdorf’s comments were harsh, yes. But they hold a grain of truth. The response it has garnered is a prime example of white fragility and white privilege. It’s a response to the inconvenient truth. In the same BBC interview, Bergdorf said, “with white privilege, if you are not actually dismantling racism, if you are not going to pull people up from the bottom of the pyramid to the top, then you are participating and benefitting from racism.”

When white people feel defensive or uncomfortable during a conversation about racism, they should ask themselves why they feel that way. What they don’t realize, or refuse to acknowledge, is that their whiteness is a privilege—and that privilege puts people of colour beneath them. But this isn’t to say white people will never be able to help people of colour, combat racism or dispel their own negative ideas about other races.

As Craig explained, “any white person who is serious about racial equality has to be anti-racist. This requires us to actively acknowledge our privilege, because that privilege—even though we never asked for it—is the very cause of the inequity suffered by others […] We have a choice: be offended, or be part of the solution.”

Graphic by ZeZe Le Lin

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Opinions

Quebec and Islam: Why the mosque shooting doesn’t surprise me

Graphic by Florence Yee

Taking a closer look at the province’s history with xenophobia and Islam

When I was in second grade, my teacher would hold spelling bees in class. I won one, and was ecstatic because the winner would always get a prize. Students could win teddy bears, puzzle pieces, even candy. I was eyeing a turquoise teddy bear when, instead, my teacher handed me a cartoon book about Christianity and Jesus Christ.

At the time, I didn’t understand that what was happening was wrong. I didn’t feel weird when I wasn’t allowed to go out during recess, and instead, was kept indoors with my teacher who read to me about Jesus’ life.

I remember sitting next to her at her desk, listening as she lectured me about the importance of praying every Wednesday morning. As she droned on, I studied the small but imposing Quebec flag at her desk, the white and blue fleur-de-lis forever seared into my memory. I’ve realized that, for the longest time, I associated Quebecois people with intolerance. My teacher was Quebecois and she despised that I was Muslim—and I spent most of my life assuming all Quebecois felt the same.

Of course, I now realize that’s not true. I can’t believe that, because it would be the same argument used by Islamophobic people—that one person’s bad actions represent all the members of a group.

The Jan. 29 Quebec shooting has brought the reality of Islamophobia to people’s attention. The alleged shooter, Alexandre Bissonnette, killed six men and injured at least 15 others at the Grande mosquée de Québec, in Quebec City. Some reacted with anger, others with shock—but for many Muslims, like me, there was only acceptance of the inevitable.

I’ve heard many people say, “How can something this hateful occur in Quebec?” But all I can think is, how can something like this not happen in Quebec?

Anti-Islam sentiments have been growing in this province for years. According to an article by Al Jazeera, in 2010, a bill was pushed forward in Quebec that aimed to ban women wearing the niqab—the Muslim veil—from using public services. The bill never became a law, but the debate about what a Muslim woman should be allowed to wear has amplified. From the hijab to the niqab, Quebec has always had a negative view of Islamic culture.

This was further shown in the Quebec Charter of Values in 2013, which aimed to ban religious symbols and attire from being worn by employees in the public sector. According to Global News, Barbara Perry, a professor at the University of Ontario Institute of Technology who studies right-wing extremist groups, said, “The rationale [former Premier Pauline Marois] provided for the Charter of Values was to minimize the role or the visibility of religion, but of course the focus was really on one religion.” The Charter of Values would have allowed the crucifix to remain in the National Assembly, the cross to stay on Mount Royal, and Christmas trees to remain in government buildings, according to the National Post.

A poll conducted last year by Forum Research showed that 48 per cent of Quebecois hold an unfavourable view of Islam, in comparison to the 18 to 28 per cent in other parts of Canada.

Groups like PEGIDA—which stands for Patriotic Europeans Against the Islamisation of the West—continue to flourish in Quebec with a Facebook page that has over 18,000 likes and a neo-Nazi/white nationalist stance. The group is known for being anti-Islam and, according to the CBC, the leader of the Quebec chapter has said, “Islam needs to reform itself or leave the West.”

In November 2015, a man named Jesse Pelletier wore the Joker mask and uploaded a video to YouTube in which he held a gun—which later turned out to be fake—and threatened to murder one Arab a week in Quebec.

On Feb. 3, the same day a funeral was being held for the victims of the Quebec shooting, the Khadija Masjid Islamic Centre was vandalized.

A lot of people are arguing Bissonnette—who is a Donald Trump supporter—might have been influenced by the U.S. president’s Islamophobic rhetoric. But I don’t think that’s exactly it. The truth is, Quebec has a problem with Islam. People need to admit that Bissonnette might have been influenced by what he sees in this province—which is a dislike towards Islam.

After the shooting, I spoke to many members of the Muslim community and almost all of them were unsurprised by what happened. Sarah Shamy, a McGill University student, said, “I have been on edge for a while now and I don’t think it’s just because of Trump. Quebec has shown itself willing to accept ‘the other’ if the other is deeply similar to themselves. Quebec has a negative relationship with anyone who isn’t Francophone, white or Quebecois. I don’t feel safe as a Muslim here.”

Politicians and the media further stir ignorance and help paint a negative image of Islam in Quebec. Radio poubelle, for instance, often broadcasts segments that voice “concerns” about Muslim immigration and Islamic terrorism, according to the CBC. When people listen to these segments, it adds fuel to the fire. It’s impossible to ignore how it affects Muslims—it’s hurtful, unnecessary and not truthful—and it reinforces people’s negative image of us.

“I don’t feel safe here anymore,” said Javaid Malik, my father, who moved to Quebec in 1996. “I used to. But even before the shooting, I felt worried about attending the mosque. I noticed the unlocked door, and I was so nervous about praying that I tried to find a rock to protect myself in case someone tried coming in and hurting us.”

These sentiments of fear and lack of acceptance aren’t unusual for Muslims in Quebec. The province seems to be polarized already, with Quebecois separatists pitted against Anglophones. This tribal mentality creates a reality in which anyone outside of the group is strongly considered “the other” and is isolated. Muslims usually don’t fit into either category and are thus viewed as incompatible with the mold Quebec has shaped for itself. Our beliefs, our practices and our faith is so completely different from the norm that it becomes easier to reject us.

Zahra Tourki, a student at the Université de Montréal, said Quebec is close-minded. “All they do is think about keeping their language and French culture alive. They try to convert us into their modern way of living. Islamophobia is everywhere, and it’s sad that it took the shooting to make people wake up. As a Muslim, I will always feel like Quebec is not my place, as if I’m a stranger. I don’t belong here.”

It’s hard to come up with a solution that can end Islamophobia right away. But the first step to finding the solution is understanding where the problem comes from. It’s not just Donald Trump’s recent Muslim ban, or even ISIS—Muslims have been dehumanized in the media for a long time and that’s what led to the shooting.

Alan Conter, a journalism professor at Concordia University, believes that the media is responsible for creating open spaces—something they haven’t been doing for a long time.

“The media needs to be more open to exploring the diverse realities of Islam, and of other faiths and people who don’t hold faiths. The whole discussion of belief systems isn’t treated well,” he said. “There’s a tendency in Quebec of holding a sense of exceptionalism. People say, ‘It couldn’t happen here because we’re wonderful…’ In English Canada, people would bring up our diversity. In every society, people will try to explain away horrible things because it’s easier than looking into yourself and trying to find real root causes.”

What happened on Jan. 29 is a manifestation of a dangerous problem. A lot of Canadians believe that we’re safe from the discrimination that is more apparent in the U.S. We’re considered accepting, a diverse society, and we are—to a certain extent. But our sense of exceptionalism weakens our ability to address the negative side of our society. Quebec’s history of polarization, of subtle racism, has always existed but is rarely acknowledged. What Alexandre Bissonnette did is terrifying—but what’s even more terrifying is that there may be many other people just like him in Quebec who have developed a vicious, violent hatred for a religion they barely understand.

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Opinions

PC culture: An evolution of politeness

Graphic courtesy of DonkeyHotey.

Weighing in on political correctness and how it can be benefit our evolving society

Growing up as a brown Muslim girl, I wish I’d had a shield to protect myself from racism. I wish I could have been invisible when kids at the back of the class would hurl expletive insults at me, screaming “Allahu-Akbar!” as I entered the room.

I wish political correctness had been around when I was in elementary and high school. It would have saved me from a lot of self-confidence issues. Whenever I hear criticism of political correctness (PC) culture—in the media or even during class discussions—I can’t help but feel upset. People don’t understand that PC culture is a form of protection for minorities.

According to The Huffington Post, the Angus Reid Institute conducted an online survey in August 2016 that showed 76 per cent of Canadians believe political correctness has gone “too far.” A lot of people share this sentiment and feel they cannot express their opinions about issues affecting marginalized people—but what they don’t understand is those comments are hurtful and unnecessary.

In my opinion, political correctness is a way for minorities—whether they’re people of colour or members of the LGBTQ+ community—to have a justification for being offended when someone says an insensitive thing about who they are.

We’re living in a time when minorities have the chance to feel empowered in our society. In the past, non-whites and other marginalized groups had no voice. They were not accepted as equals and, therefore, didn’t deserve the chance to defend themselves against dangerous expressions.

In a way though, political correctness has existed for a long time—hosts at dinner parties didn’t expect their guests to insult their food, for example. It’s something you just don’t do. It’s considered common courtesy.

Today, PC culture has just expanded on the idea of common courtesy. Now, the gesture extends to minority groups who have the right to not feel insulted for being who they are.

Recently, a CBC article featured Concordia marketing professor Gad Saad, who explained his views regarding political correctness. He stated that it is “limiting the free exchange of ideas on university campuses across the continent.”

In that same article, I read more about Saad’s stance on political correctness, how it is negative and limits free speech. Then, I came across the professor’s satirical argument against condemning cultural appropriation, in the same article. He said: “Our African ancestors were the first to engage in breathing…By that logic I think by breathing today, we are engaging in cultural appropriation of the first Homo sapiens. And so the only way I will ask you to stop being racist is to suffocate—to stop breathing.”

That’s when I realized, like most people who argue against PC culture and think it has gone “too far,” Saad doesn’t understand its importance—or if he does, he doesn’t care.

PC culture is understanding and being sensitive to issues that don’t directly involve you. It’s understanding that cultural appropriation genuinely offends some people—even if it doesn’t offend you.

Freedom of speech means you have the right to say whatever you want. It means you can argue that cultural appropriation is fine and so are other issues that affect minorities. But it also means that you can be challenged for your views and called out for promoting ignorance. While I do believe freedom of speech is a necessity, I also believe minorities must be protected from ignorant stereotypes.

PC culture frustrates some people, sure. But it also protects a lot of other, more marginalized people from offensive comments and dangerous ideas. I don’t believe PC culture should censor people from discussing controversial things—it’s important to have a dialogue between people from different communities, even if the person expressing their views might be a bit ignorant when it comes to their choice of words.

PC culture is correcting those negative and uninformed ideas. It’s pushing people to understand that the world no longer revolves around straight white guys—it’s now about a world where politeness takes precedence over out-dated, harmful ideas.

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Opinions

Don’t you dare judge the hijab

A rebuttal to a disturbing and misinformed article regarding the burkini ban

Last month, The Concordian published an opinion piece entitled “Advocating for a full ban of the controversial burkini.” The argument made by the contributor was typical. It claimed that Muslim women who wear the burkini are disempowered and are prevented from “taking full control of their bodies.” After reading the article, I was infuriated, annoyed and disturbed to say the least, and I’m tired of these stereotypes surrounding Islam.

A 2016 study released by the Environics Institute, a Canadian-based social science research centre, revealed the number of hijab-wearing women has increased over the last decade in Canada, particularly among younger adults between the ages of 18 and 34. Also, 52 per cent of Canadian Muslim women wear the hijab or other headscarves in public, according to the same study. Many women choose to wear the hijab—they don’t wear it simply because they were coerced into doing so by their religion, as the article implied.

The idea of the hijab as a tool of oppression is widely held throughout the Western world. In my opinion, the hijab isn’t a symbol of oppression. Oppression exists because of various socio-economic reasons, and it exists in countries outside of the Muslim world.

Graphic by Florence Yee

I won’t argue that oppression isn’t a problem in Islamic countries. There are a lot of countries under Islamic law that impose restrictions on women which are completely unjustified—but these are not issues that stem from Islam. For example, in Saudi Arabia, women are not allowed to drive. Many people blame Islam for this policy but in the Qur’an, it is stated nowhere that this is true.

Countries such as Saudi Arabia and Pakistan are led by predominantly male political and religious leaders who—in my opinion—misinterpret the Qur’an and implement made-up rules that allow them to control women. It’s a question of culture, not religion.

In the article that was published, the writer chose to use a verse from the Qur’an that says that women should conceal their bodies and only reveal themselves to their husband. The thing is, there’s a huge double standard when it comes to Islam and the idea of sexism. For example, in the Christian bible, there are also verses where women are deemed inferior to men. I could take any religious quote from any religious text and distort the meaning, thus taking it completely out of context.

When the Qur’an was first written, it actually gave a lot of women in the Arab Peninsula rights they didn’t have before. For example, the fourth chapter of the Qur’an is titled “An-Nisa” or “Women” and discusses women’s issues and inheritance laws. Women were allowed to inherit property during this time, and were entitled to child support if they chose to divorce.

To a Muslim woman who chooses to wear the headscarf or to dress modestly, the hijab means to be free. She is choosing to put the attention not on her physical beauty, but on the other assets that make her who she is: her brain, her wit, her thoughts. The hijab emphasizes a woman’s personality, and she is simply asserting that her physical appearance shouldn’t play a role in her social interactions. Also, women who choose to wear the hijab might be doing so because of their own personal relationship with God. There are various reasons for women to dress modestly not just because they feel forced to do so.  

When I defend the hijab, I’m usually told that I have internalized sexism and that I’m allowing women to be oppressed by Islam. But that’s not true. I’m an intersectional feminist, which means that I advocate for those of various social identities and those who are oppressed or discriminated against because of their race, sexuality, etc. While I agree a woman shouldn’t be forced to wear something she doesn’t want to, I also defend the idea that a woman shouldn’t be told not to wear something just because it might offend a few Westerners.

The hijab is another form of female expression, not oppression. Here in Canada, women are allowed to dress however they want, and Muslim women absolutely have the right to wear the hijab if they chose to do so.

Read the article ‘Advocating for a full ban of the controversial burkina’ here: theconcordian.com/2016/09/banontheburkini

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Opinions

Dealing with the police as a visible minority

Graphic by Charlotte Bracho.

How my experiences and perceptions of the police have changed over time

As a person of colour, I’ve grown up to learn that professionals might not always help me. In airports, my family and I are always scrutinized—it’s become comical when my mother’s hijab and my father’s brown skin are glared at.

I’ve sat quietly as police officers show lack of interest when my mother’s car gets hit—instead of looking into her eyes, they stare at her scarf. I’ve sat quietly when my father’s explanations are ignored and instead, police officers smirk at his accent and refuse to listen.  

I read the news and I feel angry at the way people of colour are mistreated in the United States, and even in Canada. The things I see and have dealt with reinforce my negative idea of them. Usually, I steer clear of police officers because I have the perception that they’re more likely to be rude to me, than helpful.

However, a recent video spread on social media has made me question my misconceptions about police officers. On September 21, Leon Shand, a man in a wheelchair, was being harassed by a Montreal police officer who identified himself as Officer L’Heureux. Shand was in the middle of crossing the street when the light turned red. L’Heureux confronted him for being in the intersection and then aggressively pushed his wheelchair and searched through his bag without a warrant. After seeing the video, I was disgusted by the way Shand was treated. I was outraged when the police officer said, “I’m going to give you a fucking ticket. You asked for it.”  

My reaction was to immediately revert to my bias about police officers. Shand, who is black, was at the wrong place at the wrong time. My first thought was, “It’s because he’s black and in a wheelchair.” After a few moments, I realized I made a hasty generalization.

How was I to know whether or not Officer L’Heureux acted like that because Shand was black? I found myself questioning the opinions I’ve held for so long. Why was I so quick to jump and label the officer as racist?

Many believe that Canada doesn’t have a race problem when it comes to policing—but that’s not necessarily true. Statistics Canada tracks fatal police shootings when an officer is criminally charged, however statistics regarding race are not recorded. According to The Guardian, between 2005 and 2015, the number of black convicts in Canadian prisons has jumped by 69 per cent. In another report released by CBC News, the province of Ontario will be reviewing the way police officers interact with indigenous peoples, after a series of deaths whilst in police custody.

Although these statistics and facts do exist, I can’t rely solely on them and my experiences when I label police officers as rude or racist. I’ve realized that perhaps there is more to Officer L’Heureux—maybe he was having a bad day, or maybe he’s drunk on the authority that’s been handed to him. The main thing is—I don’t know everything.

I can’t possibly justify my own misconceptions and biases without confronting the possibility that maybe I’m wrong. While experiences do factor into our perceptions of people, we shouldn’t typecast police officers, especially when so many people are trying to hold them accountable for doing the same to civilians.

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Music

Majid Jordan: Musical Geniuses at Métropolis

Canadian R&B duo kick off their tour in Montreal

At 10 p.m. on September 30, the atmosphere at Métropolis quickly changed from rowdy to almost dreamlike, when Jordan Ullman walked on stage. It seemed surreal as the record producer glanced at the crowd with a smile and made his way to the keyboard, where he began producing sounds that enthralled the crowd. The smell of marijuana suddenly wafted through the large room and people started cheering and pushing forward. Majid Al Maskati appeared on stage and immediately began to sing, leaving the audience intrigued by his powerful, yet soft voice.

The Toronto based R&B duo came to Montreal for the second time this year. Al Maskati is originally from Bahrain and Ullman is from Toronto. The group formed in 2011 and released their EP titled Afterhours on Soundcloud under the pseudonym Good People, according to their official website. They got signed to OVO Sound in 2013, a record label co-founded by rapper Drake. They’re well known for featuring on Drake’s hit track, “Hold On, We’re Going Home” from his album Nothing Was the Same.

The group performed songs from their EP A Place Like This, and from their album Majid Jordan. When he began to perform “A Place Like This,” Al Maskati transformed from a soulful singer into a performer. He belted out powerful notes that aren’t on the usual track, a pleasant surprise for those who haven’t heard him live before. He danced and nodded his head along to the hypnotizing beat.  Ullman intensely bobbed his shoulders and created the strong sound behind the masterpiece.

Al Maskati took every opportunity to point at fans when he sang, and it seemed that his goal was to ensure that everyone sang along. He addressed the crowd numerous times and said in French, “Montreal! ça va?” “We wanted to come here to kick off our tour because we knew you’d all sing along to this next song,” Al Maskati said to the crowd, before diving into their hit song “Her.”

Candid shot of Majid Al Maskati in movement. Photo by Sania Malik

When Al Maskati later pointed towards Ullman with a smile, the crowd cheered. We began to chant Ullman’s name and the duo shared a smile and laughed, like they had their own inside joke. Soon, we were all chanting Al Maskati’s name and clapping for the talented group. Crowd favorites were: “Something About You,” “Small Talk,” and “My Love.” They also performed “Summer’s Over Interlude,” off of Drake’s album Views. Al Maskati exuded confidence as he caressed the microphone stand and swayed on stage.

The duo ended the show with “King City.” As Al Maskati sang, “you’re so damn special, but I better say goodbye to you,” he waved goodbye and slowly backed away. The song ended and Al Maskati and Ullman walked off stage with one last wave at the crowd. Everyone immediately began chanting “encore!” The duo came back on stage to perform “Learn From Each Other.” to which Al Maskati’s vigorous enthusiasm excited everyone as he yelled, “Montreal! How are you doing tonight?”

The song ended with Al Maskati pointing to the crowd and to Ullman, saying “I can only learn from you.” Ullman smiled and walked towards Al Maskati and as they hugged, Al Maskati said, “Montreal, thank you so much for starting us off right on our tour.”

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Opinions

Is groping on the metro really “a big deal?”

Photo by Marie-Pierre Savard

Discussing the issue of safety regarding Montreal’s public transport system

There are thousands of people who use the Montreal metro system every single day. It’s a means of getting from home, to school, to work. But for some women, a metro ride can take an unpleasant turn when, suddenly, you feel you’re trapped in a room with no way out.

A conversation I overheard recently angered me. A man was discussing sexual harassment complaints while on the metro with his friend. He ignorantly asked: “Is it really such a big deal to be groped on the metro? It’s a damn compliment!” I cringed as he guffawed with his friend, and couldn’t help but think that this is why victims don’t always talk about their experiences. They’re afraid of being asked, “Is it really a big deal?”

Isha Sheikh, 20, was headed home from school one day during rush hour. Needless to say, the metro car was crowded.

“I sat down and saw an old man get on the metro. He sat across me on the other side — but suddenly, he was next to me on the empty seat. I noticed how he took up a lot of space. Suddenly, I felt something on my thigh, and I looked down to see his hand placed there,” Sheikh said.

“Initially, I was confused and tried to make sense out of what was happening. I told myself that this old man probably didn’t realize that his hand was on my thigh. But then his hand started creeping upwards, and his grip became tight. It was my first time in this kind of situation and I didn’t know what to do,” Sheikh said, furrowing her eyebrows and shrugging.

“So I decided to roughly move his hand off my thigh, but then he put his arm around me and smiled at me,” she said. “He smiled at me! His grip tightened, and I sat there debating what to do because I didn’t want to make a scene. So I got up to leave — but, as I left, he grabbed my bum. I went to the end of the car where one man who witnessed it all asked me if I was okay, and walked away once I nodded,” she said.

Less than one in ten individuals report incidents of sexual harassment and assault to the police, according to Statistics Canada. This shows survivors aren’t willing to come forward. One of the reasons for that is the stigma associated with this very serious issue. Questions arise: What was she wearing? Did she ‘lead’ him on?

It’s upsetting when the police don’t seem to be there when you need them the most.

It’s upsetting to not see a stronger police presence on our metro cars, and even more disturbing to see the STM security ticketing the innocent public instead of actually catching criminals.

You’d think that bystanders would reach out and try to acknowledge the situation, but most people just avoid eye contact and turn their heads.

It’s unfortunate that not everyone understands the severity and seriousness of sexual harassment, especially in a public place—you’re surrounded by people, but it’s rare that anyone tries to help. You’re just trying to get somewhere, and the last thing you want is an old man’s tight grip on your thigh and his creepy smile in your face. It’s upsetting and enraging and it certainly is a big deal.

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